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Which someone with common sense might take to mean that I should keep my trap shut on the matter. Thank goodness I've never been troubled by a pesky little thing like common sense. So, I'm not going to be eloquent, or moving. I'm just going to say what this day means to me.
No one I know died on September 11, 2001.
Nor were any of them actually in danger on that day.
My terrifying moments on that day (when I heard the word Pennsylvania uttered on the radio) were easily remedied by the reassuring voice of Karl Kassell telling me one of the planes crashed in Pittsburgh. Oh. Pittsburgh. Thank you, dear sweet goodness and light-- it's only Pittsburgh. It's not that I have anything against Pittsburgh, mind you. It's just that, well, I don't know anyone who lives there, so I guess they're shit outta luck.
I mean, really, honestly? Terrorist acts on American soil mean about as much to me as the ones on other peoples' soils. It's terrible that all those people died/are dying. It's terrible whenever people die/are dying. But it's not something that really hits me, emotionally.
Don't get me wrong, I feel bad about the people who died that day, and the people who lost their loved ones that day, but it's with the same detached "Oh, that sucks" that accompanies every announcement that x Iraqis were killed in a car bomb.
I suppose I'm self-centered to think that so long as the people I care about are ok, mass killings don't concern me.
But that's not what I'm saying, really, because killings do concern me. They make me angry and sad and a bazillion other things, but it's all abstract. My enemies aren't terrorists, they're diseases and the various ailments of old age. You wanna fight the War on Cancer? I am so there. But people? People make things difficult.
I'm not the biggest fan of the human race. I think that, as a whole, we're idiots. Humanity is a race of morons, and our greatest enemy is ourselves. And at the end of the day, we sorta deserve each other.
No one I know died on September 11, 2001.
Nor were any of them actually in danger on that day.
My terrifying moments on that day (when I heard the word Pennsylvania uttered on the radio) were easily remedied by the reassuring voice of Karl Kassell telling me one of the planes crashed in Pittsburgh. Oh. Pittsburgh. Thank you, dear sweet goodness and light-- it's only Pittsburgh. It's not that I have anything against Pittsburgh, mind you. It's just that, well, I don't know anyone who lives there, so I guess they're shit outta luck.
I mean, really, honestly? Terrorist acts on American soil mean about as much to me as the ones on other peoples' soils. It's terrible that all those people died/are dying. It's terrible whenever people die/are dying. But it's not something that really hits me, emotionally.
Don't get me wrong, I feel bad about the people who died that day, and the people who lost their loved ones that day, but it's with the same detached "Oh, that sucks" that accompanies every announcement that x Iraqis were killed in a car bomb.
I suppose I'm self-centered to think that so long as the people I care about are ok, mass killings don't concern me.
But that's not what I'm saying, really, because killings do concern me. They make me angry and sad and a bazillion other things, but it's all abstract. My enemies aren't terrorists, they're diseases and the various ailments of old age. You wanna fight the War on Cancer? I am so there. But people? People make things difficult.
I'm not the biggest fan of the human race. I think that, as a whole, we're idiots. Humanity is a race of morons, and our greatest enemy is ourselves. And at the end of the day, we sorta deserve each other.
