A big jumble of stuff
# # #
There is a McDonald's radio commercial where the voiceover kid says McDonald's "has this whole kickin' line of chicken sandwiches." Kickin', eh? Chicken sandwiches are not "kickin'." Chicken is the least "kickin'" of all meats. Everything goes back to chicken. It's why people say various foodstuffs taste like chicken. It would be easier to take if he said McDonald's "has this whole kickin' line of horse meat sandwiches." Ba dum baaam ah daaahh, I'm hating it!
And going along with the commercial subject, I hope the woman who is the new spokesperson for Valtrex is getting paid well. It doesn't seem it would help her life to be the person people envision when they think herpes medication.
# # #
Twenty years ago Saturday is the anniversary of the Challenger space shuttle explosion. It is my first real "where were you when..." moment. It is probably that way with a lot of people my age and a little older. It was a cold, sunny day, and it has snowed the day before. I was standing in the kitchen of the old house in Indianapolis when I heard on TV what happened. I also remember the next day standing in the basement and staring at the picture on the front page of the Indianapolis Star. I still have that newspaper. I was four, and it was the first instance in my life when I realized that bad things happen.
If the Challenger was the first big thing I remember, 9/11 is the most vivid. My story of 9/11 starts on 9/10. Sept. 10, 2001 was a bad day for me. I was tired and generally in a bad mood. When I left Butler to go home, I was humming a song in my head about something having to do with "it's a bad day." (I still really regret this, and it's one of the strangest things my brain has produced, given the later circumstances.) When I got home, I watched Monday Night Football. Giants-Broncos. My last memory of the post-9/11 world was of Denver Broncos wide receiver Ed McCaffery breaking his leg.
The next morning, I woke up at 6 for my 8 a.m. sportswriting class. Something felt weird and not right. As I was getting dressed, on the radio, they talked about a U.S. spy plane being shot down in Iraq. I rode to school with my dad that day, and when we left home, he was talking about how something was really wrong with Grandpa and they were going to take him to the hospital later that day. That scared me because he had been doing well before that. As we drove on 70, I remarked at how blue the sky was, and how it looked like a perfect day.
When I got to Butler, I went to my "commuter locker" to get my books. In the lounge was a big-screen TV, and I noticed the news program broke into a special report to say a "small plane" had crashed into the World Trade Center. The hosts seemed to think it was a fluke, and I figured that since it was a small plane that it was an accident, so I went to my sportswriting class. Nobody brought it up, until Blake Dearing walked in and said what I already knew. We looked on the Internet, and found short AP stories that didn't tell us much.
After class, I went back to the lounge where there were now probably 30 people standing around looking sad. I wasn't sure what to think until I looked at the TV. The first thing I saw was that the Pentagon had been hit. This was what registered it as being worse than I thought. As I stood amongst the people, for awhile, there was silence. I took a chair someone had left, sat down and buried my head in my hands as the towers collapsed.
For a second, I remembered I had my C&T class coming up, but I saw Mr. Levin in the group of people and he said it was cancelled. I stayed there for about two hours. Eventually, I went to get lunch, and later walked with someone (I forget who) to my dinosaur evolution class. We talked about how it seemed like a movie. My dinosaur evolution professor decided to cancel our quiz, but we still had class. We watched an old movie about the Scopes Monkey Trial, and there was this song with a woman singing really loudly that made me uncomfortable. When we were finished, I talked to Dr. Karn about what happened that day. I brought up the spy plane news from the morning and wondered if that meant anything.
Since it was a nice day, I sat at one of the tables outside Atherton. A girl from my C&T class stopped by and we talked some more about it. She said she was afraid they'd bring back the draft, and that "people like you (me)" would have to go fight. That gave me something else to worry about. After studying for awhile, it was time to go home. When I saw my dad, the words out of my mouth were, "Well, the world is quite a different place now from when I saw you last."