My Memorial Day

I spent today avoiding everyone I know, ruminating over the meaning of a father who joined the Marines during Vietnam - just to get away from responsibility, my mother, and possibly other things I've never been told of. Since my life is far from perfect, it makes me wonder in which ways I've incorporated this I'd-rather-die-than-stay example into my life.

I remember when my mom picked me up from day care or summer school, whichever it was, and telling he he died. He didn't die in war - he died in a hospital due to some combination of bad luck and bad genes. She was crying & I don't know what I did. I probably cried out of empathy & fear.

I can't say that I've ever met my dad. I have one vague memory of seeing him in a hospital bed, tubes sticking out everywhere. I don't remember any interaction. It feels like either a pre-verbal memory or a dream. My mom has some pictures of him holding me, but that's pretty much that.

What that war and all wars before and since have symbolized for me is an utter and complete breakdown of both sense and bravery. The wars themselves make no sense unless the meaning of "sense" is "money". And it would have been much braver to withstand peer pressure and the powers that be and refuse to have gone.

All of these war movies are written in such a way that every main character gets a chance to be noble about something. To be noble about doing stupid things, contributing to essentially meaningless causes. There was no honor, except for the people that came back or never went. The mothers & grandparents and extended families that take care of the business of life while soldiers go pretend to protect their country on the other side of the world, creating solid profits for military industry and all their parasite organizations, and solidifying a misplaced sense of patriotism.

I want my dad back, and I don't want this day to make me wonder how I'm like him.

Disjointed, blathering thoughts about this weekend, and unconnected things

That my mother and I are very similar. Frighteningly so. I also have a good dose of my Grandmother in me, and my two uncles are like the two sides of a father I never had.  I totally learned their mannerisms without meaning or wanting to, all these years. I makes we wonder if the realization of this is the end of this phase of my life, the death of childhood? That's the feeling I have growing within me: that there will be several challenges ahead, and they're all doable. There will be a modicum of suffering, but the end result will be a deeper and more fulfilling sense of beauty and contentment.

Jesus Christ, leave New York alone already

I realize you're terrorists & everything, and maybe you're pissed at the residents of Soho, or all the mass media excreted there, at Broadway, at the gays, the hispanics, and mobs of college-age hipsterati, and possibly even a little miffed about the occasional homeless wreck flailing his penis and defecating at you on the subway.

But unlike you, we deal with it, though, with varying degrees of success, it's true. Drugs are a good one, especially mixed with booze. Overprice, high-calorie foodlike ingesteds suffice, escecially when it's some combination of cheese, meat, and leavened bread, and spicy goo. And bacon lollipops. And buzzing popping candy pouches. I suppose we could also exercise until we reach a temporary cartharsis that is shallow and pointless.

But the point is, man, we get a hobby, we hang out with others, we get laid, and occasionally start fistfights. There's really more crying and catharsis than there is pain. What's wrong with you terrorists, eh? Don''t quite have the faith in your beliefs you should? Well, we Americans were born into that state. As a baby, you look around and say: "this party sucks", and try to get away. Of if only we COULD! Sweet release.

You see, Americans are always looking for a reason to have a party. We don't want to talk about politics, much less think about them. The Horror! But we will have people over for drinks while we BBQ and bitch about the world. Notice I don't say: we sit around, serious looks on our faces, plotting a series of attacks against blah blah blah. That could be fun, you know. It doesn't have to be all DIE DIE INFIDEL all the fucking time. For fuck sake, get some originality. You got a problem with someone? Love them TO DEATH. Help them so much that your assistance isn't even required, they get what they want, and go the fuck away.

But even if none of that rambling gets through to you, remember this at least: IF YOU HAVE TO TERRORIZE SOMETHING, SPREAD IT AROUND, YA JACKASSES.