Fresh young cannibal.

I was out just now walking Izzy in the dark morning when I encountered a turkey that was larger than both of us put together. 

And I was happy to see it, and yet also a little worried. 

For years I've been calling for more Thanksgiving decorations. It's a great national holiday, intended for celebration by every American regardless of religion, background, or politics. And celebrate it we do, but decorate it? Nah, we still have our Halloween stuff up, or we're getting our Christmas stuff up, or we're just too busy raking leaves. Well, not this family -- giant light-up inflatable turkey to the rescue!

On the other hand, a turkey holding silverware, wearing a chef's hat and a bib calling us to dine, is concerning. At worst this giant bird is a cannibal, hoping to join in the consumption of his fellows. Or he may be what the Great Lileks calls a quisling mascot, hoping to direct you to eat his fellows in the hope of being spared. I dress like a human, see? I'm one of you! 

I'm not sure that's going to help him if the balloon goes up and we spot a 300-pound source of white and dark meat.

It's a disturbing idea, and indeed one I snatched at in my novel Larry and the Mascots. When advertising mascots are brought to life, one of them -- a pork-promoting pig named Hamswell, in butcher's gear -- becomes deranged and murderous because of the horror of his dual nature. Naturally, the book is a comedy! 

But I'm going to push aside my grim imaginings and see this lawn decoration for what it is -- a silly means to promote a serious holiday. We should celebrate with the gravity of gratitude and the lightness of hope. And then, let's eat! But don't stick a fork in this guy; he might explode.

Mascot canceled!

METS HIRE NEW MASCOT

Mr. Met, Disgraced Mascot, Dismissed

FLUSHING, NEW YORK -- Fred Wilpon, majority owner of the New York Mets, announced a new mascot to replace the formerly beloved Mr. Met, who had been the mascot for the team for 58 years.

"Mr. Met's actions were a black, eh, eye to the organization," said Mr. Wilpon, referring to the Twitter war that led to the mascot's dismissal. Yesterday rival mascot, the Phillie Phanatic, had expressed his support for the Green Mascots Matter movement, after which Mr. Met replied online that All Mascots Mattered. A short time later the large, white, male, ballsplaining mascot was dismissed.

"It's time we move forward into the 21st century," said Mr. Wilpon. "We had been thinking about upgrading our image with a new mascot for a while, and then Mr. Met forced our hand. Racist baseballs have no place in this organization."

He then introduced the new mascot, Señor Met, to the press.

"We're very proud to have Señor Met join us," said Mr. Wilpon. "His full name, for the record, is Señor or Señora Juan Roscoe Hernandez Jinping Phyllis Exotic Met."

Señor Met held up a sign in seventeen languages saying how happy he was to join the team, and how much he looked forward to the 2020 campaign, short as it will be.

"These days it is crucial to have a mascot that represents the values of the company," concluded Mr. Wilpon. "If a mascot cannot comport himself with dignity, what's the point?"

Clip joint.

I used to care a little about where I went to get my hair cut. I wanted a manly barber with old guys who could shave your neck properly, with soap and a straight razor and a hot towel. Now I don't much give a damn, as long as it's short. My hair hates me, so I'm going to hate it right back. 

Last week my hair was getting kind of shaggy. It had grown to a length than in my teens I would considered "Marine." I tried a Great Clips nearby, for one crucial reason -- it was in the same strip mall as the supermarket. Location, location, location. Mind you, they probably get a lot of balding men and the children of harried mothers, but their job is to make money, not art. 

The gal behind the shears did a good job, although with her rubbing that electric device all over my scalp I began to feel sympathy for the alpacas of the world. It was over in no time and didn't cost more than any barber I ever went to. Did not get a proper neck shave, but she did buzz that too, so it was fine. Sideburns came out even. What more do I want out of life?

I was amused by the fact that they had a poster in the window, advertising for a mascot, someone to stand outside and hand out coupons and things. Basically this guy:

I told the lady when I sat down that I would be interested, but I already had a job and I already dressed funny. I may have been overqualified, really.

Not that I have anything against mascots -- as the French say, au gratin! I wrote an entire novel about a man who meets real-life mascots. Looking at that costume, though -- probably hot and clingy. Too much for me. I think of mascots as we would the purple cow, that I would rather see than be one.

It would appear, by the way, that the mascot's name is "Suds." Were I Suds, I would insist that "They call me Mr. Suds." I'm sure some terrified child would kick me right in the ol' curling iron. I would not last a day.

As for going to Great Clips, I think they're fine, even if you're not a wailing child or a middle-aged man in a state of abject despair over your male pattern baldness. And hey, they sponsor NASCAR, so that's kind of manly, don't you think? I wonder if the announcer ever says "The Great Clips car just cut the other driver off!" I would.

Sue Swanson says: Everyone loves chicken salads.

Here's another awesome pamphlet that was handed down from me in Mom's cookbook, from the Swanson chicken people:

Sunshine salads! From the C.A. Swanson & Sons company! Coincidentally, all of these happen to contain poultry. Did the cartoon quisling chicken give it  away?

Something weird about that illustrated salad bowl, though. There's nothing in it except the serving utensils, which look as if they are submerged in some kind of clear salad soup. The celery leaves seem to have grown up around the bowl like a bowl mane. Bizarre.

We know that everyone loves chicken salads---delicious, meaty salads!---because Sue Swanson says so, and she wouldn't lie about something that important:

Who was Sue Swanson? Was she a member of the Swanson family (others being Carl A. and sons) or a phony baloney mascot* like Betty Crocker and Ann Page?

Martin Jones, in his 2007 book Feast: Why Humans Share Food, says that in 1950s TV, "While a real Lucille Ball buzzed hectically and humorously through through a fictional family life, so a make-belief Sue Swanson (dreamed up by the advertising people) reassured real-life housewives that they need not feel guilty about not cooking home-made meals for their families." Sue looks matronly and a little icy. You might think that the ad boys would have made Sue prettier if she was fictional, but then, housewives might have responded poorly to some young, overpainted hussy.

There's no date on this booklet, but we can fix it to no earlier than the mid-1950s, I think; also, since the Swanson address has no zip code, it must be older than 1963.

The product on the bottom left of the page is a Swanson TV dinner. The Swansons, inspired by tray meals served on airplanes, invented the TV dinner in 1952, and Swanson TV dinners were available from then until 2009. The Swanson company didn't last that long; there's no company HQ at 1202 Douglas Street in Omaha anymore. The company was bought up in pieces, and those pieces have been rebranded over time. The only Swanson that exists anymore are canned poultry and broth products, owned by Campbell's. Chick Transit Gloria Mundi, I guess.

As for the brief "Sunshine Salads" booklet, the recipes were pretty commonplace for the most part, merely using cooked frozen or canned poultry instead of buying fresh and cooking it, then cooling it. If anything, these salads would be more popular now than they were at the time, salads having come into their own. Of course, I had to look for the most repellent recipe in the booklet to scan, and that was easy:

Savory Chicken Loaf made with unflavored gelatin, mayo, canned chicken, French dressing, and so on, chilled in a loaf pan.

There may come a day when these kind of meat/gelatin loaf foods will begin appearing in small hipster restaurants, and some will dig it ironically, and some jaded palettes will thrill to something unfamiliar, and there will be gelatin-based cold meat recipes on Food Network, and in magazines, and then we'll be stuck with this kind of thing again.

That day may come. But it is not today.

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*Not that I have anything against advertising mascots. Hell, I wrote a whole novel about advertising mascots come to life, as you can see on the right.

Work needed for slightly used mascot.

We are all very happy about the return of the Twinkie a couple of years ago. When Hostess closed its doors at the end of 2012, it looked like Twinkie the Kid was washed up. But just eight months later, I saw a poster in Times Square announcing the triumphant return of the Twinkie.

Well, now it's gotten even more serious. Not only are Twinkies back, but...

Chocodile Twinkies!

You kids out there may not understand why these are called Chocodile Twinkies rather than just Chocolate Twinkies or Chocolate Basted Twinkies or something.

It has to do with this guy:

Yes, that's Chauncey Chocodile (or Choco-Dile), the original mascot for Hostess's Chocodile. It was a chocolate-coated Twinkie then, but they didn't call it that. See Chauncey in action here:

The question is: Where's Chauncey now?

This is no idle question from a guy who wrote a novel about advertising mascots come to life (see Larry and the Mascots, available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play, iBooks...). While Hostess may have brought back the Chocodile, its pitchman is still in limbo. Instead, Twinkie the Kid has been pressed into service, as if the Chocodile was just another Twinkie.

I can't improve on Dinosaur Dracula's insane rave of joy about the return of the Chocodile. All I can say is: I'm glad it's back, but does anyone have an opening for a slightly used sort-of-crocodile-shaped mascot?*

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*As it happens, Captain Cupcake and Fruit Pie the Magician are also MIA; do you think Twinkie the Kid has survivor guilt?