I'm a little slow today. I just switched to Sanka. So...have a heart?

Monday, January 29, 2007

A Hand-Slammingly, Mouth-Agape, "WHAAAAT!?"

This article right here, saying that our nuclear power plants don't require additional protection.

I'm sorry.


You require that we package our shampoo in travel sized containers and submit to nipple-rubs and ass-crack touching when we fly on air planes in the name of of counter terrorism, and as citizens, we begrudgingly comply, because we know it's for our own safety, regardless of how incompetent the TSA officers are, and regardless of how humiliating and violating the procedure is sometimes. (Note to self: Recover the pre-sleep blog idea about the ubiquity of the word TSA, from virtually unknown six years ago...)

We do this for the national good, and for our safety. And there's been literature written, suggesting that we protect our Nuclear Power plants, which are located near urban areas, and capable of killing us terribly and painfully in the event of a disaster... and killing a great many of us, I might add... and disfiguring those who aren't killed, and disfiguring their babies...

And you say, "No."


This is the United Fucking States of America. Make it feasible. This has been my mantra over, and over, and over again, but an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Box in those fucking nuclear reactors with Steel I-Beams or whatever you have to do. There are more than 103 airports in America, I would wager; and yet all of them have Metal Detectors and security areas in place. How much did that cost? We managed to do it. I'm sure the money is somewhere to get materials, labor, and designs. Find it.

Reinforce them. Who cares if it'll be a big box; Nuclear Reactors aren't that pretty to begin with. And I'm sure it's possible with modern building materials.

Find the money. Hire an engineer. Do something. Because, by writing the article, you've now put the idea into someone's head. And it might become a reality now. So... take an affirmative step to decrease that chance. Even if it doesn't work... no. Make it work.

Un-fucking believable.

This, so far, is my favorite passage in the book I currently can't put down, which is also depressing the hell out of me. Name the book:

"She couldn't stop the memories slamming into her. Every one had a brutal report. Our mother steadying me as Lindsey looked on, jealous that I could reach, with the silver star in my hands, the top of the Christmas tree. Me sliding down the banister and asking her to join. Both of us begging the comics off our father after dinner. All of us running after Holiday as he barked and barked. And the countless exhausted smiles awkwardly dressing our faces for photos at birthdays, and holidays, and after school. Two sisters dressed identically in velvet or plaid or Easter yellows. We held baskets of bunnies and eggs we had sunk in dye. Patent leather shoes with straps and hard buckles. Smiling hard as our mother tried to focus her camera. The photos, always fuzzy, our eyes bright red spots. None of them, these artifacts left to my sister, would hold for posterity the moments before and the moments after, when we two girls played in the house or fought over toys. When we were sisters."

And this is my favorite line thus far, "Because horror on Earth is real and it is every day. It is like a flower or like the sun; it cannot be contained."


Between the Superbowl this weekend, and some retarded party they're going to throw in the Orange Bowl to celebrate Catro's impending death... I'm going into hiding. I'm going to sequester myself in Coral Gables and watch TV, and read my books!