I spent most of today at work, with no internet access, and no television to turn onto CNN. The news of the shooting at Virginia Tech came to us from the radio and from what carryout customers told us. Vulnerable. Helpless. Hundreds of miles away, but it could have been next door.
Sometimes, I really truly wish I wasn’t an atheist. And it isn’t because I question my religious belief (or rather, my lack of), but because I think there’s something very comforting for people who do believe in a supreme being. I wish that when I heard of horrible shit like the shootings today at Virginia Tech that I could say to the victims and their families “you’ll be in my prayers”, but of course, I don’t pray, and while I feel for their loss as much or more than any religious person of any faith, my lack of religious belief also means that I can’t focus my energy on praying to that supreme, omnipotent being with the fervent hope that he, be He, She or It named God, or Allah, or Yaweh, or Buddah, or whoever, might just listen to my prayer and take action to comfort and revenge. And on a day like today, I wish I had the ability to take that power, omnipotently, and do something, anything, to prevent, stop, interupt, that gunman’s bloody rampage in Virginia.
After September 11th, a French newspaper famously proclaimed, “Today, We Are All Americans.”
Well, today, we’re all part of the Virginia Tech community — not because this happened at VTech, but rather, because it could happen anywhere.
A copy of this comic strip was posted on the bulletin board at the Franchise Saturday night with my name written on the side. Fitting and truthful, I wonder how much sunbeam basking pays? Probably not much.
Yes, I peed out the back door at the Indy Saturday night; no one was out back, although I felt slightly exposed. I had runs up and Robin yelling at me to hurry up and Merv was in the bathroom getting high or playing with himself and god damn I had to pee. Anyway, I’m glad there weren’t any police officers in the back lot eating doughnuts or I might’ve gotten myself arrested for indecent exposure or public urination or something.
***
You ordered a small pizza and you’re bitching about the size? How dumb are you? There’s a reason it’s called a fucking small, and if I had editorial control of the menu that’s exactly how it’d be listed: fucking small.
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Also, Saturday night? I told you I’d have your pie out to you in an hour — I know that’s a bit of a wait, but I had to run over to Falls Road with a double before coming out to you. What’s your excuse? You didn’t answer your phone and you didn’t answer your door, but as soon as I get back to the store — forty-five minutes after we closed with both Robin and I fucking exhausted and him with a thirty-minute drive home — you figure out how to call the store. “Where’s my pizza?”
Well, right now, it’s getting cold on top of the deactivated oven, but ten minutes ago, it was right outside of your apartment and, no, even though I’m going to be driving right back past your apartment on my way home, I’m not wasting any more fucking time bringing this back to you.
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Thanks for telling me you wish I have a safe night. You know what might help me have a safe light? If you’d turn on your porch light so I could see my way down your home-repair/gardening-crap littered walk. It’s night, it’s raining, and you’ve got piles of brick and mulch and various sharp tools. I mean, y’know, HELLO?!?!?!
***
Gary’s brother-in-law spent a chunk of time Saturday night hanging out at the Indy. Anyway, a few hours in, Merv — who hasn’ met him before — asks, “Hey, uh, so you’re married to Gary’s sister?”
“Yep.”
“So that makes you, what, his brother-in-law or something?”
Oh, it gets better, because after Bro-in-Law responded, “Nope, it makes me his mother”, I’m pretty sure it took Merv a few minutes to figure out he wasn’t being serious.
