Sunday, April 21, 2013
The news has been crazy lately. Two bombs exploded at the Boston Marathon, taking three lives and blasting the legs off of several innocent bystanders. The suspects were quickly identified, and an aggressive but well-executed manhunt ensued. The city was almost completely shut down as people sheltered in their homes. The response of law enforcement was massive and it didn't take long for them to find the two suspects. One was killed in a shoot-out and the other was apprehended, alive but with serious wounds. ____________________________________________________ There's so much sadness woven throughout this story. We've been seeing photos of those killed in the explosion, as well as the campus police officer that was killed later that night. We've seen photos of the other victims in their hospital beds surrounded by family and friends and (really?) Bradley Cooper (as if we all needed one more reason to adore him, which I do). We've also been hearing the stories about the heroes, and the helpers, and the sheer awesomeness of the cop who brought milk to a family who couldn't leave their home. All these stories are quite amazing and you can almost hear the frantic phone conversations of studio heads scrambling to secure the movie rights. _______________________________ But I'm also struck by the sadness of the story of the nineteen-year-old bomber who survived. Don't get me wrong. Hear me out. When the first photos and the security video were released showing the two brothers walking through the crowd, I felt immediately that the younger man, the one following a few paces behind, the one with the satisfied smile, wasn't like the older one leading the way. Even in those grainy pictures it seemed to me that this was the smile of a young guy who was just happy to be included in the plans of the older guy. I really felt that whatever the older guy's motives were for carrying out this horrific act, the younger guy didn't share them. Not entirely, anyway. __________________________ Once they were identified and the people who knew them began to share their stories, the picture started to become more complete (For me, anyway. All this is just my own idea about the thing). We heard that the younger brother was just a regular kid. His father described him as an angel. His former teacher said that he idolized his older brother and followed him around like a puppy. We've seen photos of a very attractive but serious young man with cold eyes. I wonder about that a little. I'll bet there are plenty of photos of him laughing with his buddies. We won't see those because it's important not to humanize him. He must continue to be portrayed as a monster. The media is doing its job. ___________________________________________ So here's a kid who looked up to his big brother. It's too bad that no one helped him to stand on his own. Big brother got involved with some jihadist group, for whatever reason, and the little brother was easily sucked in. Big brother didn't give a shit about the people that were killed and maimed, but he also didn't give a shit about his younger brother. Did he care at all what might happen to him? Oh well.______________________________________ So hey there, little brother. You went along because your big brother was everything in your eyes. You killed and maimed, and stabbed an entire country in the heart because you never learned to listen to your own. Your brother fucked you and now he's dead and you're laying in a hospital bed alone. The doctors will heal your wounds and you will get to live, alone, until you are placed in a cold room, alone, with a needle in your arm, where you will die, alone, with others watching.
Thursday, April 04, 2013
Boy, I have certainly gotten out of the habit. I really should (said it before, I know) get back into it. This blog has saved my sanity in the past, and now I'm in another crappy life phase. Blog, bitch, blog! ******************* So, once again I'm unemployed. This time around I don't have health insurance. Great. So, I need to cultivate those healthy habits. I'm walking more. Today I took my bike in to get fixed. On Fridays I walk with Jeff. Last Friday I went to our meeting place and waited for him in my car. I saw an attractive young woman jog up. She had probably the most perfect body I've ever seen. She was curvy, but trim. Her arms were toned and she was very well-proportioned. I said to myself, "Well, good for you honey. Congratulations. You've won the genetic lottery but you're also doing a great job of keeping yourself in shape. Good for you." When she jogged by I watched her in the rearview mirror. She got into her car, which was parked right behind me. I hadn't noticed it before. A brand new, white Mercedes. Then I was all, "Oh fuck you. Fuck you and your perfect body and your white Mercedes." *********************** I just couldn't support that. *************************** On Saturday I'm going to Flappers in Burbank to sit in on a Comedy Traffic School class. I'll be in training. We'll see how it goes. I do think it'll be a good fit, and I'll bet it'll be a good way to develop my audience skills. I really admire comics who can interact with an audience and do it well. And hey, teaching Comedy Traffic School will be something I can do on the side and make a little money. *********************** Last Sunday I went to open mike at Flappers Claremont. A comedian's open mike is an interesting thing. It's not at all like a musician's open mike. It's mostly comics who are trying out new material, which means almost everyone bombs. Even comics who are otherwise pretty good. But it's ok. It's really a pretty forgiving and supportive environment. Still, you'd better not go in there expecting a lot of laughs. It's not an ego feed. ************************* That's about it for now.