1 Day Becomes 3 Days
I very much intended to zip out of here Friday after classes, spend the day with Sarah in Venice, say “hi” to my family (if they were back from vacation), and then drive back that night. I ended up driving back sometime after 5pm Sunday night. These things happen. Sometimes you’re involved in a furious game of Pictionary with three younger siblings that turns out to be surprisingly fun… especially when the 7 year-old wins. I still can’t believe he got “twins,” and “cherry tree.” He also put up a surprisingly good effort for “spokes,” which he admittedly did not know. He proceeded to blend a series of words together an a mad etymological rush as his 50 seconds counted down. “SPINACLES!” he yelled. So close.
Let’s see if I can blow through the weekend’s news.
Michael D. Brown was replaced as head of Katrina cleanup for FEMA. Good, but still only a slap on the wrist. Well, at least they have someone in there now who knows more about commanding than, you know, dressage. The elevation of Brown to the position may prove to be the Bush administration’s biggest fault in the matter. Either they didn’t check up on him well enough, or they didn’t care about his inflated resume. Either way, I’m expecting a mea culpa from someone.
Kanye West performed via satellite for a crowd at a Patriot’s game in Boston, and was booed for the duration. “Bean-Towners don’t care about black people,” eh? Or maybe even a crowd in a city with as high of a Bush-hatred quotient as Boston knows that “Kanye West the race-baiting idiot” is more believable than “George W. Bush the black-hating President” any day of the week.
Today is the 4 year anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. I could draw a chalk outline of where my walking feet were planted when I heard a girl say to her friend that the World Trade Center was “gone.” I’m still not sure whether it is the loss of innocent life, the incomprehension of the hatred of the perpetrators, or my admiration for the soul-baring bravery of those people who died going up the stairs, or up the isle of the plane that chokes me up whenever I think of this day.
A memorial has been proposed for flight 93 which crashed into the ground in Pennsylvania after the passengers of the hijacked plane valiantly assaulted their captors and denied them a chance to turn the plane into a Washington D.C.-bound missile. I don’t know how to say this without being indelicate. It’s a fucking red crescent. Yeah. Just like that crescent. I’ve always wondered how to say “fuck you” in Arabic.
