Kya has renamed our hamster. The former “Katie Hamster” is now officially “Katie Pamela Elephant.”
After recovering from my emotional, slightly drunky Friday evening, I…
- Watched my little sister graduate from high school. In order to do this, I had to venture back to my hometown and my old stomping grounds. Not much has changed, really. After a few of the graduates’ names were called, there were catcalls of “git ‘er dun!” in lieu of applause. There were lots of flip-flops and cowboy boots. There was a heavily pregnant graduate, apparently due the day before.
- Made Scotty a nice birthday dinner of salmon, rice, asparagus, and happy face cookies.
- Fell asleep watching A Scanner Darkly.
- Cleaned the girls’ room whilst watching A Mighty Wind.
- Watched Run Lola Run.
- Cooked lots of tasty things on the grill for my parents, who came over yesterday.
- Watched a few episodes of Clarissa Explains It All, a TV show that shaped my youth.
So it’s late Friday night/Saturday morning. I’ve been drinking Seagram’s & diet pepsi, our usual, and unwinding… the typical Friday night for us. Only tonight, instead of laying around on the couch listening to the Stone Roses and House of Love, we actually watched one of the ten million movies we have on our list of “to watch.”
Tonight’s feature was Emilio Estevez’s Bobby, which I’ve been desperately wanting to watch pretty much since I heard of its existence. The death of Bobby Kennedy is, in my mind, one of the most absolute tragic and gut-wrenchingly awful milestones in the history of the United States. Yes, the assassination of JFK was horrible – but Bobby held so much promise, Bobby was Jesus for the minorities and for pretty much every member of the human race. Bobby believed in equality and humanity and the integrity of “my fellow Americans”- a rare thing, given the times, and a trait pretty much extinct in this day and age. Had Bobby not been killed by Sirhan Sirhan, had Bobby actually been elected President, he could actually have made a difference – this I believe without a doubt. Scott tends to think that had Sirhan Sirhan not killed him on June 6, someone else would have gotten him the next day, or the day after that. But I think that, in the most ideal outcome, Bobby would have won. Bobby would have followed through on his promises. Bobby would have made a difference.
And losing that chance? Losing that hope? That is the biggest tragedy. On June 6th, 1968, everything changed, and not for the better. And to get back even a fraction of the attitude of that time, to get back even a tiny bit of the dissent is a victory.
The longer I live and the harder I look I see more and more sickening amounts of apathy. The majority of the public simply does not care about politics. They’re too busy with their American Idol and their summer clearance at Hollister. They would rather be entertained by the latest news on Nicole Ritchie or Britney Spears’ wig antics. It is frustrating and heartbreaking and I want to shake them all and scream, “WAKE UP!!! DON’T YOU REALIZE THAT IT DOESN’T MATTER??? DON’T YOU REALIZE THAT YOUR CIVIL LIBERTIES ARE BEING STRIPPED AWAY AND THE GOVERNMENT IS KILLING THE ROOTS OF ANY CHANCE WE HAVE LEFT???”
Ugh. I’m exhausted. I’m exhausted from crying over Bobby and being angry about the state of our society and just flat-out pissed off at the ignorance of my fellow fucking Americans.
What I wouldn’t give to have a time machine and travel back to 1968 and beat Sirhan Sirhan into a bloody pulp.
Then at least the dream that Robert Francis Kennedy had for America could have lived on for another day.
Okay, so the panic has died down. The house-hunting proved to be a bust, so we’re pretty certain we’ll be settling into a nice, 2-bedroom townhouse. Very nice, actually. And there will be no yard-mowing anymore, which will also be nice. Nice, nice, nice.
My brain is a little fried from all the stress, so give me a day to recover and I’ll be back to blog-normal tomorrow.
My brother Mark and I had this conversation last night in my kitchen:
Mark: (looking into the sink) Is that a Bratz spoon I see?
Me: Yes, but that’s the only Bratz merchandise you will find in my house. I hate Bratz dolls. Ugh.
Mark: Yeah, me too…
Me: They’re like slut babies. It’s awful. I don’t know why anyone would want to market such a thing to a child.
Mark: Oh. Well, I just hate them because the name reminds me of bratwurst.
Last night, we watched Who Killed the Electric Car?, and I became filled with guilt and sadness. Guilt because I can’t live without my gasoline-powered vehicle, and sadness because our society’s reliance on oil is benefitting the biggest, baddest companies while sucking the people dry. Zero-emissions electric cars could eventually change everything, but it’s obvious that there are powerful forces who don’t want that to happen.
Also, Jerry Falwell is dead. I get no points on my celebrity dead pool from him (come on, Billy Graham and Oral Roberts!), and I also get no guilt from saying good riddance. He was a mean, bigoted, ridiculous blowhard who doesn’t deserve the time taken up by these keystrokes.