Easter

(listening to "Children's Song No. 3," by Bela Bartok)
It's ironic that death pervades the news, even on and around Easter. The Pope's candle is guttering, Terry Schiavo's life is ebbing, and the usual din of explosions and strife fills the world.
("Just as Long as I Got You," Dimitri from Paris)
The Schiavo case and the furor around it makes me physically ill. It's already an unhappy situation, but it has heightened so much other human filth, as if you shined a police spotlight underneath your refrigerator. It's disgusting, and it didn't bother you until you looked. For example:
1)The media loves this shit. This is nothing new. They'll shovel up anything that the slack-jawed masses will watch, and human anguish is everyone's favorite. It seems the American public finds it impossible to avoid ghoulish staring into other people's lives, just like they love to watch court cases that are none of their business.
2)Family affairs. The Schiavo/Schindler family dispute is ugly and unfortunate. Each side can be portrayed as victim, opportunistic, or stupid. But guess what- It's none of our fucking business. The ugly squabble is the result of human nature being squeezed by unfortunate circumstances. Ugly family business happens 24/7; the difference is that this is on television. "But what if this happens to me?" you say? "This affects me!" Get a living will, and don't starve yourself into a heart attack. And mind your own business, if you've got any.
3)This reactionary, falsely pious government we have is despicable. They come in on a Sunday and pass a bill on an issue which has a long history of falling within the purview of the states, FOR JUST ONE PERSON, but they can't balance the budget, find ways to avoid war, or protect the environment (translation: do their jobs for those of us taxpayers that are undeniably ALIVE). It's grandstanding to throw a bone to the religious establishment that got them elected. Execrable.

The simple act of turning on the television fuels my problem of being an arrogant, condescending prick. I need to just stop. A week of fighting the flu has made me crabby. I tend to do better when I stick with writing about food.
("Tom Sawyer," Rush)