Where we’ve been

For just a moment, consider the number of times you’ve sandwiched yourself inside a club. The types of places where there’s not enough room for you and your beer bottle to fit through the crowd, so you carry your brew like an unlit torch through the throng. The types of places when you get close to the stage and the pushing gets so strong you have to use your ass as an organic battering ram to move people back.

I can’t count the times.

Whether The Urge was encouraging us to get on our knees and bark like a dog or Jackyl was making chainsaw noises, I’ve been there.

I was relieved this morning when the news managers didn’t force me to do a “could it happen here” story. I was fully prepared to counter with “it could happen anywhere.” It could happen to me tonight.

The irony of the entire situation in Rhode Island was that we can see exactly what happened inside that club, because some news manager thought it would be a good idea for his reporter to do a “could it happen here story.” Guess what, newsie? It could and did.

When the 24 hour news stations have a hard time with the lead stories, you know the world is on a strange tilt. Club crushes, club fires, brain dead transplant patients, petro storage explosions. It’s impossible to keep up.

Yes, my life is boring. (When I wrote that, I almost wrote “terminally” boring).

After all my talk of needing some action, damned if boring isn’t the best of all possibilities right now.