Interests:film, music, French/Italian/Belgian/Japanese/Korean cuisine, European culture, Asian cinema, European (artsy) cinema, theology, politics, philosophy, history, Sun Tzu's military strategies, military, Special Operations (i.e. commandos, SWAT), art, Edward Hopper paintings, firearms (especially with automatic military small arms), stuffed animals, teddy bears, (high-end) action figures (based on actual special-ops units) Expertise:creative writing: poetry, short story/manuscript writing, etc... Occupation:Temporary worker, production a Industry:Staffing services, especially
Since turning 30 back in 2006, I've always been in a retrospective mood. But most pressing about it is the issue of how fast I grew up, versus how others "grew up" fast, if you know what I mean.
Ask any of my closest friends, colleagues, etc... and they'll tell you that my early childhood is in no way the most normal; if anything, it's traumatic: I lost my mom at age 6, which thus forced my dad to quit his cooking job to try to raise me and my sister (the word "raise," is left wide open for debate) under the stigmatizing sustenance of government assistance... THEN my dad passed away when I was of what I will say as Bar Mitzvah-age (i.e, 13)... leaving still, some other trying times yet to overcome... like having not 1, but 2 fails in my report card (on top of a D and a couple of C's, the latter letter grade of which, I recalled my Dad possibly despising the most)... trying to deal with living under my stepmom's care (possibly "married" via common-in law, between the times of my blood parents' deaths), trying to deal with adolescence (like who doesn't?), juggling both academic and social development... then came my awkward at best, entry into young adulthood, having to forcibly move out of my home and into my increasingly senile grandma's studio apartment (my stepmom remarried with possibly a jerk, hence the reason why he forced me and my sister out of my stepmom's life), trying to keep up with my collegiate studies (oh what fun that can be... for almost 9 straight years--5 of which is devoted to getting my Associate's degree first before completing my Bachelor's in half that time!), while simultaneously juggling with living on my own (first with little to no support from my family, living with my grandma, then having to learn how to balance my checkbook when I finally started to officially live on my own--albeit with roommates, via disability, social security), and all the while trying to get over those nihilistic, 20-something cynicism I had with not only with God, or even my friends (whom by the way, 'seemed' to be maturing faster by ways of graduating college, getting into relationships, which thus turns into marriages/families, getting into careers/jobs, and other such fun stuff like traveling overseas, etc...), but likewise with the world AND myself. I mean, if you were to step inside my head back in the day, you can almost hear the the cage-rattling effects of my envious rage, feeling left out of what constitutes a normal, fulfilling life, as advertised/depicted not only on TV, etc... but possibly even society itself, as dictated by experts, pundits, etc...
BUT YET... in spite of it all, I somehow consented myself before God to finally show some maturity gravitas, like around the aforementioned year of my astronomical growth as a more level-headed, broad-minded adult, however long and brutal it is for not only myself, but also for the very cadre of church friends, etc... praying tirelessly, yet possibly warily of my stubbornness, which incidentally evolved into my character resolve! It's strange how much toil and (self?) punishment I had to go through to finally "get it," about what life's really about--and how I should better live it. It's funnier that even in spite of some of my immaturity issues then, there's always that lingering built-in mental device, waiting for me to finally grow up past those same traumas/issues that gave me those immaturity issues...
Now contrast that to the lives of more normal people; you know... the sort of folks who don't have the same sort of unscripted/unenviable drama that I had to face since age 6. Despite of the many enviable comforts of a more sheltered-suburban, maybe even fairly stable, blue-collar/urban, middle-class home, where especially here in America, where there is little to no excuse for dysfunctionalism, family drama and worse... it seems all of the gifts of such aforementioned things, were never maximized to its intended purpose. That may, if not very well explain the sociological phenomenon of "adultolescents," arrested development, perpetual adolescence, and the recently talked about, "helicopter parenting" (where parents are constantly under standby to assist their child/children out of some major crisis, hence leaving little to possibly no room for personal growth and experience with being a REAL adult). I can at least point out at immediate, celebrity examples of such stunted growth such as Britney Spears and Paris Hilton, but I think it's better to point out on a more consequential level the sociological/university studies found in such recent texts/nonfiction bestsellers as Michael Kimmel's Guyland, and possibly (via cross-referencing) Ariel Levy's Feminist Chauvinist Pigs. Both texts have much to say about the maturity gap going on with my generation and younger, who apparently in lieu of settling down with marriage and real work--especially guys, are opting for the perpetually adolescent behavior of going to the bars, hanging out with the guys, making cat calls at women (scantily clad or not; more on that later), and all the while superciliously dreaming of some prestigious, high-paying career, with very possible intentions of funneling the fruits of such a day job for perpetually adolescent, hedonistic hijinks, that should have been left back in the boy's locker rooms of (Jr) High and college, this side of Entourage. And with the advent of lad magazines, a la Maxim, a la Stuff, and even the gerentological likes of Esquire, as the "Bible" of (post) modern manhood, I can't help but find myself cynically amused by the current trends of what constitutes masculine adulthood, when you consider the following by author Michael Kimmel:
- the rates of suicides for immature young men are significantly if not staggeringly high, considering that these "men" can't function apart from their beer-swilling group, much less function an identity apart from that same group.
- much of the displays of manhood by today's generations of young adult males are more about adolescent group performances, trying to "prove" to one another that they're not gay (so much for social "progress"). In short, pseudo-manhood that's measured less by responsibility than fake bravado.
- the health risks of perpetually living in a perpetually adolescent lifestyle is dangerously high, considering the no-brainer effects of the constant alcoholic binges, mass consumption of junk food (sometimes of the bar variety), and even sex and drugs, considering the whole universal health care debate about lessening the collective taxpayer burden by encouraging/mandating more personal health responsibility; well that and Tort reform...
- and the oft-neglected statistics that says despite what MTV/VH1, American Pie, The Hangover, and even some vintage John Hughes fare purported, not everyone is having sex as frequently as advertised/portrayed in high school--EVEN LESS SO INTO COLLEGE! That kinda puts a very dangerous monkey wrench in the whole, taxpayer-funded, safe-sex education "industry..."
...and as for women in my generation and younger...
Well, in hearing up on Ariel Levy's aforementioned book, detailing the post-feminist standards of what constitutes a "real" woman, i.e, be (ironically) porno-fake (as opposed to the 70's, Helen Reddy's "I Am Woman" likes of Gloria Steinem), I've been examining/meditating a lot about the whole, cougar and MILF phenomenon--and the correlations to barely legal/jail bait culture. The leerier parts of me is questioning if many of the (literally?) "hot mamas" of today are symptomatic of a culture that constantly indoctrinates young girls--possibly barely into their pre-adolescent years, of not only be more sexual, BUT also be constantly dissatisfied with their own age; ANY age (hence that bittersweet punchline behind one female-centric greeting card, showing an elderly woman wishing she was 20-something, whereas the 20-something year old wishes she was still a teenager... AND yet, a young 8 year old girl wishing she could be a teenager...).
If women today have their version of perpetual adolescence, it will be of the porno-chic kind, where today's definitions of womanhood is measured by how big one's breast implants are--AND small your labia's been surgically-reduced! Graphic truths aside, this brings to mind about the same issue of adolescent performance of adulthood--except with thong panties. Here, young girls (the word of which is of disturbingly debatable context) are encouraged to "prove" their feminine adulthood by how slutty they are, possibly to link female sexuality/fertility with maturity--sans the responsibilities normally associated with sexuality/fertility (i.e, motherhood, careers, etc...). And since the advent of Camille Paglia-styled feminism, what's the Vegas odds that many of today's jailbait girls are going to further their own perceived notions of female "adulthood," pursuing the same barely-legal drama as say, (perpetually-adolescent) guys in their own way, all the while staving off REAL adulthood under borrowed time, best known as biological clocks? I mean, when one considers the awful reality of how short a shelf life feminine beauty and fertility is, one must reflect from the statistics of...
- how often the staggering rates of female suicides seemed to correlate with their patronage with breast implant surgeries (though not necessarily to say it's the silicon implants themselves that causes the suicides, but to inquire the psychological well-being of those implant recipients) ...
- a recent, correlative survey, questioning how much less happier women today are with their lives, sex lives included?
- and in some past blog I bookmarked, describing the long-term consequences for those foolish pretty women, using their sexuality to pretty much get by with favors, material goods, etc... UNTIL THEY HIT THE DREADED 4-0, A.K.A. MENOPAUSE! I guess that explains the cosmetic surgical market for women aged 40 and over!
*I'll be more than happy/willing to google-search and post the relevant links to these provocative points...
In hindsight, no matter how much I still feel the urge to whine about my current circumstances, I can't help but think that all along, I have been in possession of some advantage called, God's grace, and character skills, forever doing the work needed for me to make peace and persevere for possibly better times ahead, whatever that may be, even in spite of the current recession, further frustrating whatever Steinbeckian plans I may have, between (metaphorical) mice and men, but still resolved to find, knowing what further blue-collar, Homeric epic, 'misadventures' I have to endure until I get to this American Dream that I pray is more substance than style. I suppose in all my life of mental (and possibly physical) survival, therein lies the valuable character lessons on how to truly live, as opposed to live the lives of fictional others. And since in all things ironic, if my life dreams/sense of calling revolves around cinema, what are my Vegas odds that I'll be (well?) awarded for putting in the best, substantially character-proven, work ethic skills on some movie associated with the year's best performance?
I don't know per se as the my favorite horror/Halloween movie--let alone all-time favorite horror/Halloween movie. I WILL however, say what are the most scariest scare-fests in my humble opinion.
The George A. Romero's Living Dead trilogy will have to do, starting with the Night of The Living Dead, having the most profound impact on my life. It was the summer after graduating grade school, and I had to decide upon satisfying my cinematic curiosity that is the first modern zombie film, made in 1968. Now while that year might not sound all that significant to anybody else here, BUT as someone who grew up in the first decade of the MPAA's rating systems, I am reminded of how the same 60's was also the same 60's of The Sound of Music, some Jerry Lewis comedies (before he became more respected/acceptable by French comedic standards), and other family-friendlier sitcom fare of Get Smart, Hogan's Heroes (way before we knew of Bob Crane's shadier shenanigans with John Carpenter), Gilligan's Island, and even early days Brady Bunch. In short, the last decade before pretty much all of international pop culture (let alone American pop culture) is compartmentalized by obscenity rules and age clarifications.
And with NOTLD, it feels very traumatic to watch the Doris Day-styled hairstyles, coupled with the fashion and ambiance of say, AMC's Mad Men series, parachuted into the sort of genre realm more comparable to the Saw franchise, than say, what's found in a Cary Grant flick--ON Turner Classic Movies! ...and speaking of classic movies, there's something all too unsettling to see the same black and white film texture, of say, a Laurel & Hardy comedy, Frank Capra favorite, Busby Berkeley musical, silver screen classic, etc... utilized to horrific, Gothic effect with the first mainstream-successful introduction of rudimentary, gore FX (i.e, the first scene depicting the zombies munching on human innards etc...).
Yet, that's still some time before I first heard of other gory horror flicks that even predates Romero's Night of The Living Dead--by a decade if not more, like say some of the stuff by Herschel Gordon Lewis' Blood Feast, and some other flick like Night of The Flesh Eaters (the original title Romero intended to use for his debut feature before running a foul of something called, copyright infringement, if not marketing confusion). Maybe at least in hindsight, I was reminded by the subsequent likes of crime/historical fiction writer, James Ellroy, commenting in his literary work on the not-so-innocent side of the bobby-socks facade that was not only the Eisenhower 50's, but also with the innocence & idealism of the JFK 60's... AND I'VE READ L.A. CONFIDENTIAL... cover to cover... for a collegiate book report!
In the following years, maybe decades since my viewing of Night of The Living Dead, I've also came across the other parts of what was Romero's Living Dead trilogy (before augmenting Land of The Dead and Diary of The Dead, turning it into a quintet), with Dawn of The Dead (it actually made me too scared to hang out at the local mall for a few years!), and the much-aligned, possibly first sign of shark-jumping/anti-military effort, Day of The Dead. Both Dawn and Day had its fair share of scaring the holy be-(taking-the-Lord's-name-in-vain) out of me, BUT... in year 2009, at age 33 (you can guess what year of what age I first saw NOTLD), it seems the only thing left to be traumatized out of Romero's current body of work is that he's just another one-trick pony, with what amounts to a gorehound version of being the proverbial misanthropic curmudgeon, losing all faith in humanity as well as God. ...a one trick pony that should have been taken to back of the woodshed a long time ago had he not succumbed to allowing himself be pigeonholed as the "zombie guy," when he could have done so much more apart from the living dead franchise he pioneered, YET ironically resigned to as just another dead franchise marketeer, no different than the commercialism Romero satirized in the original Dawn of The Dead.
I could go into Romero's latter days expression on all things politics and religion come his Land of The Dead feature, but I think I just about covered everything about what's truly scary about the original Dead franchise, but also with the semantic irony that Romero's Living Dead franchise is a dead franchise(!), meaning a now tiresome series, no different from the now-laughable Jason Voorhees/Freddy Krueger/Michael Meyers/Hellraiser/Texas Chainsaw, sequels/prequels/remakes, etc... now pretty much a pop cultural joke worthy of a lame Wayans Bros. parody.
Being a believer in the same city synonymous with two-faced, back-stabbing, plastic surgery-fakery is something of a long and turbulent journey for me. Since being a Christian in March 1991, I've been through as much transformative change as the fickle TV/Hollywood-inspired trends since my conversion. And what do I have to show for thus far? A certain conclusion...
In looking back at my life--especially since early childhood, I have to speculate if much of my tribulant history have largely to do with the 'fake culture' around not only me, but my family as well. I can easily go off in the usual tangent of my Chinatown-related upbringing, but for the sake of the greater picture previously not seen in the cropped, pan-and-scan reality that has impacted my life and the lives of others, I have to stick to the subject by inquiring, how much more challenging it is to follow Christ, in spite of the mass-manufactured, mass-media reality around us? ...or for that matter (to some of my more Jewish readers out there), following God in this (stereotypical) quasi-Sodom-&-Gomorrah, and oft-times, seemed less quasi, or even borderline...
Especially within commutable distance of that televangelist network, Trinity Broadcasting Network (located around Orange County), I've been reminded by not only the Left-leaning, mainstream media likes of The L.A. Times, on how less holy the TBN enterprise really is, but likewise with other, fellow Christians of similar, yet nuanced orthodox-Biblical beliefs. After reading a past, L.A. Times article of how ridiculously lavish, nouveau-riche-tasteless The Crouch televangelist family is, I have to ask myself, much better--or shall I say, worse we are, compartively-speaking with TBN.
That's where I have to inquire not only with "Das Lieben der Anderen" of my home church--young people especially, but likewise with many other congregations within the SoCal area... How grueling is it to not succumb to the image-based sins, as opposed to resign to it? Especially at my hopefully, ever-wiser age, questioning how much fulfilling substance there is in those image-based sins, methinks how many of us "children of God," within the City of Fallen Angels, have become just as fake as the very sins we may have indulged in? Worse yet, how many of us City of Angels Christians have fallen not only away from God, but likewise with the very people within our home churches? I mean, yeah sure; I know all too painfully well what it is like to be reprimanded, a.k.a, 'judged' by others for whatever character pitfalls any of us can easily have, but...
...without going off the "Scarlet Letter" tangent, I would like to humbly address the broader issue of how all of us L.A. Christians not only fell for that SoCal trap of the proverbial, things of the world, but likewise come out surviving the very things of the world, when somehow but surely, we finally see what these things truly are?
And coming from someone with a semi-literal, survivalist background, I often wondered how astronomically hard it is to overcome not only personal temptations of the flesh, but also the identity issues that probably spur those ridiculous temptations/sins in the first place? Especially in a city as prosperous as L.A., how many of us believers have been woefully distracted by those quixotic lusts, worthy of an existential piece by beatnik writer,William Burroughs?*
*Something to do with the metaphorical issues of not spending enough time to see what is it we've been eating at the end of our forks/chopsticks, so as to ponder what is it we've been not only shoveling into our mouths, but likewise with what sort of being we've become, so as to feed ourselves with those oft-ignored food scraps? And don't get me started with Burroughs' controversial thoughts on homosexuality, gender issues! Hint: it's not what you may be expecting...
But in my Angeleno life thus far, I've learned to make peace with myself--AND God, the notion that I'll always be in full survival mode (either in a spiritual or physical sense--or both), since somewhere down the road of L.A. life, I will be able to live like the very human being The Lord designed me to be--as opposed to being some animal with little or no capabilities for insight, foresight, hindsight, etc... which ironically, are the very short-changing traits, many of L.A.'s epitomized elite, seemed to manifest--maybe even proudly...
*but not so much sincerely, given enough time, you might see what make these glamorous people tick... none of which is all that fit for even tabloid print...
Maybe truth be told, my L.A. Christian life is more akin to the many blue collar-middle class folks, whom every morning have to wake up, stay standing as long as possible in their average work weeks, hoping obstinately against the odds stacking against them, so as to not only build the ever-lasting, gold-refined character that is their true, God-given selves, BUT also with bestowing these gold-refined character traits onto their future kin/generations, as Paul Giamatti's John Adams said in the namesake, HBO mini-series, where guys like Adams hope and work hard to not only provide a better future for his children's better career options, but likewise with somewhere down the bloodline, the many offspring to be, will be able to afford the very arts-&-humanities insight/foresight/hindsight God wants them to be as to have--unlike some of the gleefully oblivious, libertine French aristocrats, whom not only have wasted their nobility gifts of the Judeo-Christian beatitudes, but likewise with being oblivious to the bloody revolution that will overthrow them via La Bastille et/ou la guillotine...
'Cause somewhere down the (blood)line, I want to look forward to the day when me and many of the very people (fellow Christians including) I care about, will be left standing, in spite of it all--EVEN with the possibilities of miraculously surviving a point blank shotgun blast--TO the face(!), in a silicon-fake metropolis, constantly dropping out/dead from the costs of tempting the very fate they want us to falsely aspire to!
I was (semi-)asleep at home, with my clock radio going off at the usual time, and it felt strangely surreal when I heard about some aircraft crashing into some building, and almost immediately I was thinking about a similar incident back in the 1940's or so, concerning a B-25 bomber crashing into The Empire State Building. But by the time I'm fully awake, ready to take care of whatever business of the late morning, I tuned in on TV, and that's when I realized that what I was vaguely hearing on the radio is no surreal event; it's very much real, with news images of the Twin Towers up in smoke, and ultimately collapsing upon itself. From there, things got back to its semi-surreal feeling (sort of) when I try to readjust to the conscious world that is school (I was still in college, trying to obtain my bachelor's), and in my favorite watering hole/hangout, an homage to 1950's soda jerk/pharmacy, and given the latter surrounding's motif, I can't help but noticed everybody's solemn expressions there, almost feeling like all of this isn't supposed to be real; in fact, it should have been strictly something out of a movie--incidentally, like the Denzel Washington flick, "The Siege," though unlike in the movie from a few years prior (to 9-11), this is NO FAIRY TALE It's very much real, no matter how surreal it is then as now. In hindsight, I almost wanna surmise that what happened to America on September 11, 2001 is akin to when my mom died back in 1982: a very traumatic, life-changing event, forcing everybody to grow up fast--and I've already had 3 immediate family members having to meet their maker, almost microcosmically no different than what many Americans will/would soon be facing with the subsequent Wars on Terror.
Sometime ago, I was reading a little snippet of an interview of Cloverfield actress, Odette Guzman, saying how she had to be on super-wary alert, when it comes to getting into any romantic relationships--given my hometown's reputation for being plastic/silicon-fake. Well, in concurring with this possibly rising thespian, I will have to offer some personal insights, epiphanies regarding finding love in Los Angeles.
About 2-3 years ago, when I was finally getting out of my angst phase, or at least with the main root causes of it (i.e, by having a much more, broad-minded, realistically balance view of things), I came to the conclusion that many of the A-list superstars one will find in my hometown are oft-times the mass-manufactured, mass-advertised version of what allegedly, a beautiful relationship's supposed to be, i.e, "Brangelina," "Beniffer," TomKat," etc... But yet, THIS is also the same hometown where tabloid fodder is such an integral part of my city's psyche, so it's not unusual to hear some sordid chatter/rumors of couples--especially the most glamorous ones, on the verge of breaking up, engaged in affairs--if not also supposedly engaged with their respective, consenting significant others, etc... Maybe it's largely in part to their day job criteria of playing someone other than yourself--24/7, even though for any serious professional in any serious profession, the saying always goes (at least according to character actor Michael Rooker, a.k.a, the guy who played the film's namesake, Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer) that work is work; people should just go back home (after a day's work) to their families or whatever private lives they lead outside of their work environment'--CAUSE YOU DON'T WANT TO BRING THAT **** HOME WITH YOU!* *Like hey, Rooker's first acting gig was portraying a loose portrayal of Henry Lee Lucas, for crying out loud!
With this in mind, I have to say that for many of the A-listers, glamorous people (this side of the West Coast), many weren't able to heed Rooker's call for more professionalism outside of work, meaning just being yourself at your home address! And when this sagely advice isn't heeded on the dating scene, once can/could easily imagine the sort of E! True Hollywood Story dreck that can occur out of this (sometimes literal) crime scene we called love and marriage! How many times do I have to speculate the possibilities the beautiful people (of the People magazine variety) had to playact/fake themselves into some relationship that they otherwise aren't very well suited for, in regards to honest compatibility? Have some of these A-list marriages/non-marital relationships are done with an actor's instinct, to cover up whatever personal foibles, character flaws that every human being have to deal with? And if so, how many of these public spotlight relationships often involve the one or both sides of the party, trying to play act their love for each other--ALL the while having some affairs and possibly worse, and ironically yet, carry on that same play-acting into their other illicit affairs? Sometimes I wonder if the dating scene here is more akin to some Method acting gig (i.e, channeling the real lives of others to play your fantasy role), as opposed to an honest, down-to-earth relationship; in short, it's more work than love. I guess that's why I take considerable amusement/appreciation over a comedy bit by Robert Schimmel, when he said joked about why The American Heart Association's pamphlet (on how to resume a normal, functioning sexual life) seems to be out of its mind when it recommended to stop your workload, if lovemaking becomes too burdensome to your heart rhythms! I kid you not...
I mean, has anyone in those respective PR agencies/studios ever bothered to remind their bankable stars that when someone calls it a wrap/say "cut," that usually signifies the end of that play acting role? Or better yet, has those A-listers bothered to seriously consider what the word, "cut," really means on a more intimate/honest, real world, where there are no spotlights, no make-up crew, no wardrobe advisers, no entourages, no papparazzis? OK, maybe not so much the latter-most group, but it still doesn't ignore the fact that private lives--especially romantic ones, aren't always going to involve an aforementioned group of "paid friends" to basically wet-nurse you around, brown nosing you with typical yes men answers to an otherwise, gorgeously-insecure facade? Besides, ask any serious relationship expert, and they'll always say that relationships are about honesty, to sort of relax and be yourselves without so much of a performance, which I often wondered is the reason why so many romances/marriages broke up so often: too many of us are trying to put up an Oscar-worthy performance over something we just frankly don't have the gonads--OR OVARIES, to be honest with! ...and this is coming from someone who has long since dismissed the superficiality/pomposity of the Academy Awards!
Yet in concluding this blog, some of you may already be asking yourselves, if not me personally, why did I make the theme of Hollywood, such a large role in the subject of relationships in L.A.? Well, since too many of us have blindly followed, if not at least subconsciously (in a Pavlovian sense), followed just about every trend here via Tinseltown like the sheeple we are, how much of our lower-profile romances have ventured into that same, Method acting workload that otherwise should have been left back at the office--and not into our homes/mailing addresses? How much does our sense of keeping up with the Desperate Housewives-styled Joneses left us portraying relationship characters that have for the most part, existed more in our solipsist minds than in external (or even internal), physical realities? And as I have to seriously prepare myself/pursue a REAL relationship, warts, flatulence, quirks, et al, I have to ask all of us here, how many of us will ever have, or at least be willing to, invest in a romance that is more openly honest/supportive (of each other) than say, in one of those euphemistic (read: polyamorous), "open relationships(?)," given how still cynically-dishonest, open polyamorous relationships are!
And given that recent reality show scandal/gory true Hollywood (crime) story that is Ryan Jenkins and Jasmine Fiore, how many of us can fess up to a rewarding romance that won't involve as much silicon or (cancer-causing) plastic as those needlessly tragic statistics, very-oft displayed on our syndicated showings of TMZ.com? But hey, given how much breast implants, VISA cards are so prevalent here, who knows how many of us have already fallen prey to becoming just as plastic as the very cancerous materials, we often times (either) surgically implanted inside ourselves, OR used to "charge it," for that former surgical procedure? After a while, I can (symbolically) understand why there's a call to wean ourselves away from Tupperware usage!
It's very much real, no matter how surreal it is then as now. In hindsight, I almost wanna surmise that what happened to America on September 11, 2001 is akin to when my mom died back in 1982: a very traumatic, life-changing event, forcing everybody to grow up fast--and I've already had 3 immediate family members having to meet their maker, almost microcosmically no different than what many Americans will/would soon be facing with the subsequent Wars on Terror.
