End Punctuation Discrimination!

For some reason the entire world has suddenly decided that they should join this whiny anti-harassment group:

Click for full size.

Now I’m all for kids not harassing each other and being mean and such (though I do find all of the literature and support groups and what not on the subject a bit tiring), but I can’t support this group based on the fact that its creator and author is a clear bigot. The period is perhaps one of the most important and certainly the most frequently used punctuation marks. Its importance to the way we speak and write is immediately noticeable when it is omitted. Such is the case with the group description of “ACCEPT PEOPLE FOR WHO THEY ARE , don’t judge.” For someone who preaches so passionately about accepting our friends and neighbors in the LGBT community, different racial groups, and of different girths, Ryan Jacob Trufant, whose first crime was stealing my first name, seems to be quite the punctuation bigot. Well I’m calling you out Ryan: a comma is not the same thing as a period and I demand that you give the period the rightful place in your writing that it deserves. The period is a noble and important part of the punctuation community and has overcome more hardship than the comma will ever know. Constantly bombarded with harassment from the backslash, the question mark, the less than sign, the letter L, both the colon and its bastard son with the comma, the semicolon, and even the comma itself. Its only friend in the world is the greater than sign which bravely shields it from the onslaught of discriminatory practices of its colleagues.

No seriously though: you know where the period key is now. Use it. Its slightly annoying that you don’t.

ACCEPT PEOPLE FOR WHO THEY ARE , don’t judge

Dewey Decimal: Proprietor of Hell

There was a time when I frequently mocked the fact that I served five years in library class from kindergarten through fifth grade; however, after today, I think I could have benefited from five years more. Having said that, I don’t even think a decade of preparatory library classes could have prepared me for the clusterfuck that is Mugar Memorial Library. I will admit that although somewhat chaotic, BU’s primary library is organized chaos, but dear God. I never thought I would find a place where one can take out Dante’s Inferno and simultaneously explore a real-life manifestation of its contents.

An intimidating structure.

I went to the library after Ethics class today to take out a few books on the Titanic motion picture extravaganza and the T-800 himself James Cameron for my final COM paper of the semester. I assumed I would waltz in and do something with the alphabet and magically find my book. But I was wrong. I noticed that there were no books on the first floor, just computers (which are quickly making library obsolete… irrrooonnyyy) and tables, but looked up on the balcony to see that the books were hidden on the second floor. So I climbed up the stairs and up I went. I hopped on a computer to see where the books I wanted were. There were three. I figured I just needed the authors last names and I would find them in the nonfiction section. However, I was panicked when I saw the call numbers:

• pn1997.t54 p37 1998
• pn1997.t54 l83 1999
• pn1997.t54 t58 1999

God forbid the books could just be numbered from 1 – 1,000,000,000 or a-zzzz or something crazy. Nope. pn1997.t54 p37 11998. Thanks. Now I know EXACTLY where the book is. Luckily I located a map and found out that books beginning with pn are on the fifth floor. So I hopped on an elevator and went up there, only to find some sort of weird archival rare book center of some sort. In other words, the Titanic books were not there. I walked down the stairs to the fourth floor and found a bunch of books and figured they must be somewhere in this pile:

I don't want to cause a stir, but it looks like BigFoot is browsing a way down the isle.

The books literally never ended. And there was no pn section. I figured maybe across the hall. Though I did not find the Titanic books across there, I did find BU’s zombie contingency cages (or ZCCs), disguised as graduate study chambers. Its likely that the trustees sell tickets to these ZCCs at a billion dollar a head, kind of like in Roland Emerich’s 2012, and the ticket-holders will flock here when the zombie outbreak occurs. Or the library used to be a zoo. You decide:

That oversized rodent waterbottle lends itself to either theory.

Clearly the books on the Titanic were no where to be found on the fourth floor. I went back down to the first floor and started over. I looked again at the map by the elevator and this time noticed an (N) next to the range of call numbers I was looking for. Turns out this N means “By North Elevator Only.” What the fuck. Okay so only one problem now: where is the North elevator? I searched everywhere. I went across the building, up the stairs, to the fourth floor, found this terrifying sculpture:

I had hoped he was pointing towards the North elevator. He was not.

Finally I gave up and did something I and all men hate to do: I asked for directions. I went back down to the first floor and asked a young man at the circulation desk where the “fabled and elusive North elevator” is located. With a chuckle he pointed a few paces to my left. God damnnit. I boarded, and took that bad boy up to the fifth floor:

SUCCESS!!

Once on the fifth floor I scrambled between shelves for a few moments before I found the PN section, which literally stretched on forever. I walked down the isle a distance before I found a section with a bunch of books on film and various movies. After scanning one million tiny numbers for about ten minutes, I got a bite, and found my first book. And the other two, which ended up being right next to it. I brought those bad boys back downstairs, checked them out, and was on my way.

By December 30th, I’ll be an expert on the Titanic movie. When I return these books, I intend to take out a book on library navigation. Jesus.

Sometimes I Question This Whole “Free Speech” Thing

Somehow between classes and blogging, I missed Westboro Baptist Church’s very special visit to Boston University today, but in the words of Lewis Prothero in V For Vendetta ,”I wish I’d been there.” According to friend and fellow blogger Steven McVerry, the notorious group of anti-gay, antisemitic, anti-American, pro-9/11  assholes picketed outside of Hillel House on Bay State Road today until about 4 PM. There was a counter protest as well, which moved to Marsh Plaza. Steven added, “They picket everywhere. Lately they have been scheduling universities that are “‘accepting” of gays and jews. I’m honored that they chose us, that being the criteria. Go BU!”

My friend Bobby was there today and snapped some pictures of the bigotry in action:

Its ironic because while this was going on, I was in my WR 100 class, Resistance During the Holocaust, giving a presentation about the production of Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List. In my presentation I talked about how Spielberg, who received an honorary degree from BU last year, had dealt with antisemitism earlier and his life and faced a considerable amount of it while producing the film. However, for me, antisemitism has never been something I have really seen openly; to me its almost like something I know is real but is invisible. That’s why it so surprises, disturbs, and utterly disgusts me to see filth like this on my campus (even though I technically didn’t see it). It amazes me that people such as these, people so far separated from any kind of logical or rational thought, can possibly exist. Furthermore, its nauseating to see a child among their ranks.

I support free speech, but bigotry is intolerable [no pun intended]. [Okay, pun slightly intended]. [I'll say "pun realized," because I realized it was punny after the fact].

To learn more about the Westboro Baptist Assholes, please check out this Facebook group.

Political Views: Whatever Michael Moore Tells Me

On my Facebook profile I recently changed my political views to “whatever Michael Moore tells me.” Its meant to poke fun at how much faith I put in my favorite portly filmmaker. However, after today, there might be more truth to what my Facebook currently says than I intended. I say this because Moore just got me to do a complete 180 on a position I have been contemplating for months.

For some reason when Obama was elected I became slightly less cynical about the war in Afghanistan. I have always wanted both that war and the war in Iraq to end and looked for candidates who advocated troop withdrawal. But when General McChrystal came out and said that we needed 40,000 more troops to finish the job in Afghanistan my initial thought was, “Well I would hate to send more innocent soldiers to die for another country, but what do I know? He’s a general, I’m sure he knows whats best.” I’ve never really been a military guy – don’t get me wrong, I support the troops and have a cousin who recently came home from a brave tour of duty in Iraq – but I have always been more of a “lets not go to war” kind of person. However, in the case of Afghanistan, a country which once harbored terrorists who wounded our nation and is currently run by a rag-tag “democratic” government plagued by corruption, I was in favor of at least a slight troop increase. I would hate to see that country fall back into the hands of terrorists, like critics of withdrawal tell me it will if troop levels aren’t increased.

The strange thing is that during the Bush administration I had a different attitude. I wanted to get out of there, maybe continue the search for Bin Laden, but with a lesser military presence in Afghanistan, the population of which wants and wanted us out. Additionally, my reasons for wanting to keep them there until today amounted to occupation, and essentially turning it into a military state; I wanted our military to keep their government in check via occupation. This is a strange position for me, and out of my character. Somewhere along the Hope-Train I’ve been on I forgot that this war was started to eliminate Bin Laden and Al Quaeda in Afghanistan and has since lost its focus.

What I am getting at is that I supported General McChrystal’s call for troop increases until I read this open letter to President Obama from Michael Moore:

“]

As afraid I am to admit it, that letter changed my stance on this issue. I had lost sight of the fact that there are more pressing domestic issues at home than the stability of the Afghan government and the negligible terrorist presence there. How could I possibly justify my desire to see more men and women go to senselessly kill and be killed, all while spending billions upon billions of dollars, while there are people dying everyday here at home? Additionally, when did I become someone who put my faith in generals. As Moore points out in the letter, generals have failed us time and time before:

It is not your job to do what the generals tell you to do. We are a civilian-run government. WE tell the Joint Chiefs what to do, not the other way around. That’s the way General Washington insisted it must be. That’s what President Truman told General MacArthur when MacArthur wanted to invade China. “You’re fired!,” said Truman, and that was that. And you should have fired Gen. McChrystal when he went to the press to preempt you, telling the press what YOU had to do. Let me be blunt: We love our kids in the armed services, but we f*#&in’ hate these generals, from Westmoreland in Vietnam to, yes, even Colin Powell for lying to the UN with his made-up drawings of WMD (he has since sought redemption).

I do disagree with Moore on one point: I do not believe that Obama, should he follow through with his plans to send more troops, can be characterized as a war president. He surely won’t be remembered as the man who ended the war (at least not in his first term), but the desire for war is not something that is characteristic about him. He did not start this war and he surely does not want to continue it, but is folding under pressures to do so, maybe on the belief that adding more troops will accelerate the process and end the war sooner. Despite the fact that I may, after having read this letter, disagree with the decision to increase troop levels, unlike Rush Limbaugh, I do not hope that the president fails. I hope that it ends up being the case that more troops was the ticket to a speedy withdrawal from Afghanistan and an elimination of a terrorist presence. However, I hope that Obama takes the time to read Mr. Moore’s letter and reverses his decision.

I still have hope in Obama, and he will have my vote even if he sends more troops over seas. However, after having read Michael Moore’s letter, I no longer believe it is the best decision for our country.

DailyFreePressman Denial

It’s nice having a friend on staff at the Daily Free Press, the free independent newspaper at Boston University. Earlier this year Saba gave Freshman Denial a nod in an article about student blogging. Today she made it onto the front page with her story about Michael Cera’s visit last night:

Click to read Saba's article.

Pretty awesome article about a pretty awesome night. However, its awesomeness increased substantially when I flipped to page four to read the rest of the article and happened upon this little piece of truthiness:

Click for full-size image.

In case you couldn’t read it:

Most attendees said they heard about the movie through the Facebook group “Bring Michael Cera to BU,” created by College of Communications freshman Chris Kopcow. Others said they heard through freshman Ryan Piccirillo’s blog “Freshman Denial,” where he made an update to encourage BU students to vote.

Damn straight. Only one mistake: I refuse to believe the rumor that I am a freshman. No weyh.

Michael Cera Came to BU!

Kind of. It was technically on the Emerson campus, but whatever. BU had exclusive seating. At any rate, it was awesome.

BU ended up winning the contest to get a free screening of Cera’s new flick Youth In Revolt. The movie itself was hilarious and enjoyable. Not a great movie, but certainly a re-watchable comedy. The cast was pretty awesome and had some pretty big names including Ray Liotta and Steve Buschemi, as well as Fred Willard, Zach SimonandGarfunklenofaalas, and Justin Long. However, for me, the beautiful Portia Doubleday stole the show… and my heart. Seriously. I’m in love with this girl:

What a sweetheart.

Both she and Cera attended the screening and did a half hour Q&A after the movie. I don’t want to sound like a bitchy little snob or anything, but I was embarrassed to be a member of this audience. Not one person who was called on could muster an engaging question. They ranged from, “if you could be an animal, what animal would you be” (to which Cera noted “Sorry we forgot to mention  no stupid questions”), “what was it like making out with Portia?,” “what was it like making out with Michael?,” “Michael was this regressive therapy for you?” That last one came from a particularly awkward middle-aged woman who was pretty embarrassed after the “reserved” sign that was on her seat got stuck to her butt, prompting an eruption of laughter from the audience. The fact that the same audience amused by this butt sign was amused by the movie doesn’t speak a whole lot to its hilarity, but it really was funny.

Hangin'.

Cera and Portia were just as lovably awkward in real life as they were in the film. My suspicions that Michael Cera is very gifted at playing himself were proven true – not that that’s a bad thing. The characters he plays are easy to relate to, especially as an awkward teenage boy, and funny, and the fact that he is just like them doesn’t detract from his talent as an actor. Portia’s performance was lovely, but I was even more taken by her real-life presence. She is a very humble, classy lady, and blushed and chuckled at some of the more inappropriate questions that were thrown her way. Both were charmingly snarky and weren’t afraid to dismiss obviously stupid questions with I-don’t-knows. Cera’s charm comes from the fact that, much like John Krasinski earlier this month, he gets the audience roaring in laughter simply by being himself. It’s pretty awesome. And Patricia, you’re lovely.

Headin' out.

Following the Q&A audience members were offered the opportunity to give testimonials about the film to be used in later ads. I spent the whole time in line laughing about the fact that I had no idea what to say and making witty cracks about possible things to say with my friends. Turns out my friend Lauren and I actually did pretty good, and we got some positive feedback. So basically what I’m saying is I’ll probably be a star prettttty soon. When they asked me what I thought of the rest of the cast I said, “Oh I thought they were great. Ray Liotta’s best comedy performance since Goodfellas.” I fucking love that movie.

My friends Bobby and Chris giving their testimonials.

One last highlight: the event was sponsored by HP and raffled off a netbook. Whuddayaknow, my friend Chris Kopcow wunnit. Good for him – he’s the guy that made the Facebook group and won us this contest to begin with. Congrats!

The big winner and his prize! The box, not the broad.

Son of a Blaze.

I kept on getting annoyed with my mom the day I got home for Thanksgiving break because she worries when I hang with the guys, maybe because she knows that when I’m home, we do things like have fort wars and firecracker battles. I suppose she was right to warn me not to get myself into trouble. “What trouble could I possibly get in?!” I continually insisted, with an extremely impatient tone. Jesus Christ. If only I had known.

Other than fort wars and basement ball, my friends and I also enjoy the occasional off-roading adventure in my 1996 Chevy Blazer. Especially now that my four-wheeler is completely toast, and everyone else has pussy little cars, the Chev Blaze is pretty much the go-to vehicle for some moderate to INTENSE off-roading. I have been cooped up in a dorm room for the past three months, my desire to whip my car around in the mud festering all the while. So naturally, that activity was on the list of things to do today. And will never be on any future list. Ever. Sorry boys.

My friends Pat, Johnson, Tubby and I all  climbed aboard the beast and set out on an adventure… that would continue for about five hours. I drove down the street, and but my blinker on to go to our normal destination. Pat, however, was having none of this, and had the great idear to go to these realllllllyy great trails behind Home Depot in Bellingham. I’m feeling adventurous, naturally, so I go. Why not? However after fifteen minutes of driving I go to pull into the trails and see a No Trespassing: All Violators Will be Prosecuted sign. I have no problem breaking laws, however, I’m not stupid (despite what the rest of this post may suggest), and I know there are repercussions for breaking posted laws, so I headed out. We had seen a trail by our friend Tights’ house on the way, so we figured we’d hop on that and get to it. So we turn around and go to the entrance of the trail we had passed, which runs beside the power lines.

We scope it out: no cops around, no other cars, no gates. Looks pretty solid. In I go, cautious but excited. Everything seems to be going pretty well; the ground is solid, the car is moving, we’re getting knocked around. Then wham. The mud starts flying, the car stops moving, and the wheels keep spinning. Son of a bitch. This car is fucking STUCK, and stuck good. No problem though – we’ve been in this situation before. Rock it back and forward, and it comes right out,  easily done. Nope. Still chuckling at our predicament a bit, I roast the tires, rocking it back and forth, digging myself into a foot of mud. And probably sewage. That’s fine though – all we have to do is get someone bouncing on the back, no problem, the tires will catch and we’ll pull right out. Nope. The three guys hopped on the back of the car as I, getting perpetually less happy, try to ease out of the hole I have dug myself in. No such luck. Plan C – gets sticks under the wheels to get traction. Yeah right. Not even close.

My friends all assured me that all we needed was someone with a big truck and no problem, they’d come down, hook up to my car, and tear us right out of the mud. However, none of us have a big truck. Luckily some friends do. As the son sets, we’re all on our cell phones, frantically trying to find someone stupid enough to bring their beast out into this hellish mud-hole and pull out my car. We get two bites. The first comes with his truck and pulls down a few feet onto the trail. However, then he stops. I whisper to my friends “what the fuck is he doing? Is he gonna come down or not? What’s going on? Shit.” My fears were confirmed when  he pulled up, and after stopping to let my friend Tubby in the car, who had grown tired of standing in the freezing cold mud over the past two hours, left without a goodbye. Great. (Quick digression: Tubby, Fuck you). The next truck comes and scopes it out. This truck is the most  badass truck I have ever seen, but we all agreed, there was no way it was getting down there and not getting stuck. Shit. So here I am with two friends and a car buried in the mud, shivering from the cold, soaking wet, and in the dark. What the fuck do we do now.

I called my mom and asked her to come pick us up. On a happiness scale, I’d put her at about a 2. If she were a camper, she would not be a happy one. If Angry was one of the Seven Dwarfs, and my mom was a Seven Dwarf, she would be Angry. She dropped us off at my friend Anthony’s  house, where Johnson’s car was sitting with a hole in the oil pan, needy of a tow himself. I left them alone and walked down to my house where my dad was on the phone with AAA seeing if they would come for a tow. They said they would if it was 50 feet or less from a paved surface. “Oh yeah I assured him,” fully aware that it was like 300 feet, but hey, whatev, right?

He and I got into his Jeep and went to meet the tow truck at an intersection to lead the driver to the scene of the stupid. He took one look and I could tell prospects were grim. I watched him and my dad talking from the car, head held in shame, headlights beaming down at my fallen soldier of the road, only wishing that I had not chosen today to go off-roading. They both shook their heads, and glanced back at me. At this point my friends pulled up behind my dad’s Jeep in Tanner’s mom’s minivan. They had been waiting by Johnson’s car, but turns out we stole the tow truck that was heading for them. Haha. I got out and hung with them for a few minutes before the driver came and told me he needed to go get more chains to get it out and gave me the glistening piece of news that it would cost $75.00 an hour starting now. GO!

I agreed to the price, and he climbed in his truck to head back to the shop. My dad went back up to the house to get a couple shovels so  me and the boys could work on digging the wheels out of the mud so we could hook the chains on the frame. In ankle deep mud we dug and dug. As I walked up to my dad’s car my fingers swelled from the cold, covered in dried mud. My friends returned to Johnson’s car to meet a different driver there to tow his car.

Our truck returned, followed by a Jeep operated by the driver’s cousin, and reluctantly backed down a few feet before stopping. The same feeling set in that set in when our friend had come with his truck earlier. He kept backing up though, a few feet more, inching foot by foot into the ever-softening ground, the two ton vehicle sinking slowly but surely just as my car had. He stopped once more. I went down by the truck to meet him and his cousin and helped pull out a 100 foot wire to meet my car. Which it did not. However, the driver had brought three or four long chains. We attached them all together and hitched one to the frame of my car. When we went to connect the chain with the wire on the tow truck, we were about three feet short and the driver insisted that any further, and he would be stuck. He called the driver of the truck that had gone to get Johnson’s car and luckily he was coming by us anyway. He brought us more chains, and finally, after an hour, we got the tow truck connected to my car.

We had been pretty lucky during this whole ordeal to not be graced by the presence of Medway’s finest, but that luck can only last so long. As the car was being hitched up, a police car pulled up behind me and my dad, who were in his Jeep. “Fuck.” After sitting in his car for a few minutes, he got out, and so did my dad. I didn’t hear what they said, but after a short discussion, they two shook hands, the officer wished him a good night, and he was on his way. My dad got in the car. “We’ll, you’re in big trouble.” I looked at him, nearly with tears in my eyes. Then he laughed. “I’m going to fucking kill you,” I told him with a smile.

The guy’s cousin hopped in my drivers seat and backed up slowly as the truck reeled him in. It was kind of like The Old Man and the Sea. That would be a more apt analogy if the car didn’t work when we finally got it out, but thank God, it did. One-hundred fifty dollars and five hours later, I mounted my driver’s seat and drove my beautiful red steed off the to the gas station. Because I was nearly out of gas. How much would that have sucked?

Here she is, in all of her muddy glory:

I need new shoes. The end.

9,999

As of this writing, my blog has exactly 9,999 non-me hits, which I think is pretty exciting. I am posting this only to push the count over 10,000. I’m cheating, big whoop.

While I’m making a useless post, I will mention that I have enabled a rating system for posts and comments! If you dislike or like a particular post, click on the headline, bringing you to that post’s page, and you can give it a rating from one to five stars. Tear me apart. Also, feel free to go back and rate old posts that you  may have hated or loved. You can also give a thumbs up or thumbs down to comments. Enjoy!

Additionally, if you haven’t yet, follow this blog [NOT ME] on Twitter.

Thanks for reading! I hope the next 10,000 views are as captivating as the first.

This Feels a Little Voyeuristic

So I am currently in the dining hall, enjoying the post-enjoyment of my waffle and banana filled breakfast. I usually eat breakfast alone, not because I don’t have anyone to eat with, but because I like to spend breakfast unwinding, reading the New York Times, or watching an episode of whatever TV show I missed the nigh before. I just enjoy a quiet, social-less morning, but that’s not to say that everyone else feels the same. However, I feel like I am not the only one, being as many in the dining hall elect to eat breakfast alone each morning.

Breakfast.

Having said that, there are few things more awkward than when a stranger or a low-level acquaintance, already established at another table, comes and sits with you, especially if there are plenty of empty seats and tables all around the hall. Its happened to me before, and while the young boy was harmless, it was evident by his feeble attempts at communication that it was a mistake on his part.

I just watched an awkward young man, currently seated about 12 inches away from my back, come and ask a girl, maybe intentionally as awkwardly as possible, if he could sit with her. Initially I thought they were complete strangers, but I think they might kind of know each other. However, she seemed reluctant to invite him and the scene was overall uncomfortable. For the past few minutes they have been engaged in painfully mundane small talk, even reverting back to the first week “where are you from?” type of questions. Of course the conversation is also specked with awkward silences, ocuring about two out of every five minutes. Not too bad I suppose.

From my point of view, however, it looks like a miserable situation. Which isn’t saying very much being as from my point of view I can see exactly nothing. So I guess what I meant to say is that from my point of hearing, it sounds like a miserable situation. I like an hour of anti-social relaxation in the dining hall in the morning, and intruders are rarely welcome.

Having said that, if we have an established friendship, I would love to sit with you in the dining hall in the morning. I am mostly talking to this kid behind me. I don’t want him to sit with me.

What Happened; Yah’r Balls Drop Off?

The typical image I have of a New Yorker is, to be honest, and I mean this in the most affectionate of ways, kind of an asshole. The typical New Yorker as movies and television and stereotypes have taught me is a badass, someone who don’t take shit from nobody, someone who stands behind his fellow New Yorkers. Um as douchey-mcdouchebag said in Spiderman, “You mess with one of us you mess with all of us,” before throwing a rock or something pointless at the Green Goblin. So also my conception of the New Yorker is that he is kind of stupid. Jk lols.

Messed with one of them and therefore all of them and therefore got hit with a rock or tomato or something.

Anyways, enough mockery and sarcasm. My point is, when somebody punches me, my instinct, my desire, and my responsibility is to punch them back, as hard as or harder than they punched me. I think our innate desire for revenge is part of what makes us human. We love to see the people who hurt us get hurt and often we even love to do the hurting. Which is why I don’t understand all of the bitching surrounding Attorney General Holder’s decision to try five of the 9/11 masterminds in New York City just blocks away from the site where they murdered thousands. I think this is a great decision and I don’t see why so many people, especially the people of New York – the people who lost the most on 9/11 – don’t feel the same. If it is something that only a New Yorker can understand and that as an external observer I will never be able to, I would love to understand. However, as an outsider, I think it is a great idea to try these terrorists on American soil in American courts. Some of the opposition claims that “oh well you can never predict juries rah, rah, rah.” Really? For some reason I feel like if you were to put Khalid Sheik Mohammed in a room with a dozen New Yorkers, he would be beaten to death in seconds. For some reason I feel like a jury of New Yorkers would do the same. And you know what, if he is tried in civilian court and for some crazy reason the jury finds him not guilty, let him go, and kill him immediately. I mean lets be honest – the US has already violated its own constitution numerous times with his holding as well as the holding of hundreds of other suspected terrorists – why stop there?

What this comes down to for me is that, as an American, there is nothing I want to see more than those responsible for 9/11 brought to justice. The important word there is see. I want to watch it happen. I don’t want the trial hidden away in some secret military tribunal. I think it should be a public event, and I can think of no  better place than the place that was hurt most: New York. The ability to watch it happen and to make it happen is the best medicine for the pain inflicted on this country by the attacks. We’ve waited far too long. When and if we catch Bin Laden, which we almost certainly never will, I’m all in favor of a public hanging. No lie, no lie.