Torturing The Cat

This post about war as a thing that gives a jolt of meaning in the midst of complacency really struck me today. I've been falling asleep to The War on PBS lately, and I had a conversation the other day with someone who admitted to feeling a pang of envy for that sense of terrible purpose. (What, you want to go die in a war? I sniped.) I remember feeling wistful, in the halcyon 90's, for someone to hate as much as my mom hated Nixon. (Thanks, George!) I remember the sunny day I rode my bike to lab thinking, I wish something would happen so I didn't have to work today. I remember thinking, Cool, I don't have to work today. The powerful urgency of just getting through on the telephone to ... anyone ... to someone I hadn't talked to in a while. A perfect reason, putting into perspective what really matters, etc. Remember those dreams about the Holocaust, where Lisa got in the truck with her parents because I couldn't hide them all in my basement? I'd have been a spy. I'd have gotten out of there. I'd have ... I'm thinking of my Coulter-reading relative switching off FOX "News" not because it is shite but because she "can't be an activist every day." Yeah, I sneer; but what activism do I pursue getting righteously indignant over at Pharyngula's or Twisty's and then wandering off down the street for an iced coffee and a long hard think about my dissertation? You know what I mean. Anyway, it's a good post, much better written than I could have done.