The World is Messy
Bill Moyer’s Journal has breathed it’s last. This makes me feel so sad, as I will miss his voice of reason greatly. Wah. While I realize he’s near on 76, and is more than deserving to spend his golden years in less structured pursuits, his departure made me focus on the fact that there is no one standing in the wings to take up his torch. He leaves behind no Bill Moyers in training, so to speak. This gaping lack makes me feel that yet another great blow has been dealt to journalism with integrity. Sighs deeply.
Vanessa Redgrave has died. I’m not sure why this bugs me, but it does. I have some vague childhood memories of something my parents liked to watch going on in my head, to which I have some pleasant association. Or maybe, I have some kind of neurological short circuit and my brain is remembering a non-memory. Not sure.
My daughter and son have been all abuzz about the guy who tried to blow up his Pathfinder in Timesquare (a place my kids have been to a few times in the past year!). My son came home with tales of a classmate who claims to have been in the vicinity when the event took place (his reaction was pretty much bullshit), and to bring up the fact that images of the decimated Alfred P. Murrah buidling were shown in an attempt to convey the damage that type of bomb might have inflicted on Times Square had it worked properly, instead of being a bomb flop. Watching the news this morning, my daughter talked about how scary it felt to her, even though they believe they have caught the man involved. I hate that they have to experience this even from a distance.
I’m reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, and while I’m learning all kinds of Spanish cuss words, I find myself so
upsetinfuriated at the portrayal of the total abuse of power in the Trujillo dictatorship (which seems to be a theme of lots of things I’ve been reading lately – The Cellist of Sarajevo; The Book Thief; The Cathedral of the Sea; Girl, Interrupted). I find myself reading sections of the book and wanting to throw it across the room in frustration at the total depravity and utter capriciousness of the violence experienced by the characters in the story. I’d honestly never thought much about the Dominican Republic before reading this (except to think of it as Haiti’s impoverished neighbor), and I find myself learning all kinds of things about their experiences as both natives and immigrants. Ugh..the way human beings will treat one another in the name of power infuriates me (not that I’ll stop reading on that account, of course….)
Maybe I identify too strongly with people who are battered by the whims of the world, I dunno. I do know that it’s majorly pushing my buttons. Maybe it’s just the awareness of how close any of us could be to living in those kinds of circumstances – it was the same with the other books. People just trying to live day to day, having to bear the brunt of someone’s callous agenda. How evil really is good people standing by and doing nothing, and me wondering, if push came to shove, if I’d do something or nothing…
Anyway..that’s what I got for now.