The windows had been sealed, the firewood covered, and the bolt inside the door gave a satisfying click as it found home. Hamilton Starkweather gazed at the pond just south of the summerhouse and reflected fondly on the prior two months. It had been another successful season of swimming, friendly visitations, and well-aged brandy during summer storms. Now it was over. His extended holiday had helped him relax more than he had in years, but he couldn't help but feel melancholy at its passing. Now it was back down to dreary London and the daily malaise of the publishing business.
A figure stalked briskly up the footpath that led from the main road. The hard clacking noise of plastic souls on the worn concrete were like pinpricks in the still morning air.
"Nigel Pellington, as I live and breathe!" Hamilton called out in his boisterous way, recognizing the threadbare peacoat that his friend had been wearing as long as he had known him.
"I thought you'd left for the smoke this past Tuesday, and why on earth is that muffler wrapped around your head, it'll be summer for another six days!"
Hamilton had barely gotten the sentence out when the figure abruptly pulled a antique Luger from the coat pocket. The shot scattered a flock of mourning doves that had been bathing in the pond. They found their formation as they soared over Hamilton Starkweather crumpling onto the lawn.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Pleading out
Most of us are taught that revenge is never the answer, that what you get out of it will ultimately weigh more heavily on you tham anything you dish out to some transgressor. Most of us also pay as little attention as possible to that life lesson, at least as far as the way we think and feel about the people that have done us wrong. It's hard not to imagine terrible things happening to people we think deserve it. Sometimes, we can't help but imagine the satisfaction of doling out retribution. We have plenty of reasons for thinking this way, after all, 'violent revenge movies' is a category my Netflix account suggests pretty heavily to me. Not trying to say that it doesn't have reason to, there are a lot of eighth graders that would be embarrassed to have my taste in movies. I just find it amazing that it's a category.
I'll get to the point.
In late 2012, I lost my friend Megan to someone else's negligence. I had been close with Megan for about half my life. She understood me in ways no one else ever has, and even though I think that was because we were a lot alike (she often referred to me as the older brother she never wanted), many other people would tell you the same thing about their own relationship with her. She had more people that would describe her as their 'best friend' than anyone else I know. This isn't due to any flightiness or phoniness on Megan's part. When she spent time with someone, she made them feel important and needed because, to her, that's exactly what they were. She didn't take the people in her life for granted, and made sure they knew she loved them. Losing her was a devastating blow to a wide and diverse network of family and friends.
There were many people that, naturally, wanted swift retribution. I can't say I didn't. Someone central to our lives, someone that was a piece of all of our heart's was ripped away for nothing other than someone's alcohol-impaired driving. That someone should pay. It was obvious. The fact that this person showed little or no remorse for destroying a unique and cherished life only sharpened our collective resolve that she should pay dearly, and for the rest of her life.
Over a lot of long, sleepless nights, that became less and less of a concrete idea for me. I don't want this person walking around free for the simple danger of her destroying more lives with her reckless disregard, but what would it change for her to know the pain she caused? Nothing. Nothing will bring this precious person back and that's an ugly, pointy fact that has to sit in our guts for the rest of our lives, but if we all got five minutes in a room with no windows with this person, that would invite a new kind of ugliness that we would have to carry around, one that is even harder to shake.
This person recently plead guilty to the charge of vehicular manslaughter and will serve a year in prison followed by a few years of supervision. That's actually more than I ever expected the criminal justice system to do in this case, and it's actually quite good in a case like this. It still won't change a thing for me. I'm glad this person will have some time to think about her actions, but I doubt that will make her any different of a human being.
There's no justice, after all. There's just us.
I'll get to the point.
In late 2012, I lost my friend Megan to someone else's negligence. I had been close with Megan for about half my life. She understood me in ways no one else ever has, and even though I think that was because we were a lot alike (she often referred to me as the older brother she never wanted), many other people would tell you the same thing about their own relationship with her. She had more people that would describe her as their 'best friend' than anyone else I know. This isn't due to any flightiness or phoniness on Megan's part. When she spent time with someone, she made them feel important and needed because, to her, that's exactly what they were. She didn't take the people in her life for granted, and made sure they knew she loved them. Losing her was a devastating blow to a wide and diverse network of family and friends.
There were many people that, naturally, wanted swift retribution. I can't say I didn't. Someone central to our lives, someone that was a piece of all of our heart's was ripped away for nothing other than someone's alcohol-impaired driving. That someone should pay. It was obvious. The fact that this person showed little or no remorse for destroying a unique and cherished life only sharpened our collective resolve that she should pay dearly, and for the rest of her life.
Over a lot of long, sleepless nights, that became less and less of a concrete idea for me. I don't want this person walking around free for the simple danger of her destroying more lives with her reckless disregard, but what would it change for her to know the pain she caused? Nothing. Nothing will bring this precious person back and that's an ugly, pointy fact that has to sit in our guts for the rest of our lives, but if we all got five minutes in a room with no windows with this person, that would invite a new kind of ugliness that we would have to carry around, one that is even harder to shake.
This person recently plead guilty to the charge of vehicular manslaughter and will serve a year in prison followed by a few years of supervision. That's actually more than I ever expected the criminal justice system to do in this case, and it's actually quite good in a case like this. It still won't change a thing for me. I'm glad this person will have some time to think about her actions, but I doubt that will make her any different of a human being.
There's no justice, after all. There's just us.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Walking Through the Snow
That Thursday was an off day to say the least. The health department had shown their faces early in the night at the bar where I work. One of the owners spent hours pretending to look for paperwork he knew perfectly well he hadn't updated. The charade might have been intended to keep the agents from looking too closely at the kitchen.
There was also an open mic that night. A sharp contrast was set between some extremely talented professional comics and musicians, and some creative roadkill of both varieties. It ended with some tightly rehearsed and excruciatingly annoying comedy songs from a duo that shall remain nameless. The screechy-voiced chanteuse on tambourine saw fit to play their last song with her top off, and acted surprised when told that could cost the bar it's license under the wrong circumstances. Even if that hadn't been the case, I would've told any lie, committed any misdeed to keep my customers from having to look at her bare torso any longer.
A snow storm was raging outside. There are no windows at this bar, so the accumulation seemed even faster to me when I looked out the door. Many places in the area were going to close early, we were following suit at midnight.
I was hungover, sleep-deprived, and training a new barback. These are three things that are normal for any shift, and I found a little comfort in their familiarity. The odd night at work hadn't been enough to distract me from what the calendar said: January second. It had been exactly one year since my best friend died.
His name was Jason William Schwallenberg. We called him Schwalli.
I first met Schwalli when I was 15, we were pretty close by the following year. I feel like I have endless reels of memories of driving around in various Mazdas with him at the wheel, listening to the same cassettes over and over, pounding our fists on the dashboard or stomping our feet in time. He was on the short side, wore glasses, and wouldn't back down to anyone. When guys big enough to make me shit myself tried to get tough, he was always the one to throw it right back in their face. He was always there for his friends, had style to spare, and taught me more about music than anyone else in my entire life.
I spent that Thursday thinking about how I didn't get to see much of him the last few years. He had gotten married and had two little girls, so it was understandable. He wasn't always the most effusive guy, but whenever he talked about his family, you could see they meant everything to him. I was thinking about them a lot as well that Thursday. I hate that his wife never got to say goodbye to him. I hate that his children won't get to grow up with one of the best fathers I can imagine anyone having. I hate that his parents had to suddenly lose their only son in the prime of his life. There's a lot to hate about it, but not much that can be done.
I didn't talk about it with many people that Thursday. I don't live in the town we grew up in, so most people in my life now never met him. But, if I'm honest, the main reason I didn't talk about him is shame. It always seems that when loved ones passed so young, that it should have given me the impetus to take life by the tail, to never waste time on anything, to never worry about petty nonsense or what other's think. Then I look back on the past year, and feel like it didn't take long to get mired in all the same bad habits and let the usual humdrum take back over.
But it isn't about that. It also isn't about me.
It's about trying to hold on to the memory of an unassuming man who might never have known what a profound impact he had on many different lives. It's about remembering to not only tell the people in your life that you love them, but also show them while you have the chance.
I walked home in the snow storm that night looking at all the freshly fallen snowflakes glinting like diamonds in the streetlight and thought about a guy that loved life, family and music. I thought about how I'll never see him again, but hope to keep him in my heart forever. Life is woven together out of love, hope, and beauty, but it's also fragile, short, and can be bitterly cruel. That's why it matters so much.
"The most terrifying fact about the universe is not that it is hostile but that it is indifferent; but if we can come to terms with this indifference and accept the challenges of life within the boundaries of death — however mutable man may be able to make them — our existence as a species can have genuine meaning and fulfillment. However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light."
-Stanley Kubrick
There was also an open mic that night. A sharp contrast was set between some extremely talented professional comics and musicians, and some creative roadkill of both varieties. It ended with some tightly rehearsed and excruciatingly annoying comedy songs from a duo that shall remain nameless. The screechy-voiced chanteuse on tambourine saw fit to play their last song with her top off, and acted surprised when told that could cost the bar it's license under the wrong circumstances. Even if that hadn't been the case, I would've told any lie, committed any misdeed to keep my customers from having to look at her bare torso any longer.
A snow storm was raging outside. There are no windows at this bar, so the accumulation seemed even faster to me when I looked out the door. Many places in the area were going to close early, we were following suit at midnight.
I was hungover, sleep-deprived, and training a new barback. These are three things that are normal for any shift, and I found a little comfort in their familiarity. The odd night at work hadn't been enough to distract me from what the calendar said: January second. It had been exactly one year since my best friend died.
His name was Jason William Schwallenberg. We called him Schwalli.
I first met Schwalli when I was 15, we were pretty close by the following year. I feel like I have endless reels of memories of driving around in various Mazdas with him at the wheel, listening to the same cassettes over and over, pounding our fists on the dashboard or stomping our feet in time. He was on the short side, wore glasses, and wouldn't back down to anyone. When guys big enough to make me shit myself tried to get tough, he was always the one to throw it right back in their face. He was always there for his friends, had style to spare, and taught me more about music than anyone else in my entire life.
I spent that Thursday thinking about how I didn't get to see much of him the last few years. He had gotten married and had two little girls, so it was understandable. He wasn't always the most effusive guy, but whenever he talked about his family, you could see they meant everything to him. I was thinking about them a lot as well that Thursday. I hate that his wife never got to say goodbye to him. I hate that his children won't get to grow up with one of the best fathers I can imagine anyone having. I hate that his parents had to suddenly lose their only son in the prime of his life. There's a lot to hate about it, but not much that can be done.
I didn't talk about it with many people that Thursday. I don't live in the town we grew up in, so most people in my life now never met him. But, if I'm honest, the main reason I didn't talk about him is shame. It always seems that when loved ones passed so young, that it should have given me the impetus to take life by the tail, to never waste time on anything, to never worry about petty nonsense or what other's think. Then I look back on the past year, and feel like it didn't take long to get mired in all the same bad habits and let the usual humdrum take back over.
But it isn't about that. It also isn't about me.
It's about trying to hold on to the memory of an unassuming man who might never have known what a profound impact he had on many different lives. It's about remembering to not only tell the people in your life that you love them, but also show them while you have the chance.
I walked home in the snow storm that night looking at all the freshly fallen snowflakes glinting like diamonds in the streetlight and thought about a guy that loved life, family and music. I thought about how I'll never see him again, but hope to keep him in my heart forever. Life is woven together out of love, hope, and beauty, but it's also fragile, short, and can be bitterly cruel. That's why it matters so much.
"The most terrifying fact about the universe is not that it is hostile but that it is indifferent; but if we can come to terms with this indifference and accept the challenges of life within the boundaries of death — however mutable man may be able to make them — our existence as a species can have genuine meaning and fulfillment. However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light."
-Stanley Kubrick
Monday, November 11, 2013
Happy Lip Service Day
Every year I make the same tired jokes about Veterans Day. This is usually accompanied by a background anxiety that people will think me glib or insensitive about what people in the armed forces contribute. There are two things I have learned, though:
1) It is impossible to care about what is offending people that have a surface-level sense of humor
2) It is impossible for me to stop making idiotic jokes. No matter how much I want to.
When I was a boy, I wanted to join the Marine Corps. I investigated this option once I grew to the age of eighteen and it became clear that no college with a sentient human working the admissions process would admit me. Sadly, my life took me in a different direction, which, in case you were wondering, is a thing that craven cowards say when they are too spineless to admit their own spinelessness. I don't think a day goes by when I don't regret not going into the Corps. Do I make up for it by contributing to veterans causes? Lobby the government for better care for returning vets and the families of those killed in action? Buy a homeless vet a cup of coffee?
No. I'm an American. Despite a couple days that we set aside to say hollow niceties about people that put their lives on the line, we don't give a shit. We cut their benefits. We make sick jokes about the rampant PTSD caused by stretching a fighting force to it's breaking point. We allow callow, manipulative elected officials send them into nightmarish, unwinnable conflicts we have no business creating, aside from the very good business it will mean for some of their friends. We re-elect these same subhumans as if nothing had happened.
In a world where moral fiber is a devalued commodity, these are people willing to die for their principles. But we've watched our own government treat them as disposable and feed them into a meat grinder for so long that we have followed suit. It's enough to just click 'like' on a picture of men in uniform to 'Support Our Troops' as if that 'like' button will buy diapers for their children.
1) It is impossible to care about what is offending people that have a surface-level sense of humor
2) It is impossible for me to stop making idiotic jokes. No matter how much I want to.
When I was a boy, I wanted to join the Marine Corps. I investigated this option once I grew to the age of eighteen and it became clear that no college with a sentient human working the admissions process would admit me. Sadly, my life took me in a different direction, which, in case you were wondering, is a thing that craven cowards say when they are too spineless to admit their own spinelessness. I don't think a day goes by when I don't regret not going into the Corps. Do I make up for it by contributing to veterans causes? Lobby the government for better care for returning vets and the families of those killed in action? Buy a homeless vet a cup of coffee?
No. I'm an American. Despite a couple days that we set aside to say hollow niceties about people that put their lives on the line, we don't give a shit. We cut their benefits. We make sick jokes about the rampant PTSD caused by stretching a fighting force to it's breaking point. We allow callow, manipulative elected officials send them into nightmarish, unwinnable conflicts we have no business creating, aside from the very good business it will mean for some of their friends. We re-elect these same subhumans as if nothing had happened.
In a world where moral fiber is a devalued commodity, these are people willing to die for their principles. But we've watched our own government treat them as disposable and feed them into a meat grinder for so long that we have followed suit. It's enough to just click 'like' on a picture of men in uniform to 'Support Our Troops' as if that 'like' button will buy diapers for their children.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Horrifying News Roundup!
So many horrible things are happening in this country and around the
world that I have to cram them into a blog entry! It says a lot about
human perseverance and ingenuity that we are always topping ourselves in
depravity and degradation while increasing the speed at which
civilization goes down the tubes. You can't keep us down!
These are the worst links I can possibly provide. If you think you can top me, please don't. Fair warning, that if you try to stay away from the news to maintain your sanity, you should read no further. I'm not putting these together just to gawk and gape at the horror of it all. We are being desensitized a little more each day with every click to the next sickening news story. I picked these out to highlight specific social ills in the hope we can look at each one a little closer and get down to the root cause.
You may have seen these on social media already, but we're going to discuss them here so we can get it out of our systems and don't bring them up at dinner with the in-laws while stuck for a conversation topic.
It's important to act like everything is fine in real life. I'm not kidding. Hang on to illusion. It's getting to be all we've got, especially in a world where:
- a man advertises his desire to watch a stranger beat and rape his 11 year old daughter.
Anthony Brinkman's nauseatingly perverse desire was exposed after police found an ad he had placed online. An undercover officer, posing as an interested party, lured him to the parking lot of a Cracker Barrel (naturally) where Brinkman was arrested. Upon confessing, Brinkman said that he was 'sorry' and 'stupid'.
You didn't break a window with a baseball, Anthony. You tried to violate and traumatize your own child.
I have stopped caring what creates animals like this. Nature, nurture, video games, telenovelas, don't make no nevermind to me. You could make the argument that the internet fosters and feeds this kind of psychosis that would come up with this, but of course, if it weren't for the internet (coupled with a lack of foresight that many of these kinds of scumbags fortunately don't have) they might never have caught Brinkman. The weird thing is, we don't want law enforcement invading our private lives, but no one reading this would care if the police didn't follow protocol when arresting Brinkman and accidentally danced all over him while wearing golf shoes. Which brings me to exhibit B:
- After being stopped for a minor traffic infraction, David Eckert is physically violated and humiliated in a vain effort to find drugs that he isn't carrying in his rectum
This happened back in January, but Eckert's lawsuit was just filed this week, leading to a flurry of reporters' questions for the head of the Deming, NM police department, who, rather than address valid concerns about the ordeal, refer the press to their lawyers, who also refuse to answer any questions. Until they do, the only version of events we can go off of is Eckert's account of being repeatedly rectally violated via enema, doctor finger, and colonoscopic probe and having to defecate in front of officers so that a doctor could examine the stool. All this happened because some patrolman thought he was clenching his butt too hard to NOT be carrying contraband. The cherry on top is that Eckert is being billed for all the procedures. That's right, the hospital that went along with this and performed all these procedures because some jackass in a uniform told them to is threatening him with collection, which is one better than Milgram ever did with his experiment.
Last and most heartbreaking:
-After being in an accident, 19 year-old Renisha McBride is shot and killed while seeking aid at a nearby home.
A message was sent with the Zimmerman verdict. It's been heard by the paranoid, the entitled, and the heartless, the kind of person that responds to a cry for help by shooting a teenage woman in the face. Michigan being a stand-your-ground state, the shooter in question in this case stands a good chance of never being charged in this, unlike in the strikingly similar case in North Carolina from September. The trend is being set, though. Whether you are a civilian or law enforcement, whether you are frightened or just feeling bloodthirsty, you can react with deadly force to any situation as long as certain laws in your state are vague enough.
God help us.
These are the worst links I can possibly provide. If you think you can top me, please don't. Fair warning, that if you try to stay away from the news to maintain your sanity, you should read no further. I'm not putting these together just to gawk and gape at the horror of it all. We are being desensitized a little more each day with every click to the next sickening news story. I picked these out to highlight specific social ills in the hope we can look at each one a little closer and get down to the root cause.
You may have seen these on social media already, but we're going to discuss them here so we can get it out of our systems and don't bring them up at dinner with the in-laws while stuck for a conversation topic.
It's important to act like everything is fine in real life. I'm not kidding. Hang on to illusion. It's getting to be all we've got, especially in a world where:
- a man advertises his desire to watch a stranger beat and rape his 11 year old daughter.
Anthony Brinkman's nauseatingly perverse desire was exposed after police found an ad he had placed online. An undercover officer, posing as an interested party, lured him to the parking lot of a Cracker Barrel (naturally) where Brinkman was arrested. Upon confessing, Brinkman said that he was 'sorry' and 'stupid'.
You didn't break a window with a baseball, Anthony. You tried to violate and traumatize your own child.
I have stopped caring what creates animals like this. Nature, nurture, video games, telenovelas, don't make no nevermind to me. You could make the argument that the internet fosters and feeds this kind of psychosis that would come up with this, but of course, if it weren't for the internet (coupled with a lack of foresight that many of these kinds of scumbags fortunately don't have) they might never have caught Brinkman. The weird thing is, we don't want law enforcement invading our private lives, but no one reading this would care if the police didn't follow protocol when arresting Brinkman and accidentally danced all over him while wearing golf shoes. Which brings me to exhibit B:
- After being stopped for a minor traffic infraction, David Eckert is physically violated and humiliated in a vain effort to find drugs that he isn't carrying in his rectum
This happened back in January, but Eckert's lawsuit was just filed this week, leading to a flurry of reporters' questions for the head of the Deming, NM police department, who, rather than address valid concerns about the ordeal, refer the press to their lawyers, who also refuse to answer any questions. Until they do, the only version of events we can go off of is Eckert's account of being repeatedly rectally violated via enema, doctor finger, and colonoscopic probe and having to defecate in front of officers so that a doctor could examine the stool. All this happened because some patrolman thought he was clenching his butt too hard to NOT be carrying contraband. The cherry on top is that Eckert is being billed for all the procedures. That's right, the hospital that went along with this and performed all these procedures because some jackass in a uniform told them to is threatening him with collection, which is one better than Milgram ever did with his experiment.
Last and most heartbreaking:
-After being in an accident, 19 year-old Renisha McBride is shot and killed while seeking aid at a nearby home.
A message was sent with the Zimmerman verdict. It's been heard by the paranoid, the entitled, and the heartless, the kind of person that responds to a cry for help by shooting a teenage woman in the face. Michigan being a stand-your-ground state, the shooter in question in this case stands a good chance of never being charged in this, unlike in the strikingly similar case in North Carolina from September. The trend is being set, though. Whether you are a civilian or law enforcement, whether you are frightened or just feeling bloodthirsty, you can react with deadly force to any situation as long as certain laws in your state are vague enough.
God help us.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Shut 'em down, shut 'em, shut 'em down
A little over two years ago I wrote one of my signature, rambling, poorly-though-out posts about the debt ceiling. We were on the brink back then. Lots of dangerous rhetoric being bandied about. People feared that we were about to cross the Rubicon, and that this country might never recover.
Actually, the mood was pretty blase. No one really took it seriously. It looked like the usual political theater from careerist, ideological dolts on both sides of the aisle.
"It's an arbitrary deadline" we said.
"They'll just push it back again" we suggested.
"No, I'm TIRED, I don't feel like going out, let's just make quesadillas and get drunk in the living room" I said to my girlfriend.
And that's what happened. The GOP even got some choice spending cuts and everyone in the Executive and Legislative branches of our government learned a valuable lesson about political brinkmanship and crying wolf.
Then some nutjobs showed up.
Republicans took the house in a huge power shift, riding on a wave of district gerrymandering and fear about the Affordable Care Act, which I vainly hope we can someday stop calling Obamacare. It just sounds stupid. What we had now in the house was largely a band of political neophytes, resolutely devout in their belief that the ACA would destroy this country. Ambitious, ruthless, and in no way willing to let facts distract them from their aspirations, these are the people that have pushed us into a government shutdown.
People like Ted Cruz (R-TX), whose grandstanding kicked off the current shutdown. His delusions of grandeur are already leading him to think about a 2016 White House run, despite the fact he has been on the national stage for about ten minutes and was born in freakin CANADA.
Also people like Ted Yoho (R-FL), a large animal veterinarian that is used to euthanizing unhealthy behemoths, and also maintains the cognitive dissonance to suggest that the US defaulting on its debt would "bring stability to the world economy" You can't make this stuff up! No matter how much you wish you had and that insane people like this aren't in positions of power.
Anyway, the GOP is trying to keep the conversation focused on the ACA, not the debt ceiling. Mainly because they have an answer to the ACA: No. They don't care that it's the law of the land, they maintain that it is massively unpopular with their constituents and will be nothing but destructive. If only we had these compassionate souls wielding this kind of clout in the run-up to the war in Iraq. I'm sure they would have followed the will of the people.
As it is now, we are in Day 9 of the government shutdown. National Parks are closed and the communities that rely on the revenue they bring in up the creek. Families of soldiers killed in action aren't getting the death benefit that they are due, par for the course as far as the way we treat our military personnel and their loved ones in this country. To top it off, we are about a week away from default. Even if we get out of this one, the precedent has been set. They have learned they can hold this country hostage as a negotiating tactic. I really don't want to be around for the next temper tantrum these people throw.
Actually, the mood was pretty blase. No one really took it seriously. It looked like the usual political theater from careerist, ideological dolts on both sides of the aisle.
"It's an arbitrary deadline" we said.
"They'll just push it back again" we suggested.
"No, I'm TIRED, I don't feel like going out, let's just make quesadillas and get drunk in the living room" I said to my girlfriend.
And that's what happened. The GOP even got some choice spending cuts and everyone in the Executive and Legislative branches of our government learned a valuable lesson about political brinkmanship and crying wolf.
Then some nutjobs showed up.
Republicans took the house in a huge power shift, riding on a wave of district gerrymandering and fear about the Affordable Care Act, which I vainly hope we can someday stop calling Obamacare. It just sounds stupid. What we had now in the house was largely a band of political neophytes, resolutely devout in their belief that the ACA would destroy this country. Ambitious, ruthless, and in no way willing to let facts distract them from their aspirations, these are the people that have pushed us into a government shutdown.
People like Ted Cruz (R-TX), whose grandstanding kicked off the current shutdown. His delusions of grandeur are already leading him to think about a 2016 White House run, despite the fact he has been on the national stage for about ten minutes and was born in freakin CANADA.
Also people like Ted Yoho (R-FL), a large animal veterinarian that is used to euthanizing unhealthy behemoths, and also maintains the cognitive dissonance to suggest that the US defaulting on its debt would "bring stability to the world economy" You can't make this stuff up! No matter how much you wish you had and that insane people like this aren't in positions of power.
Anyway, the GOP is trying to keep the conversation focused on the ACA, not the debt ceiling. Mainly because they have an answer to the ACA: No. They don't care that it's the law of the land, they maintain that it is massively unpopular with their constituents and will be nothing but destructive. If only we had these compassionate souls wielding this kind of clout in the run-up to the war in Iraq. I'm sure they would have followed the will of the people.
As it is now, we are in Day 9 of the government shutdown. National Parks are closed and the communities that rely on the revenue they bring in up the creek. Families of soldiers killed in action aren't getting the death benefit that they are due, par for the course as far as the way we treat our military personnel and their loved ones in this country. To top it off, we are about a week away from default. Even if we get out of this one, the precedent has been set. They have learned they can hold this country hostage as a negotiating tactic. I really don't want to be around for the next temper tantrum these people throw.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
A Damn Shame
One of the most jarring things for many people that come to New York City is the proximity. When you're here, everything you might need is right around the corner in almost any neighborhood. All night delis, music venues, restaurants, museums (you won't really go to them, but it's neat that they are there) and stores of all varieties are all within a reasonable distance. After all, many people here don't have a car, or have never driven one, or think that they are a dangerous invention and that the steam engine was as far as we needed to take human ingenuity. That makes for a a very cloistered atmosphere, where everything is right on top of everything else. If you aren't claustrophobic, it's convenient as hell.
Naturally, this means the people are also right on top of each other, and not just in the biblical sense. Remove the walls of the tiny living room I'm writing this in, and I might be surrounded. Ten feet to my left is an elderly couple, twelve feet below me is a professional bachelor from India. Just over my head is a pair of young lovers that like to stomp around the floor at six each morning. You get the idea. Privacy becomes important to people here because it feels so fragile, something that doesn't exist for much of the day. The trains, streets, and places of business are so loud and crowded that any moments you have to yourself become sacred. Invasions of that privacy can range from being a nuisance to being terrifying, but I had a one recently that was simply heartbreaking.
I recently moved from a large apartment building to a converted family house. The walls in the larger place were paper-thin. I could hear my next-door neighbor's kids crying, the young lady upstairs cackling and copulating, and sometimes the superintendent in the basement tied his shoes at a deafening volume. You get used to it.
One of the last nights I was in this apartment I was lying on my bed, staring at my phone, and putting off sleep for no particular reason when I hear George, the old Greek man that shared my bedroom wall, answer his phone. George was hard of hearing, so he talked on the phone pretty loudly. Also, he was Greek, so he probably would have been conversationally yelling most of the time anyway. He answered in English, but didn't go straight into Greek the way he usually did when talking on the phone. My ears pricked up involuntarily.
'"Yannis? That you? What you saying? My brother in Greece died?"
I know it seems unlikely, but he really did give both sides of the conversation like someone in a stage play.
Then the crying started.
I have never been around an old man crying. They are a pretty stoic bunch. George lived alone. His father, who must have been at least 90, had stayed with him until he passed last year. Maybe the fact that he was alone in his place made him feel safe enough to let it out. Or maybe he just really loved his brother. He sobbed into the phone, alternating between Greek and English for the next couple minutes. Then he said he needed to call his sister in Athens. He wept loudly for a few minutes before calling her.
I felt horrible. I felt I shouldn't be listening, that the man should be allowed his privacy for this tragedy. Of course, I was in my own room, in my own apartment. It felt weird to go into the living room because of someone I barely knew that wasn't even in the room with me. Other than all that though, leaving felt like the easy way out, and people who know me can tell you I don't take the easy (or smart) way out of anything.
George eventually called his sister and gave her the bad news. The sobbing started up again in earnest and it went on for what felt like hours. I wanted to do something, but what? I didn't know this man. Just because he was alone doesn't mean he needs me and my sympathy butting in. Not to mention that if I went next door with a bundt cake and said 'sorry for your loss' he would have known I was listening in.
It was one of those moments where this city thrusts someone else's tragedy into your life. It didn't affect me directly, it was really none of my business. It still kept me up all night, long after George finished crying. There's a reason why they tell you New Yorker's don't want to get involved. It's not always because they don't want to be sued.
Naturally, this means the people are also right on top of each other, and not just in the biblical sense. Remove the walls of the tiny living room I'm writing this in, and I might be surrounded. Ten feet to my left is an elderly couple, twelve feet below me is a professional bachelor from India. Just over my head is a pair of young lovers that like to stomp around the floor at six each morning. You get the idea. Privacy becomes important to people here because it feels so fragile, something that doesn't exist for much of the day. The trains, streets, and places of business are so loud and crowded that any moments you have to yourself become sacred. Invasions of that privacy can range from being a nuisance to being terrifying, but I had a one recently that was simply heartbreaking.
I recently moved from a large apartment building to a converted family house. The walls in the larger place were paper-thin. I could hear my next-door neighbor's kids crying, the young lady upstairs cackling and copulating, and sometimes the superintendent in the basement tied his shoes at a deafening volume. You get used to it.
One of the last nights I was in this apartment I was lying on my bed, staring at my phone, and putting off sleep for no particular reason when I hear George, the old Greek man that shared my bedroom wall, answer his phone. George was hard of hearing, so he talked on the phone pretty loudly. Also, he was Greek, so he probably would have been conversationally yelling most of the time anyway. He answered in English, but didn't go straight into Greek the way he usually did when talking on the phone. My ears pricked up involuntarily.
'"Yannis? That you? What you saying? My brother in Greece died?"
I know it seems unlikely, but he really did give both sides of the conversation like someone in a stage play.
Then the crying started.
I have never been around an old man crying. They are a pretty stoic bunch. George lived alone. His father, who must have been at least 90, had stayed with him until he passed last year. Maybe the fact that he was alone in his place made him feel safe enough to let it out. Or maybe he just really loved his brother. He sobbed into the phone, alternating between Greek and English for the next couple minutes. Then he said he needed to call his sister in Athens. He wept loudly for a few minutes before calling her.
I felt horrible. I felt I shouldn't be listening, that the man should be allowed his privacy for this tragedy. Of course, I was in my own room, in my own apartment. It felt weird to go into the living room because of someone I barely knew that wasn't even in the room with me. Other than all that though, leaving felt like the easy way out, and people who know me can tell you I don't take the easy (or smart) way out of anything.
George eventually called his sister and gave her the bad news. The sobbing started up again in earnest and it went on for what felt like hours. I wanted to do something, but what? I didn't know this man. Just because he was alone doesn't mean he needs me and my sympathy butting in. Not to mention that if I went next door with a bundt cake and said 'sorry for your loss' he would have known I was listening in.
It was one of those moments where this city thrusts someone else's tragedy into your life. It didn't affect me directly, it was really none of my business. It still kept me up all night, long after George finished crying. There's a reason why they tell you New Yorker's don't want to get involved. It's not always because they don't want to be sued.
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