Every single time I watch The Big Bang Theory, I hear the Barenaked Ladies sing, “The artichokes began to cool”.  I KNOW they actually sing, ” the autotrophs began to drool”, but I hear artichokes cool every. single. time.  Why? Anyone?

Quote from the blog I found this on, http://blamebrampton.livejournal.com/ :  “So, years ago, New Zealand introduced Civil Unions for everyone. And yesterday, they decided that GLBTI marriage should be legal and removed all the restrains on gender from its marriage laws.” 

Maurice Williamson: ‘Rainbow across my electorate’ – YouTube.

I am almost still too upset to write about this.  A lovely spring day, school is out, people flocking to view the annual spring rite of Marathon.  Then along come the inhuman shits who set out, for whatever reason, to destroy random lives, murder people they don’t know and who don’t know them, wreak havoc and mayhem.  Yesterday, I was just so, so angry, but today I am more teary and sad.  What possible issue in a life can be so monumental  that it justifies terrorism?  I know it happens all the time, I never understand it, but it’s not as immediate a gut-punch as when it happens 30 miles from where I live.  I might know people who were there.  It’s really too soon to know if I do or not.  My daughter used to live on the marathon route, almost close enough to reach out and touch the runners.  It becomes way too personal.  I am not going to rant about the failures of my species, although I really, really could.  I am just too…what are these emotions?  Can I put a name to them?…to express myself.  I mean it’s Boston.  My Boston.  The joy of walking on the common when we first moved here from Colorado.  Walking the Freedom Trail.  Seeing the history.  And now to always be reminded of the inhumanity of men.  Or women.  Or both.  It’s just too much.

UPDATE:  The news just mentioned that doctors were finding nails and buckshot in people, and I also heard that the most damage was done at leg height.  Designed to do the most harm with the least effort, it seems.  God, I hate people sometimes.  But isn’t that the problem?  Hate.  Hate for anyone who is not just like you?  Who doesn’t believe exactly what you believe?  Whose skin is a different color, or whose accent is not the same as yours.  It seems we all echo the sentiment in my little picture:  ‘It’s all about me, deal with it.’  Time for a change.