Violence.
So much violence all around me these days.
Death, too.
Cancers are spreading in two of my cousins, both of whom will die soon. One is 34, the other is about 50.
My work involves trying to curb violence, but nothing works sometimes. I stopped at a pile of some newspapers a minute ago in my office, and read
this chilling story in
The Washington Post about a rape, a clue, and a funeral home.
I have other stories to tell you, ones with angry young men and bitter old ladies. But for now, I leave you with
this link to last week’s stories on “This American Life.” You know, more doom and gloom to get you through the day. I'm going to close my office door, plug in my headphones, and hunker down to work now.
From the "This American Life" episode:
Act One. Dry Eyes and Videotape.
Jason Minter lived through the worst trauma you could imagine: he was at a friend's house, a gun pressed to his head, while his mother and another woman were raped and shot to death in the next room by robbers. He was six. And even though he saw a series of therapists as he grew up, he's never been able to feel anything about what happened. He's never even cried about it. So almost 30 years after the crime, Jason decides to make a documentary, to revisit every aspect of his mother's murder, in hopes that he'll connect to what happened, and to her, in some way. (30 minutes)
Act Two. The Good Son.
A story about a mother who wants to commit suicide and a son who dutifully helps her do it—even though his mother is a happy, healthy, independent person. How did they manage to pull it off? Practice, practice, practice. (16 minutes)
~
P.S. AD: I just saw your comment. I'm not sure I've successfully gotten my pertness in order, but I very much enjoyed the phrase. Will try to right that ASAP. I suppose it would be OK to laugh at this point over my landlady blaming me for a leak in the pipes in the walls of my bathroom: "You've been careless. I NEVER leave my house before I make sure the toilet flusher is in the correct position."
FYI: The leak was invisible in my bathroom; only visible to the people who live below me. But yeah, definitely I will remain transfixed by a TOILET FLUSHER I never knew was broken and NOT LEAVE MY HOUSE until it is in THE CORRECT POSITION. And then I will push her off the roof, leave a clue, preferably a torn muumuu and a toilet part near her body...