Fanksgivin

I’ve been blessed to count a heady mix of expats as my friends since clambering about Frisco yum yum. Among the hip swingin, beer sippin, accent mockin cultural exchange that is, there is also a comfort in our collective exposure to American culture. What we givin fanks for innit? After the heated back and forth dripping with verbose claims of colonalism, vague wars and a genuine pursuit of understanding, a gleeful spirit comes to the fore, as amongst the war of words there is the poutlry truth: we just get to gorge on a smorgusbord fit for a sharehouse lord. When all is said and done, when abdomens rise and not soon fall, when 5 litres of goon remains relativley untouched, there is a dancing flicker of success. What we measure this by seems to be the definition of our colloquial lesson on the day: We got around a table and loved eachother’s company. Fanks mate. Fanks.

Max Favetti
mfavetti@mail.sfsu.edu
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