Not that you would notice

I am a California boy, through and through, born and bred over four generations. My native restlessness takes me from the Bay to the ocean, from the quiet streets to the quieter forests and I look and see and smell and hear and feel.

And once again, I am grateful for where I live and the … aw, I can’t do it. I have tried it before — to what effect I have no idea. I just can’t bring myself to try it again this time.

I was thinking it would be nice on a holiday, when people are gathering with family and to give thanks, to wax poetic about life around here. The beauty. The weather. All that, you know, stuff.

But, it is, after all, Thanksgiving, and food and football and you have much, much better things to do than read this week’s masterpiece. Not just today, I suppose. For all I know, everyone has better things to do on every Thursday.

To my distinctive way of thinking, the nature of today suggests I could write just about anything I wanted and there’s a good chance nobody will see it.

This could be liberating to those with a certain mindset, as it were. A challenge, even: “Let’s see how many people I can offend today.” Or, even more interestingly, “Let’s see how offensive I can be – and nobody notices.”

When I first started writing a daily newspaper column, many, many Thanksgivings ago, the publisher told the entire staff that he would love to run a promotional ad campaign touting “that outrageous Mark Simon.” I warned him to be careful what he wished for.

We got letters and, later, emails. My favorite remains the one that began, “Dear Stupid.” Anyway, that newspaper went out of business. Maybe this is all you need to know about that story.

I have been writing opinion columns since high school, and, yes, you think I would be better at it by now. I wrote columns all through college and for most of my newspaper career, in one iteration or another.

For a brief period in college, at the San Jose State Spartan Daily, I decided to write a few columns solely for the purpose of seeing how many angry letters to the editor I could inspire. It worked, but it soon became clear to me that this was juvenile behavior, and, for better or worse, I ought to stick to opinions I actually held.

So, I am a responsible adult journalist now. I stick to commentary, or perspective, or opinion that might be grounded in some genuinely held value or fact, or whatever it is we trade in here.

Or, put another way, I have found I can make people mad at me without really trying. I don’t even have to think about it.

Not that I am like the prisoners in Plato’s cave, arguing over shadows on a wall. This is a classical reference I tossed in here to class up the column, something we columnists like to do, such as quoting from the Zimmerman Telegram or the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. Believe it or not, knowing what is in the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo actually alienated a large number of my Spartan Daily colleagues all those years ago.

I do not limit my offensive behavior solely to you, dear reader.

So, this is that kind of day — the chance to do something extraordinary solely for its own inherent value.

Instead, it turns out, I am just going to ramble. On a day when no one is likely to be paying attention.

I could make this like one of those postings you see from time to time on social media, in which you are asked to confirm that you have read something all the way to the end and then repost it on your own page, or post a word confirming how you all know one another.

What the hell. If you read this column, type Root Beer Gulag in the Comments section, or send me an email.

There is a strong possibility that no one will respond, making this behavior decidedly risky, ego-wise. As if such risk is not present in this location every week.

But this is not every week. This is Thanksgiving. It may be that no one is hanging around here, and I say, good for you. Be thankful. Be happy. Be full.

And, you know, thanks.