Originally Posted Saturday, April 20, 2013
The idea of the coming weekend seems so rich all week long, then when it arrives, it seems almost a burden. It seems a mandate, a job with so many things to do. This, then that, and when that is done. . . but don't forget. . . . And so I sit, paralyzed by the weight of it, until it has gone by. Lacking the internal resources to deal with either work or weekend, what is left but "endless hours of watching t.v. and relentless masturbation" (Hunter S. Thompson, "A Generation of Swine").
O.K. It is not that bad, but all the healthy things I thought to do I will shove out the window. I think I'll go for a big, greasy breakfast instead. And later, rather than going to shop for new clothing (pants with stretch waistbands and shirts not needing to be tucked), I'll lie about indolently and read and drink wine. That sounds more like a weekend. Much, much better. If I would only plan that, maybe I'd do the other.
On another topic, I had just gotten back from the studio last night and was preparing dinner when I turned on the news. The Boston Bomber was trapped in a boat in someone's backyard. I watched CNN roll the same terrible, shaky footage of a helicopter shining a light on something that looked vaguely like a boat while Anderson Cooper, et. al., tried to keep viewers abreast. I watched, however, because I was astonished how quickly they had found the bomber brothers. I called my mother to see if she was watching.
"I told you this would be the work of people with faith," I told her.
Why do I always need to be right? My mother wasn't biting. "Yea, it is awful."
I continued watching until they had captured the boy and Piers Morgan came on. Even for something like this, I couldn't stand to watch him.
But the thing that shocked me most was the reaction of the people who lived in the locked down areas around the scene. When interviewed, they all talked about how terrified they had been knowing there was a terrorist about. "Really?" I kept saying to myself. Millions of people were living inside their homes in a state of terror? I kept seeing young men who repeated the lines over and over like they were republican talking points that had been emailed to all the residents. I have always thought of Boston and the surrounding area as tough and working class. In the neighborhood where I grew up, all the boys would have been out looking for the sonofabitches, not sitting in their houses being scared. This, I think, is the national tragedy.
I'm not a brave man, but growing up we were instilled with certain principles. I have a different sense of self and an old-fashioned sense of manhood, I guess. Men crying on t.v. and confessing some overwhelming fear. . . I don't get it. These kids are physically bigger, faster, and stronger than anyone who came before them, but psychologically, they are something else.
But wait a minute? Who wrote the intro to this post? Some psychological cripple who whines about his inability to enjoy a weekend? Oops. I guess I'd better think this one through for a bit.
I think I'll go for a run after all.
O.K. It is not that bad, but all the healthy things I thought to do I will shove out the window. I think I'll go for a big, greasy breakfast instead. And later, rather than going to shop for new clothing (pants with stretch waistbands and shirts not needing to be tucked), I'll lie about indolently and read and drink wine. That sounds more like a weekend. Much, much better. If I would only plan that, maybe I'd do the other.
On another topic, I had just gotten back from the studio last night and was preparing dinner when I turned on the news. The Boston Bomber was trapped in a boat in someone's backyard. I watched CNN roll the same terrible, shaky footage of a helicopter shining a light on something that looked vaguely like a boat while Anderson Cooper, et. al., tried to keep viewers abreast. I watched, however, because I was astonished how quickly they had found the bomber brothers. I called my mother to see if she was watching.
"I told you this would be the work of people with faith," I told her.
Why do I always need to be right? My mother wasn't biting. "Yea, it is awful."
I continued watching until they had captured the boy and Piers Morgan came on. Even for something like this, I couldn't stand to watch him.
But the thing that shocked me most was the reaction of the people who lived in the locked down areas around the scene. When interviewed, they all talked about how terrified they had been knowing there was a terrorist about. "Really?" I kept saying to myself. Millions of people were living inside their homes in a state of terror? I kept seeing young men who repeated the lines over and over like they were republican talking points that had been emailed to all the residents. I have always thought of Boston and the surrounding area as tough and working class. In the neighborhood where I grew up, all the boys would have been out looking for the sonofabitches, not sitting in their houses being scared. This, I think, is the national tragedy.
I'm not a brave man, but growing up we were instilled with certain principles. I have a different sense of self and an old-fashioned sense of manhood, I guess. Men crying on t.v. and confessing some overwhelming fear. . . I don't get it. These kids are physically bigger, faster, and stronger than anyone who came before them, but psychologically, they are something else.
But wait a minute? Who wrote the intro to this post? Some psychological cripple who whines about his inability to enjoy a weekend? Oops. I guess I'd better think this one through for a bit.
I think I'll go for a run after all.
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