Make it Stop

Okay, this sounds really sick and self-involved and wickedly evil and all that but it's the truth so I'm typing it out now: I am fucking sick to death of tragedy. First Vonnegut dies and then the Virginia Tech massacre happens and as a result, all I wanted to do was bury my head in a sixteen gallon vat of Strongbow and swim around until I had reduced my greatest care in the world to finding an open restaurant that employs a cook who understands the brilliance and beauty of gravy-covered French fries and maybe find a girl who would let me eat them off of her. I wanted to shut off my brain, stop caring and distill my thoughts. Life was getting too emotional. I needed something to enjoy.

And then, a few days later, I got a reason to celebrate.

My old college roommate, who beat cancer, finished a Triathlon here in St. Petersburg and, in doing so, raised a lot of money for cancer awareness and treatment. His completion of the event was punctuated by the fact that he ran the last hundred or so feet of the race with his eight year old daughter, who was very proud of her daddy.

I mean, that's some cool shit right there. That's like, baby-kitten-in-a-palm-tree freaking cute. And, I know this sounds stupid and all but you know what else was awesome about this event?

The beer was free.

So, after the race, I'm sitting beneath a tent with a bunch of sweaty, Lycra-coated tri-athletes, drinking free beer and generally enjoying a beautiful spring day when I get a call from my mom.

She was calling to let me know that Cardinal pitcher Josh Hancock had died in an automobile accident.

Great.

I'm tired of offering condolences, I'm tired of searching for meaning in a meaningless universe, but mainly, I'm just sick to death with tragedy.

But unfortunately, much like almost everything in the world, this isn't about me. This is about human loss: parents who lost a son, siblings who lost a brother and friends who just plain lost. This is pain and grieving and all that for the fans and employees of the St. Louis Cardinals.

In short, this sucks.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'm gonna call off work, drive up to O'Briens Irish Pub and get me some gravy covered French fries.

Ashes to ashes and all that.

Late addition: If you care at all about the St. Louis Cardinals, follow this link and read this shit. Perfectly done by whoever does The Dugout.

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