Monday, July 23, 2012

A particularly American kind of tragedy

Scattered Skittles.  Think of Trayvon. 
Ramadan has begun.
After a great night going  with my boys to the opening of Dark Knight Rising we awake to the news of yet another shooting incident only a few miles from Columbine. My Italian friend Beppe notes that this seems to be  a particularly American kind of tragedy that occurs with shocking regularity. With few exceptions, just doesn’t seem to happen elsewhere. Political terrorist violence in Europe, yes. Ethnic cleansing and even genocide in Africa, Asia. But this of random, nihilist outburst of gun murder is part of our culture. Almost always white, frequently suburban settings.  It has happened enough to always be a possibility. Not exactly sure what to make of that.
RL comes with Clifford and Teddy to work on fixing a space for RL to rehearse and record. Make his next CD.
Ludovica comes in to report three new leaks in the gym ceiling. I’m going to ignore that for now. And the need for a wastebasket in the women’s room. That we can deal with.
The Prophet has returned. He and the Sentinel sit on opposite ends of the steps keeping silent watch. 
Returning home after seeing Ludovica’s play, I stop by the church. To finish the Sunday service. George is on the steps. A dozen half-empty coffee cups and  a take out bag from one of the neighborhood restaurants.  He’s the only one there. I feel happy to see him. 
George, good to see you. What’s up?
What you see. What’s up with you?
Done with work. Heading home.
Your hair’s different. You got a haircut.
Yeah. Summer. Short. Looks like you, too. 
Nah. Don’t grow in the summer. Just my genes. He laughs. What’s up with OWS?

Only a few left. People doing work. 
We have our usual conversation. Tonight  focusing on housing. He’s OK for now. Until those right wing assholes take over. That Orrin Hatch can’t wait to take us out. They gonna do it. You’ll see. Can’t make it without my subsidy. 
George and about 6000 others on the verge of eviction due to the Bloomberg administration’s ending of the housing subsidy program. First time in decades. And there are now 43000 people in the city’s shelter system.
That councilwoman. You know, the chair? What’s her name, Quinn? That’s it. The Mighty Quinn. Ha. Quinn the Eskimo. Ha. She wants to be mayor so bad, she the handmaid for Bloomie. Just do what he want. Just cause you a lesbian don’t make you cool, don’t mean you right....
I know what he means. The conversation could go on. I tell George it’s late. I need to head home. 
You keep an eye on things, OK?
He chuckles. Ha. And nods. I head up the street towards home. 

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