There's just a meanness in this world

What a week.
It all began last Saturday with a text message from Jamie that I will never forget.
“Active shooter in squirrel hill near shady and wilkins. Be careful.”
I was several miles from that area at the time, but I relayed the message to my supervisor and went on carrying mail.
By the time I got to my regular mail route, in came more details.
“They have the guy in custody.
8 dead.
Inside tree of life synagogue.”
Since I have become jaded about mass shootings and the inability or unwillingness to do anything about them, I replied, "Here we go again."

****

But this was not like other shootings, because this one was so close. Every mass shooting is a tragedy, but they are usually so far away from your everyday life that they become nothing more than a reason to shake your head when you watch the news. A church in Charleston, a school near Boston, a gay bar in Orlando--all might as well be on another planet if you don't live in that neck of the woods. 
Not so this time. While Tree of Life is not on my mail route (it's even in another zip code, strangely enough), I could easily walk there from it. 
The biggest thing I noticed as I walked my route that afternoon was the lack of activity. Saturdays are usually more quiet than weekdays anyhow, but this was different. Few people were out walking, and several people who I did talk to, obviously aware of the situation, told me to be careful. I'd been keeping an eye out for trouble already due to the letter bomb situation (there are two prominent local politicians on my route, both Democrats), but this day was eerie in its stillness. The main noise I heard--which I will never forget--was the constant whirr of helicopters overhead. (No running to make up time today, Bob.) At one point, I heard the schoolmaster from Pink Floyd: The Wall shouting in my head and couldn't help but laugh. 
Nobody on my route was killed that day, but there were several familiar surnames among the dead. The law of averages tells me that some of my customers were in that building. It still seems hard to believe that this happened so close to me--in Squirrel Hill, literally Mister Rogers' neighborhood. 
But in another way, it's not hard to believe at all.

****

Much has been, and will continue to be, said about the root causes of this, and all the other, mass shootings in this country. If you follow me on Facebook, you know how I feel about those issues. I could sit here and talk about guns, Trump, hate speech, what have you, all day, but it's my only day off of the week and I have laundry to do, bills to pay, and a house to clean. Besides, the shooting ultimately isn't about those things. They are all symptoms, to be sure, but the disease is much bigger. 
When I was young, I was a bit of a "true crime" geek, and I have returned to that fascination sporadically since. I have always been intrigued by what motivates people to commit horrible crimes. But this case is different. 
It actually surprises me a bit that I can't bring myself to care about the shooter's motivation, aside from his anti-Semitism, which has been all over the news. I couldn't care less about what books he read, what drugs he took, or his relationship with his mother. To care about those things is to concede that there are some sort of mitigating circumstances that might somehow justify his actions.
And there are none. 

Mensa Alley

MENSA ALLEY

A tribute to my early years on the Mensa RG circuit

(To the tune of “Creeque Alley” by The Mamas and the Papas)

IT student, perhaps it wasn’t prudent

But I left the horse racing behind

Y2K, I just had to get away

And see what happiness I could find

Went to Can We Talk on Thursday nights

With Red and Steve and Roland, doing it right

Soon everybody knew me, one night Red said to me,

“Go to the Dayton RG”

She twisted my arm and that began a whole new life for me

When I got to Dayton, fun and games were waitin’

People gave me hugs all around

Thoughts did strike me that they were so much like me

Paradise was what I had found

I danced and I played games for hours (at the RG)

And then the friendly forecast called for April showers

I made many new friends and even had a girlfriend

My life would never be like before

I wouldn’t be ashamed to call myself a nerd anymore

Every RG was an adventure for me

A play in which we all had a part

Mary Lee was queen and Skinner made the scene

And Gloater taught me double-deck hearts

Many geniuses before my eyes (shut up, Barry!)

But after every quiz bowl, I won the prize

I finally felt free because I could be me

They didn’t even mind when I’d sing

I knew right there and then that Mensa was a lifetime thing

For two great RG seasons, Mensa was the reason

I got out of bed every day

Cincy and SEMMantics, WeeM and Rivers 3

And don’t forget The Queen’s Croquet

Then April said she had to have a baby

She thought I told her no, but really it was maybe

We knew it was lights out, we both cried our eyes out

But I had little time to be blue

Met Jamie on the Hell’s Ms list and then I said, “Yahoo!”

Pittsburgh, Fritzburgh, mighty Steeler blitz-burgh

Sixteen years I’ve been with my bae

Red’s a DVM and Steve is born again

And April swings a different way

Skinner, Gloater, Roland, they’re all gone now

The Mensa RG train will keep on rolling somehow

With every new summer, I can’t help but wonder

Where we’ll be as time marches on

Well, now you’ve heard my story, you kids need to get off my lawn!

Under His Eye

It's been three long years, but I finally have another blog post! I've had several song parodies rolling around in my head for a while (hey, you need something to break the monotony on the mail route), and I finally finished one. It's not great, but I hope you like it. Who knows? I may be back with some more blog entries soon! So here's one for all you fans of "The Handmaid's Tale" out there:

UNDER HIS EYE
(To the tune of "Under My Thumb" by The Rolling Stones)

Under His eye, in a place they call Gilead
Under His eye, that’s a place where things are really bad
Theocracy!
If you’re a woman, your rights are all gone
You’re really screwed and that ain’t no lie
You’re under His eye
Blessed be the fruit, babe

Under His eye, you must give up everything for God
Under His eye, or they’ll hit you with a cattle prod
Nobody’s free, oh, no
If you’re a Handmaid, you’ve got to be bred
And your consent just went bye-bye
You’re under His eye
Ah, ah, say it’s not right

Under His eye, if you’re gay, you better beware
Under His eye, they’ll hang you or cut you down there
It’s treachery
Or they could ship you to the Colonies
The radiation will make you die
You’re under His eye

It’s misery, oh, yeah
The way they do just what they’re told

Too afraid to even cry
They’re under His eye

Under His eye, don’t tell me it couldn’t happen here

Under His eye, our administration fills me full of fear
Why can’t you see? Oh, that’s what I said
Stand up and fight or the day will come
You’re gonna wake up and wonder why
We’re under His eye
Say, it’s not right
It’s not right
Say, it’s not right

Don't take it easy, babe