September 11

Hey today is the anniversary of the September 11, 2001 business. I know this, because NPR has been ramping up to it all week, asking people, "now how did it feel to learn that your father was buried in a collapsed building? ... Do you miss him? ... Do you still think about him every day?"

There are two things that have bothered me ever since 2001, and I would like them to stop before the tenth anniversary (is the tenth anniversary more or less significant than the fifth?). First, when you are beginning your story about how your wife died, do not tell me what nice weather there was that day. It is not significant. It's not like this was a novel, and we need to analyze the author's choice of clear skies rather than heavy fog to get an insight into his intent. The weather just happens.

Second, don't talk about the 3,000 people who were "murdered" that day. Maybe they were murdered. I guess international terrorism is a crime in New York. But that's not how we talk. We don't talk about the people who were murdered in Dresden or London, even though there was probably legislation outlawing the Blitz. If we want to treat this like a war, let's be serious. Even better (worse) is when we say they were "slaughtered". I like how slaughter is worse than murder when it comes to people, but the "meat is murder" people have it the other way around. Let's just say they were killed, okay? Save the clever language for descriptions of how blue the sky was on that peaceful autumn morning. (Answer: cerulean)