Awake in the middle of the night, puttering around, petting cats, eating soup – it didn’t occur to me to turn on the news or get online. I just laid around watching my stupid arsenal of shows for twelve year-olds, and then dozed off with a headache coming on, and woke up with a little dog drinking out of the water glass next to my bed.
I hate it when she does that. It makes you wonder how often that happens undetected, and then I must be sitting there drinking dog slobber, grinning like an idiot. I bet the answer is, that happens a lot.
So up, out of bed, locate pants, shirt, etc. There’s the wife, grumbling at the computer, working on a project for school which is entirely in Spanish. I say Good Morning, and she flips me off absently, and I shuffle into the kitchen, where I learn that the very last cup of coffee in the house has just gone into her coffee hole.
Some Zen-like meditation at the kitchen sink, and a little conversation with myself about which one of us sat up all night watching Stargate: Atlantis and which one of us is wrapping up her second-to-last quarter at OSU, with honors. Certainly if anyone deserves the last pot of coffee, it’s her.
But I am grumpy without coffee. I am unreasonable without coffee. It takes a full minute to pull myself together, and go out for a tall cup from somewhere, then I come stomping back in and realize, I have a whole lot of shit to do today, and so I have to get this post up right now, and what am I going to write about?
Not in a very funny mood, although some of my favorite, most comical stuff was in reality written in a teeth-chattering, seething, unrelated rage. It must be a fine line, wrath and hilarity. Not feeling it right now, though.
So off to the news websites, let’s see if anything different is going on.
Oh. A Godzilla Class Earthquake just hit Japan, and there’s a tsunami heading pretty much everywhere except Ohio. I watch a few videos of the ocean biting cities right off the coast, chewing them up with its mouth open, houses and cars floating around, landing in piles like loathsome vomit. How many dead people are floating in that stew?
I look down at my cup of coffee, take a drink out of it, thinking Gee, Tom, you think you’re going to be okay after your traumatic experience with the convenience store this morning?
I turn on the news, instantly getting a sick feeling from the anchors, all dolled up and eager to churn out the horror. Just watch this, they tell me. Now watch it again. Is that a wreck or what?
It’s their job, they can’t help it. But every time there’s a tragedy, it’s the contrast that bothers me. These plastic runway models with their real estate agent haircuts, sitting in a studio, cranking in the ratings. They go out of their way to look concerned, to be respectful – but can they possibly be either of those things?
What’s respectful about showing the video of Death Itself, having a party, showing it over and over like Charlie Sheen?
More bad news – there are four nuclear reactors in the area, and they’re having trouble getting one of them cooled down properly. It’s “not going as planned,” officials say, and that’s never a good thing to hear on your nuclear reactor update.
Ironically, the problem now is they don’t have enough power to continue pumping water into the cooling tanks. So after a tsunami of historic proportions, with water submerging all kinds of areas which used to be dry – here’s one place where they need water, and they can’t get it there.
It’s a decent cup of coffee. This blog post forms around it, and not surprisingly, it’s not very funny, is it?
Was the Godzilla thing too much? I don’t know – who cares what I do or think or write this morning?
Now there’s a guy on the west coast of the United States, where a tsunami is expected any minute. He’s standing there on the beach, reminding everyone to stay off the beach. Behind him a throng of gawkers with cameras wait to get a glimpse and maybe a video of the earthquake’s echo, rolling silently toward them from a hemisphere away, bearing down on them like it’s been doing all night.
Get that on your Facebook page, right? That little slice of historic destruction.
Drain the last of the coffee and then it’s into a hot shower, time to put some douche bag clothes on and go smile in a few banks. How are you, Mr. Johnson, it’s good to meet you. On the way out the door, there’s the television again, and their video cycle is on a loop now. The same anchors, showing the same footage, expressing the same shock and sadness, even though you can’t be shocked by the same thing twice. You have to posture the second time, and the third, and so on, and they do it. They keep doing it. That’s why they make the big bucks.
Yes, a bad morning indeed, starting with no coffee and ending with turning the television the hell off – and that’s the point where it gets just a little bit better.