All right, we're back and it's time to rock and roll. Except that I don't want to. I mean, come on. We've just inaugurated a man whose brain is clearly made of Jell-O. Lyndon LaRouche would be a better president and as Dave Barry has said, he's got a whack-a-mole game for a brain. So I won't rant. Or at least I won't start out to. All else is mutable.

I just got a new job. The loss of my old job coincided enough with the new millennium (It is too, and don't piss me off - I was stockpiling weapons and big plastic bags last year) and the loss of my internet access that I suspect it was some kind of cosmic retribution for some heinous crime in my past. And I got a traffic ticket that week too. Loads of fun. But I now have a new job, one that allows me to say, with a totally straight face, "I work with dead people". And it's true. I work in a funeral home. I see dead people. All the time.

Of all the places anyone expected me to wind up, that was probably not on the list. Organized crime was probably seen as more likely than working in a funeral home. But I get money for it, which allows me to make car payments, rent payments, loan payments, and even - sometimes - pay for shiny things that catch my eye.

Obviously I have internet access again. I paid the traffic ticket, an exercise that allowed me to determine which of the two passengers in my car should ever be allowed to ride with me again, but as it didn't change my previous opinion on the same subject, it was an expensive test of an already-working system. Sounds rather like Microsoft, doesn't it?

I read The Beach by Alex Garland. Overall a good book, although Lord of the Flies has the creepiness factor. But it made me wonder - since the author is quite young and the novel deals significantly with Vietnam, how long will my generation pay for that mistake? I wasn't even a gleam in anyone's eye when the last helicopter left Saigon or wherever the fuck it was - you know, the one with all the people hanging off the landing skids, trying to get to freedom. My dad has told two stories about Vietnam, and one only once. I know nothing about his experiences there. The only thing I know is what I read for a major paper - Guided Coursework for the IB students in the audience. So why do I live with it?

How many groups are putting out songs like Rooster by Alice In Chains?

Writing The Beach?

Where does the penance end?

Seattle celebrated Tet this week - still is for all I know. I know people who cannot physically listen to Vietnamese speech on the streets. Does this seem fucked up?

I'm not arguing right or wrong on the war itself here. I think it was a stupid war, one fought for the absolute worst possible wrong reasons - Richard NIxon being the worst. What I want to know is, when's the pull-by on the anger and frustration and hurt and rage that my generation's parents suffered and that we are receiving? When do we stop? When do boomers pull their heads out of their asses and realize that someone might understand if they tried to vocalize their thoughts on the war?

When do my people stop trying to cope with this shitload of guilt and adventure and excitement and the rest of the bullshit? We weren't even there and we're coping with it.

It's obvious that Vietnam will not stop war. We've had one since and a bunch of "police actions", as if some NYPD flatfoot is out there with his billyclub. So what's the received wisdom?

The answer is there is none. The only thing to say is that there is no point to this masturbatory trip that vets engage in with each other and with others around them. I know people who act like I have the IQ of a carrot and wouldn't be able to understand if they tried to explain Vietnam to me, which translates to the fact that they want to wallow in the guilt and anger and frustration and exhilaration and what-the-fuck-ever else they feel about Vietnam, and talking about it would merely a) remove the pleasure of the feelings and b) cause them to question the validity of feeling that way 20-some-odd years later..

Okay, do they think they would understand if I tried to explain some of my personal incidents, which I won't get into here because the statute of limitations has not expired? No, they most likely wouldn't. It's all a personal thing, and the best we can do is share it with others in an attempt to understand ourselves. Or at least you can try to understand yourself; I've got enough problems, but thanks for sharing anyway.

Listen to Rooster. Read The Beach. Accept the reality of others, especially insane people, whether vets or not - it might crack the cosmic egg. Go forth. Understand. Live.

Deal.

Inventing my others,

Channon