Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. Jews don’t have Christmas, and Chanukah is actually a pretty minor Jewish holiday that took on significance only so we wouldn’t be left out of the holiday cheer. I always felt envious of all the kids who had Christmas. Thanksgiving, on the other hand, belongs to everyone.

Our family is pretty small, but at our house yesterday we had the largest group in quite a while, thanks to a Japanese man who works with my dad along with his wife and two small daughters. They were so adorable — these four- and six-year-old smiling Japanese girls with identical hairstyles and rosy cheeks. They got along great with my cousin’s three-and-a-half-year-old daughter. The three of them were running around, chasing each other, laughing together, and, in a sight that was as adorable as a teddy bear, Elmo, and a puppy all rolled into one, the three little girls hugged each other repeatedly. I nearly cried over how cute they were.

The food was wonderful. My mom’s an amazing cook. After the mushroom soup, the turkey, the cranberries, the stuffing, the sweet potatoes, the green beans with persimmon, the brussel sprouts and turnips and beets, we finished off the meal with several desserts including a pumpkin chiffon and a cranberry-pear pie with crumb topping.

Later at night, after a good Thanksgiving meal, what could be more Norman Rockwell than settling down in front of the TV to watch a sitcom about an urban gay man and his bitchy friends? It’s been a few years since NBC last showed a real Thanksgiving-ish movie or some other television event. I guess they’ve realized there’s no reason to give up their regular crowd-pleasing Thursday night lineup. I actually relish the idea of someone’s parochial Grandma and Grandpa and corn-fed Uncle Jasper and Aunt Betty sitting down in front of the TV in Selina, Kansas, to watch “Will & Grace” together. “Hey Gert, what did that guy mean just now when he said he didn’t know you could actually use a turkey baster to baste a turkey?” Welcome to the twenty-first century, I guess.

Today I’ve been at my parents’ house, mostly vegging out and watching PBS. See, this weekend WNET, New York’s PBS station, is rebroadcasting the entire 14 1/2-hour New York: A Documentary Film, by Ric Burns. I’d never seen it before, but I came across it late last night. Because I love New York and because I love American history, I’ve been glued to the TV. It’s really a phenomenal project, and if you love this city I encourage you to see it sometime if you can. It’s on videotape and DVD. I immersed myself in the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire of 1911, in which about 150 people died, mostly teenage girls, and in which onlookers were shocked to see people attempting to escape the fire by jumping out of 8th-floor windows. (It was sad to remember that this documentary was made in 1999, when nobody could have predicted that people would one day be jumping to their deaths from the 100th floor of a burning skyscraper.) I watched the rise of the Empire State Building, the rise and fall of Al Smith, the New York draft riots of 1863, the construction of the subway system, the incredible energy and triumph of modernity during the Jazz Age, the stock market crash of 1929 — and the impact of all of these on the city.

It’s also chock-full of stunning views of the skyline — including, of course, the World Trade Center towers. Every time they appear on the screen, I mourn their absence.

And yet, while watching the long, engrossing paean to the Empire State Building, I realized that we’re lucky we still have that building. The Twin Towers might be sadly missed, but the Empire State Building would be even more deeply mourned were we to lose it. Thank God we still have it. I’ve actually found myself paying closer attention to it when I see it towering against the sky, say while walking through Greenwich Village — just in case it, too, should someday disappear.

Holy fuck, I love New York. I’m so glad I live here.

In a little while I’m going home, and tonight I’m going out. In Manhattan. I’m not sure where, but I’m sure this is a big weekend and every place will be packed. That seems appealing, all of a sudden. New York, New York — a hell of a town.