Ten years ago, we spent our Thanksgiving at the Mohegan Sun Casino, an atypically handsome joint in the woods in Connecticut. I'm not especially fond of casinos, but I had to admit this one was a rather lovely place to be—if you could dodge the (supposedly forbidden) cigarette smoke and the unbeautiful noise of the gambling machines. On T-day itself, we had a tasty and substantial dinner catered for us in a banquet room somewhere in the catacombs of the complex. In the next issue of the PBI, I documented the occasion with a tribute to folks who were housing us there. 