The nor'easter is gone, and with it the weeklong dyspeptic torpor that sucked away any interest in doing much of anything. It's been enough to divide my time between work (which lately has clobbered me with paper-pushing) and my kids (who like to clobber me with their high-speed bodies). Nonstop rain is an absolute mood-killer for me, and I'm sure it's fueled my absolute disgust at NBC for airing so much of the Virginia Tech killer's media kit. I know it's newsworthy, and I suppose I could live with a few screen-grabs and some edited excerpts. But to air so much footage--stamped with the peacock logo, so all the world can know that NBC is the preferred network for murderous psychopaths--is a grab at brand promotion at the expense of social responsibility. In the end, that kid got exactly what he wanted. So NBC, you are cordially invited to lick the taint-sweat off a dead dog's balls.
I keep thinking what it must be like to be Cho's parent, knowing that your child committed the worst act of gun violence in American history. I hear they're under police protection and never staying in the same place two nights in a row. So they're wracked with guilt and living like bin Laden and watching their kid spew his mindless vitriol on every station on the dial. How can you envision getting out from under all of that?
[EDITED TO ADD: Now we know.]
As usual, it's the kids who save me. The best part of my day is being tackled with happy hugs when I walk in the door. Robert starts right in by detailing all the changes he's made in his Lego race cars, TwoBert brandishes his new appreciation for complete sentences (many of which begin with "I want..."), and it's just the most uplifting cacophony you ever heard.
The other night we took a long walk around the neighborhood and ended up at our favorite sushi place for dinner. The boys love avocado rolls, but each has his own method for eating them. Robert has become remarkably finicky in his old age, so he likes to unravel the rolls and scrape out the insides like he's eating an ear of corn. TwoBert prefers the one-gulp method, so he can smile at you and look like he belongs in a dugout somewhere. Then Robert cracks a joke like, "Daddy! Did you know that 'shoe-shi" is when they make sushi with your sneakers?"
Right on cue, the son finds a way to poke through the clouds.
