Goddamnit, ninety-nine percent of the time I'm so glad I live on an island off the coast of America. An island that the so-called god fearing people who voted themselves into middle class poverty are terrified to visit. An island of intellectual powerhouses and comic geniuses, surrounded by a moat filled with mafia hit corpses waiting to float up in the spring time; an island of beauty and culture guarded by a front line of rats and criminals. It's a perfect set up, really, especially as you age and get disenchanted with what America seems to be turning into. Sure Osama Bin Laden kicked America's ass, but he didn't kick New York's ass -- just got a cheap shot in while we were still waking up at work and getting a first cup of coffee, and you'd have to think Osama would be a hell of a lot safer on the streets of Crawford, Texas or on the Whitehouse lawn than he would be showing his face in this city.
Right, so...THAT'S why I live in New York.
On the other hand, there are mornings when you wake up and read that a court can't decide what to do with that man who stormed into an East Village bar armed with a samurai sword and three guns and proceeded to tie women and men's hands behind their backs with zip ties -- after wrangling them all into the back room -- soak them from head to toe in kerosene, and tell them all how they're going to burn alive because they're "happy people."
I've got to think that if the judge or defense attorney's mom, sister, daughter or girlfriend were tied up, shoved onto a dank floor in a tiny room, soaked with fuel, and kept hostage under the stress of thinking she'd be ignited to burn alive at any moment -- they'd know what to do to the fucking guy who did it. I've got to think if it was in their household they wouldn't be like, "Honey, wait...calm down. Did he intend to burn you alive, that's really the question. You know what I mean? I mean, you're a bit out of sorts now, sure. You're still soaked in a highly combustible fuel and all, so...you're not really thinking straight and you're liable to say what the man did was wrong. But we need to be level headed; can't just say he's guilty as charged, can we. What if we're really tossing away a gem here, you know? What if this man was to go out and spearhead, say, the search for a cure for cancer at Johns Hopkins after this little misstep? Then you'd feel like a fool, wouldn't you, for just having treated him like a homicidal psycho head-case who's dangerous to society. You know what I mean?"
Their loved one would be, like, "Are you out of your fucking tree? This guy was ready to burn me alive. He had my hands tied behind my back. He had a sword and three guns on me. Are you on glue? I spent hours doused in kerosene with that guy standing over me with a lighter telling me that any second I was going to go up in flames, and all I was thinking while I was shivering and getting ready for the feeling of my skin being burned off my skeleton while I was conscious what that I never got a chance to say goodbye to my family. And when the chef from the place next door came into to see what the hell was going on, dude SHOT HIM with a semi-automatic."
And, what? You think they'd say, "Oh, listen to you, that's too bad. I know you don't mean what you're saying, honey. Honestly, get some dry clothes on and maybe draw a nice warm bath and put on a Sting CD or something, sweetie. You've had a really long day and you're not being fair to the man."
God, the defense should be ashamed. Somebody should have the nuts to take care of this waste of space.
BTW, 51 days till we all open our checkbooks and pay city, state, and federal taxes so we can keep shit like this on court dockets. If you pay on a W-2, then you've made the interest-free loan to this guy already and you'll get a little bit of it back soon in what they call a "refund".
Okay, humor (ahem) to make a gallant return soon. I guess now that I'm 39 I've probably officially turned into my father, and you've all just had the chance to meet Russ Kennedy. I don't know...guess I've lived long enough to see that the man was onto something a lot of the time.
Anyway, I humbly offer you this lighthearted list to enjoy as you exit my angry tiresome blog entry about the system not working.
Careful at the bar this weekend. Wear something flame retardant just in case -- there are a lot of confused people who don't really intened to burn you alive, but might put you through the scare of it all the same. So, you know, have a heart and be prepared for them so we can accomodate them. Don't be a jerk to them. They're special.
DSK
