misplaced grits

The cook at work decided to recognize the day with catfish, hushpuppies, johnny cakes, mustard greens, black-eyed peas and missippi mud pie. The thing is, I work in possibly the whitest part of Portland with ninety-some-odd, ninety-year old people who stood in line asking if there were any peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches to be had.

It seemed like a day not to work. I was reminded of the days when I, a child of 13, campaigned for Bobby Kennedy on the steps of Medford Mid High School. I have read that Decency died with the Kennedys. I don't know. I know I live in an indecent world, with cameras recording heineous acts with disturbing nonchalance, distributing unspeakable images for the masses to devour at their leisure. We are hyenas. All these centuries of evolution gone for nothing. Nothing at all. For leisure. I remember this bad movie -- a Jack Nicholsen movie called "The Crossing Guard". John Morris (I think) played a drunk driver who got out of prison after a long stint, and when asked at a party if he missed freedom, said, "if all freedom means to you is entertainment, then its over-rated." We have sold the collective soul for entertainment.

So, I worked... on this day of mourning for a womanizer who had a good speech at the right time.