Thankful for Things and Stuff

Three British people wished me a Happy Thanksgiving today. That was surprising due to the totally American nature of the holiday. Also, I don't know if I know of any British holidays. Does Guy Fawkes Day count? I liked V for Vendetta so I try, like Natalie Portman before me, to remember the 5th of November. Does that count? I am still not clear on what Boxing Day is (and according to Wikipedia, I am not the only person), but that's not even a purely British holiday, though it could be argued that the places who celebrate it were, at some point, controlled by the British.

One of my British friends invited me up to her place for Thanksgiving with some of her other American friends, fearing that I might go into some downward depression spiral having to be apart from my family at this time of year.

You can read this in two ways: 1) The British are really courteous to their American friends; 2) America has perpetrated every corner of the Globe in such a way that our holidays have infected those who don't celebrate. I prefer the first, because I like to think my friends are good people and not just wooed by American TV and movies (cinema? That never seems to take).

Regardless, let's talk about what I am thankful for. This year, I've made a playlist of sorts for you to listen to while reading this. So enjoy the tunes.

1) "Hell or High Water" William Elliot Whitmore

I've been extremely fortunate in my life to know some truly incredible people. In the course of the past year, a lot of my friends from my past have sort of resurfaced: be it Claire becoming a regular at Trivia Night (and making me a bitchin' blanket for my birthday), to Vicky (who reads this, and told me I am allowed to call her Vicky) taking time out of a busy trip to say hello, to Mo (whose blog is worth a read) sending me the best and most random email ever.

In part, I am thankful for the much maligned Facebook (and to a lesser extent Google+) for helping me maintain these friendships and several others. I know it's really trendy these days to talk about how lame Facebook is, but I don't know what I would do with out it. Certainly, my news feed is inundated with annoyances, but with some careful blocking and screening, I can filter out what I don't want to see, and just keep up with the comings and goings of my friends. And beat them at Words with Friends. Occasionally Scrabble. Maybe plant a cute little farm together...

Over here in the UK, I don't know that I could have purposefully found a better group of friends than the ones I chanced to meet at the Aberystwyth Postgraduate Conference. Besides teaching me the finer things about British life, like what the hell is going on in a football (read: soccer) match and how I can use postage stamps to buy food, their company is probably the best way I have found since being here to pass the time. As William Elliot Whitmore says in the song, "Oh, how it pleases me / to be in such company, / and I'm so glad our paths have crossed."

2. "Particle Man" They Might Be Giants (live)

Let's face the facts here: I am a nerd. A geek. A spaz. What have you. While most people were growing up and learning how to talk to girls, I was watching cartoons, reading comics, and playing with G.I. Joes (deep into my twenties). Somehow, I managed to turn that into a job.

Granted, I am not wealthy man: don't own a house, a car, or a bed much bigger than myself (actually, I don't even own the plastic mattress I sleep on every night; it's the University's), and I sold the plastic card table that was my first Big-Boy table. Most of my life fits in two closets, and a bit of my Mom's basement. It's not the most glamorous life, and had it not been for the help of my Mom, I think I would have sunk a long time ago.

But, at the end of the day, I am doing something that I truly love. I actually like teaching. A lot. I like reading books and talking about them with people (even if they are fish-eyed first years who stare back at me trying to remember where they slept the night previous). I like that I my life deals with literature (and especially comic books), and further than that, I am becoming a name in the small scene of people who read comic books professionally. Sure, the circle that I run in might have heated debates over who could win in a fight: Hulk or Thing, but they are my people, and it's an argument I like having.

I am also thankful that I get to read and write about comics in a really special place. A lot of people come down hard on Aberystwyth for it's lack of social variety, and true if you don't like hanging out in pubs, watching movies or playing snooker, there is not a whole lot that the night time can offer you. That said, the day time is quite, as Jamie would say, lovely. There are plenty of places to walk and sit, plenty of nice places to barbecue and chill out. I've lived in Chicago and for a brief time took place in it's nightlife with all it's dress codes and fancy shoes (sort of). What I've found is that a quiet pub with decent music and good friends, maybe a pool table, is really all I need. An Aberystwyth provides exactly the perfect place for me to become a professional nerd.

3) "We're a Happy Family" The Ramones

As I said above, none of this would be possible without my Mom. There really isn't a way that I can ever repay her, but I know she has a list of things I can do to get started.

There's not a whole lot I wish I could box up and bring with me as I globe trot around the world, but my family is one of them. Everyone of them, from my Aunts and Uncles to my nieces and nephews and everyone in between.

One thing that I have to look forward to, though, is my family's potential visit. Well....some of them. Kiernan doesn't love me enough, and I am saying it here so everyone knows. He's going to be replaced by Jason in the list of my brothers when people ask how many I have. Supposedly, my sister Brianne, her husband Jason, and my Mom are coming for a visit in April. At this point, my Mom does not have a passport, though, so until that happens, I will continue to think that this is just a potentiality.

If they do come, I will be really excited to really blend two of my favorite parts of my life: my friends here and my family. Plus, my Mom is addicted to quiz nights, so this will be a nice chance for her to see where it all started.

4) "Home" Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes

Probably the best surprise of the last five months would have to be Catherine. At a particularly dark point in my life, she showed me that I could smile again. For that, I am eternally thankful. There's not a whole lot I could write here that would really do justice to what she means to me, so I will leave it at this: I don't know that I could be any happier.

So, there you have it: 2011 list of things for which I am thankful. There has been a surprising backlash against Christmas this year, as the rampant materialism of Jesus' birthday has started to absorb the much simpler Thanksgiving. I was really happy to see this. Christmas, the whole point of it - regardless of how it has been adapted from pagan holiday rituals, barely is connected to what probably happened when Jesus was born, and which has now come to stand for all the problems with American consumerism - is to celebrate all the good things in your life. You buy presents for those you love the most.

Thanksgiving serves the same purpose, but a more stripped down, honest version. You find some people that you really like, you get some good food, and spend time with those that mean the most to you. There are seldom times in my life I wish I could live in two places at once, but this is one of them.

Thanks for reading.

There is Always a Better Way

My Aunt, who has gone through some pretty awful things in her life both professionally and personally, has a saying: "There is always a better way." When discussing how things were going at the school district she teaches at, she was bemoaning the way the administration was handling her. In the end, it wasn't what they wanted, it was how they went about getting it that bothered her the most. Because, in most situations in life, there is always a better way to achieve your goals.

Unless you are spending your life in both a media and Internet blackout, you are probably familiar with the stories of police clearing Occupy movements around the country. Heart-rendering images of women being dragged around by their hair, lines of seated kids and older women getting casually (almost aloofly) pepper-sprayed, a man's face broken by a gas canister, seeming over-reactions on behalf of the police to what seems like a mostly peaceful protest. And, like most people, my gut reaction is to find a brick and start tossing it at the oppressors.

But, I am nothing if not a cynical person. Let's not be mistaken by what follows: I am in no way standing up for what the police are doing with pepper-spray, rubber bullets, batons and shields. They are paid to be our protectors and there is an inherent contradiction in thinking that pepper-spraying a line of kids like you would fumigate a couch found on the street is doing anything other than hurting them, regardless of what the end result is. I find there to be a lot of trouble defining passive and active resistance in such a way that any sort of resistance is active (for example, curling into a ball to protect yourself from getting hit with a baton can be seen as active resistance which will give the cop reason for more baton hits or escalated submission tactics). What happened at UC-Davis was inexcusable, and I am glad to see that the cops involved have been suspended.

That said, it must be nerve wracking to be a police officer involved in this. Consider this raw footage taken from the protests at UC-Berkley. Between the flashes, the shouting, the constantly shifting mass of people, and all the noise, it would be impossible to think that violence was not just a moment away. It takes just seconds for something seething like these protests to turn from unrest to violence. I couldn't imagine the Zen level of calm it would take to not start swinging a baton at everything that moves.

Of course, the police are expected to be just that: calm, level-headed enforcers. There has to be a better way to deal with crowds that seem to be at a level where things could go from calm to violent. And really, striking unarmed people that flinched in a way you weren't expecting could be exactly the tipping point that turns the seething crowd into a sea of bricks, rocks and bottles. By striking the wrong people, the police could accidently turn the crowd into what they fear, and I am sure no one really wants escalated violence (though, some of the cops in some of the videos really seem to relish dragging people around by their hair).

But this is not an apology for the police. What I'd like to do here is redirect the focus of this discussion (and similar discussions) to the issue on which this police activity sheds light.

During a conversation with a British friend of mine, he raised an interesting point: this whole mess with the cops is a way for those who are under scrutiny to shift the conversation from the protest to the cops. After all, if the media is fixated on the actions of a few police clearing out encampments, both the protesters and the American public is going to spend it's time talking about the police. It might be too cynical, even for a crotchety cynic like myself, to think that this shift was purposeful, but regardless of the agendas underlying the action, the shift has already taken place.

It helps here to remember what the role of the police is in these situations. The police are there to protect people's safety, but they don't often assume who needs protecting and how best to protect that safety. That is, I am sure the police were aware of the UC-Davis and UC-Berkley protests, but until someone called them in to remove the protesters, they weren't going to assume that anyone was in any danger. That same is true of the police in New York and Seattle who forcefully evicted the campers on orders of the respective mayors. While it is true that the police certainly could have removed the campers, tents and protesters by less aggressive means, they are just doing a job that has trickled down from ranks miles above. The cops who are seen pushing back protesters did not make the decision to do that job, and it's more likely that some of those cops even share similar sentiments with the protesters. If someone ordered you to go and stand between an angry mob and the object the mob is angry at, you might also wonder if your voice is being taken seriously.

The police here are a lot like a gun. When the gun is fired, no one questions the gun, they look to who pulled the trigger. Similarly, in this situation, people should not be scrutinizing the police for doing the job they were ordered to do (save in examples were obvious brutality manifests itself - like in the UC-Davis pepper-spraying incident), but rather should focus on who ordered the police to do these jobs.

In essence, removing protesters by using police force is exactly what the protesters find troubling. These people are using their right to assemble to voice a concern, and for petty legistical reasons, these people are ignored and removed, their voices no more heard after the removal than before.

It's also useful to think about the relationship between the people calling in the police and the organizations against which the protesters are protesting. Using a violent method to destroy an encampment of peaceful protesters is a messy, expensive, PR-nightmare. Anyone in charge must look at the two opposing sides: a bunch of people who feel they are listened to, or a massive, powerful corporation that wields a significant amount of money. It would not benefit the mayor of New York in anyway to allow these people to demonstrate their problems against the large banks of Wall Street, but it will benefit the mayor of New York to help deflect the media away from the protest. This, again, is exactly what the protesters are upset about: the power and influence of the faceless corporations in American politics.

But, to again quote my Aunt, there is always a better way to do things, and I think that UC-Davis' protest is the best one to date. In Zuccotti Park, there were stories and images of the stupid things that the protesters were doing, like defecating on police cars and the like. If someone shits on my car, I would not be too upset if the cops manhandled him a bit to remove him from the premise. Likewise, in UC-Berkley, the students were loud and boisterous, creating a scene that would panic even the most level-headed of policemen.

UC-Davis, though, did everything as it should be done. The students sat quietly, they refused to move, no one attacked the policeman who pepper-sprayed them, and no one resisted being dragged away as their faces burned from the spray. Each action the cops took against these students seemed excessive, brutal and totally uncalled for. No one can stand up for these actions under these circumstances. Then, rather than starting a large scale riot due to the police violence on behalf of the administration (who looked at the gun they just fired as if they were surprised the noise would be so loud), they did, quite simply, the most brilliant thing they could: a quiet shame line. Again, no one shouted, the mass of students didn't teem on the verge of eruption, and no one obstructed Chancellor Katehi's walk to her car. They simply sat there and stared at her, letting the heinousness of her act become palpable in the silence between them. The protesters didn't give the cops any reason to attack, and in that way made the most poignant statement that could be made, and might actually be heard.

In short, protesters every where can learn a lot from UC-Davis: shouting and carrying signs is going to get your protest dismantled; quietly sitting, posing no possible threat but still representing your discontent will get you noticed. And if then pepper-sprayed, the point of the protest will be further made.

I Still Blame Twilight

It's not a big secret that I really hate the Twilight series. I find the message of the book problematic and unrealistic. I don't believe women should be helpless individuals waiting for two incredibly good looking (...ish; Robert Pattenson, from the side, looks like he may have taken a board to the face; I'm sure he's a really nice person, but his nose does level off a bit) men to come and fight over them, take care of them, and love them forever. I think we are advanced enough as a species that we can allow for, no...expect women to take some agency for their lives and make some choices other than which boyfriend to choose. I like and agree with what Stephen King has famously said about Twilight and Harry Potter: "Harry Potter is about confronting fears, finding inner strength and doing what is right in the face of adversity. Twilight is about how important it is to have a boyfriend." This is very much true, and why I would want my daughter (if I had a daughter) to grow up trying to be Hermione Granger rather than Faceless McProblempants. At least Hermione could cast spells (better than everyone else), fought the evilest of evil creatures (alongside two inferior male magicians) and worked hard to land the Weasley kid.

[Plot spoilers: if you haven't seen the movie, save yourself the time and read on; if you have, I can commiserate.]

The whole of Twilight is about how two warring tribes of supernatural people go out of their way to inexplicable protect Bella. It became really irritating to hear people drop her name as a reason to or not to do something.

"We should butcher that whole house of vampires living on our land. There are like a hundred werewolves here, so it shouldn't be a problem."

"NO! Bella is there and we must protect Bella!"

I would really like to know what Bella has ever done in any of the movies or books that deserves such personal risk and devotion. By all accounts, her sole purpose is to create problems: falling in with vampires who don't like her for her humanness, falling in with werewolves who don't like her vampire friends, falling back in with vampires who don't like these massive dogs hanging around, alienating her single-parent father who did nothing but inexplicably love what is a mostly ungrateful daughter. She gets pregnant due to her own poorly made choices (lesson learned here: go on the pill or wear a condom, every time with everyone; don't pay attention to his claim that he's a vampire and vampires can't conceive; or, "Come on baby. It's my birthday."). That act alone breaks a tenuous treaty between the previously peaceful supernatural tribes (how is not entirely clear; apparently there was a baby clause in the contract). And once she realizes that she is brewing a problem, she brings said brew into THE MIDDLE OF THE TWO WARRING TRIBES! This causes massive rifts in the werewolves, breaking up a family and causing one man to, creepily mind you, "imprint" himself on a small child to save her life.

Here's the thing, though: Bella's whole point in life, the end game of this little chess match, is to become a vampire, which by all definitions is dead. When someone's whole goal in life is to die, the narrative lacks some tension. Granted, this is not like when we know someone dies, and we watch in horror as it happens, praying it won't. Bella wants to die, but seems to take pointless steps in her life to avoid what she wants, and can very easily attain. I know that Bella supposedly needs to die in a precise way in order to become a vampire, and I also realize that becoming a vampire is one of the oldest, most thinly veiled metaphors for sex in the history of metaphors for things, so before all you fans start jumping on me that Edward needed to pump Bella full of his venom at just the right time, and was saving himself for that right time (in fact, as he said, "I waited an entire century to marry you, Bella"), realize that she was going to die anyways. So, let's say she slips down a flight of stairs and breaks her neck. For most of us that would be a horrible, life altering and ultimately tragic moment. For someone who wants to be dead, a quick bite on the neck and you can go along with your day.

Despite her end goal being easily attainable, the whole of the movie surrounds how she continues to put this off for some unexplained reason. In this first installment of the last movie, there is a lot of fretting over her pregnancy and how it might kill her.

Here's a list of problems with this:

1) Edward is undead. He has been for quite a while. With out blood, no warmth. Any doctor will tell you that is a quick and immediate death for all Edwards little swimmers, not to mention his ability to get an erection. Edwards frustration with their sex life would be more with his inability to perform, not in the way he hurts Bella every time they're intimate. In fact, maybe his avoidance of sex might be a cover up.

2) Even if Edward did have a heart beat and blood flow (and this is a point of contention among vampire theorist), he is often mentioned as being frigid. Again, no heat = no ability to produce children.

3) Getting beyond that, if he did manage to somehow have some superhuman conception abilities, the baby would be immortal, or at least like Achilles, mostly immortal. Once it was decidedly alive, there would be nothing they could do to kill it, at least easily, save how ever it is you kill vampires in Stephanie Meyers' mind.

4) Bella wants to be a vampire; the baby is at least half vampire. It would seem that, obviously, the solution is to turn Bella into a vampire. Again, I heard them say it wasn't that easy, but no one really explains why. They just sit around fretting about it. And making her drink blood on the misguided belief that drinking is the fastest way to get something into the blood stream, as opposed to directly through intravenous needles which Bella was stuffed with during the whole second half of the movie. In fact, Stephanie Meyers and whoever wrote the movie must have a misguided understanding of the workings of the human body: babies don't eat food in the womb; they take in nourishment and blood through the umbilical chord. Whatever goes through that magic pipe will drop the vitamins and what not into the baby.

5) Vampires, as the undead, wouldn't see her being dead as a problem. If her heart doesn't beat as a vampire, then it could be assumed that, with the injection of Edward's Secret Sauce...er...poison, Bella would just spring back to unlife. So her dying, and at the risk of repeating myself, I'll say this one more time because I think it's important: IS NOT A PROBLEM. Once a vampire, the baby couldn't kill her, and it was doing a good job of that when she was human. So, here again, being a vampire seems like the only and obvious choice.

Here is the key problem: in order for the movie to have tension, Bella has to remain alive; however, the obvious answer is to become a vampire, which strips the movie of tension. Stephanie Meyer wrote herself into a corner, and got out of it by just saying, "Oh man! This is terrible! Bella could die!" Logically, she probably wouldn't. And even if she did, that might benefit all involved.

Another point that completely sucks (see what I did there) the drama from the movie is having this massive thing turned into two movies. Clearly, even if I could suspend my disbelief enough to worry that Sadsack McGee might kick it at some point, I would know, with another three hour extravaganza due in a year's time, she is likely to not actually die. Unless the last Twilight movie is the Edward/Jacob buddy pic we've all been waiting for. Thing Odd Couple meets Blade meets Van Helsing. I would see that movie. Unfortunately for Twilight, the first movie was turned into a long trailer for the next movie. And trailers tend not to be rife with tension.

Finally, and to return to a dead horse I beat quite thoroughly in the last post on this book/movie, this is a really bad message to give young women in their life (which feels odd to say about a romance book that shops the abstinence and self-restraint agenda). It seems to say, out of one side of the mouth, that young women should wait to find love before becoming physically intimate. With rising number of high school aged single mothers, this is a welcome message. However, out of the other side, it seems to suggest that women should invest a good part of their lives in this pursuit. In fact, what does Bella do well beside get into trouble? Is she smart (see Hermione, again)? Does she aspire to a trade? Does she love anything other than mass amounts of drama in her life? Her whole life, four books and five movies worth of this vapidness, highlight how Bella just wants to be with Edward. I realize that feminism is all about the choice for women to work equal paying jobs if they choose to, but I would imagine some feminist from the sixties and seventies have got to be clenching their fists a bit watching Bella run around as an empty sack of a woman looking to find the best man to...fill her needs.

I might be bitter. The last post I wrote about Twilight certainly was. But there are romantic movies that I like: Amelie, Punchdrunk Love, Finding Neverland, Napoleon Dynamite, and Stranger Than Fiction are smart, well-developed romances with well-rounded characters who all have back-stories and personalities. Even romantic comedies like American Pie, Ten Things I Hate About You, Can't Hardly Wait, or Bridget Jones Diary do a better job of rounding out the central characters (and American Pie, Ten Things I Hate About You and Can't Hardly Wait had a TON of them who were all better realized human beings than all of the Twilight movies). For a romantic comedy to really be good, it needs to both provide an escapist fantasy (which Twilight does in spades) and give us characters we can care about. Bella is not a character, but a shell in which lots of love sick teenagers (and several older women) can dump their own hopes and dreams into. But no one really cares about Bella. No one is out there wearing "Team Bella" shirts. They care about Edward Twilight and Jacob Kindness Werewolf, and which of these totally implausible stereotypes might wander into the reader's life, whisk her off her feet, and say canned romantic things to her.

In the end, I think that is Twilights biggest crime against entertainment. Not that it bends a lot of the mythology of vampires (I don't believe they can cross water or come into a room uninvited, though these vampires jump huge gorges filled with rushing rivers and walk into an out of rooms without much concern). Not that it defies logic or strips itself of inherent drama and tension (dead is dead is dead; also, self-restraint never gave a civilization longevity, especially marginalized civilizations; if the vampires continue to deny themselves the unlife-sustaining human blood they crave, they will eventually die out; after all, when I am hungry, so hungry the drive for food overwhelms my ability to make rational choices, my body is trying to tell me something pretty urgently; and what value do soulless, human-eating vampires find in saving humanity other than to manage a dwindling food source?). It's not that the movie is devoid of decent acting (Kiernan disagrees here, but I can't see what he sees) or coherent writing.

The worse thing that Twilight does, and continues to do, is suggest to women (and some men) that love and happiness is a passive, all-encompassing pursuit in life. Young women of America: you are never going to find an Edward or Jacob to fight for you just because you exist. But, if you look and try hard enough, a young man might actually like you for who you are, falling in love with you for your interests, intelligence and personality.

In this way, reality might be better than fiction.

An Apology of Sorts

As a Catholic, I am called to treat people well. It was that Golden Rule that Jesus was so fond of, which, paraphrased, is something along the lines of treat others the way you want to be treated. More than that, though, I believe myself to be a bit of a humanist. I vote Democratic, worry about social reform, feel strongly for the need for welfare and socialized medicine, etc. etc. Generally in my life, I try to be a good person to everyone I come in contact with.

And this weekend, I completely failed. As a Catholic. As a humanist. As a decent human being.

At the end of a fantastic half-week with Catherine on a whirlwind tour of England's modes of transportation, we were on the Piccadilly Line from Rayner's Lane to Acton Town, from which we would catch the Piccadilly Line into Heathrow Terminals 1,2,3. As I am fond of doing due to their higher ratio of seats to passengers, we boarded at the back of the train, and I immediately was overwhelmed by a pretty awful smell. The floor of the train was covered in some sticky water and an older woman was huddled over in a seat near the door. It seemed clear to me: this older woman, possibly homeless, had wet herself.

Having come from Chicago, I have some experience with homelessness. Due to the inclement and drastically shifting weather, Chicago's homeless population is not as massive as San Diego, Los Angeles or San Francisco where the weather never gets very cold (or New York, where there is always more of everything). That said, there are still a fair number of people who ask for money or food as you make your way across the city.

Over my time spent commuting into the city, I have become extremely jaded. Besides the countless stories I've heard about people possessing as homeless or needy make significant money preying on the sympathy of others, I once saw a woman claiming to be on hard time, begging for money and brazenly talking on her iPhone. At the risk of sounding like a Republican, I work hard for the money I make, I don't own an iPhone, and have a hard time giving money to someone who does.

So here I was on the train, confronted with a similar situation. I made my way to a drier part of the train and we took off towards the airport. In Chicago, when I encounter homeless people on the public transportation, I find they generally don't want to be bothered, using the train or bus as some sort of mobile shelter from the rain, snow or blistering, humid heat. So I took that route with the older woman.

About five minutes into the ride, though she started moaning. Low and inaudibly at first, but louder, and more pleadingly as the train got closed and closer to Acton Town. I kept counting the stops, praying I could get off the train before I had to deal with this woman. After some time, it became clear what she was moaning about: she needed an ambulance and wanted someone to help her call. I had a phone, but I sat there silently ignoring her pleas.

At one point, a young woman, probably in her twenties, boarded the train and noticed something was wrong. She sat near the woman and started asking her what she needed (which was a call to the hospital for an ambulance). Reasonably, the young woman tried to tell her that there were emergency phones located at every stop and she needed to get off the train and use one of those. The older woman persisted, claiming that she was paralyzed on her left side, an asthmatic and so on. She was not making much sense (after all, how could a paralyzed woman make it onto the train in the first place), seemed disoriented and was slurring her speech. Either she had had a stroke or the smell earlier was alcohol. I actually found myself growing annoyed, both with the young woman for encouraging the attention the older woman wanted, and for both of them slowing down my journey.

At some point, a young man got on the train, found out the situation, and at the next stop, got the driver's attention. He came back to the car, got a station attendant, and got the woman off the train. When she stood up, the empty bottle wrapped in brown paper rolled on to the floor and I felt validated. See: this was her own problem she created, and I didn't want to give her undo attention.

I dropped Catherine off at the airport, extremely sad to see her go, and got back on the Tube headed towards Leicester Square, and then on to Euston Street. Since that time, I have not been able to stop thinking about that woman. And more so, I sometimes find myself overwhelmed by a feeling of regret: I should have done something. I was on the train with that woman, begging for help, for four stops before someone else helped the situation by talking to the train driver. She wasn't asking for money, she wasn't asking for me to do something extraordinary: all she wanted was help off getting to an ambulance. Granted, she was drug, belligerent to those who did eventually help her, and probably had gotten herself into this situation through no one's fault but her own; still though, it wouldn't have hurt me to just get the train driver. Someone else did, and Catherine still made her plane, I still made my connecting train, and our lives continue in relative comfort. Really, my jadedness led to an inability to help out someone who needed nothing more than a little of my time.

And having spent the last three days from 8:00 am until about 12:00 am indulgently writing a paper about comic books, time is something I have. So, to that older woman, and to all those who I callously have passed asking for nothing more than a moment of my time, I'm sorry. I'll try to do better.