Most national holidays find me struggling with a post offering my own brand of snarky wisdom to my fellow countrymen. I usually pick a dysfunctional topic du jour or bemoan people having only a scant idea what they are celebrating beyond a BOGO sale at the local appliance mart. There is often a plea to save ourselves from ourselves by showing rare common sense and unity we can use to pull ourselves together instead of sitting in a hand-basket and arguing about where we’re off to.
Of course, those pleas go unanswered so I’m growing bored with them. After all, how often can you lead a horse to water and stick his head beneath the surface to make him drink?
It seems de rigueur to make spurious connections between unrelated events these days–gays to horse sex or Benghazi to everything under the sun. I call this the Obama Effect — one event, allegedly caused by one person who is both too weak or stupid to accomplish anything and yet so omnipotent as to cause everything.
But of all the whacked out nonsensical connections I’ve ever seen, and they are legion, this one takes the cake: the lack of blowjobs caused Germanwings copilot Andreas Lubitz to crash his airplane into the side of mountain, taking 149 people with him.
May 27, 1999
In a few weeks. I’ll be 44. That makes me middle aged. By the actuarial scale, I am well past the midpoint of my life (statistically, I won’t live until 88). By the more forgiving cultural/demographic scale I’m a little closer to the beginning of middle age than the end.