So - today I get to catch up on other work, and maybe even LJ. (Hah!)
For your viewing pleasure: Really Bad Wiring Jobs. Go, look, and be very very afraid. Especially of the 7th photo down.
Apparently we had 5 nuclear warheads accidentally flying around the country, mounted onto a B-52 bomber. The crew, and everyone else, was unaware of this from the time they took off in ND until they landed in LA.
Overheard this morning, as Linda was checking her email: "The spammers are my true friends. They never forget me."
As heard on NPR: Gregory Djanikian recently released a book of poetry that traces his family's story, starting with the Turkish genocide of the Armenians (1915-1917) to their life in Egypt and their immigration to the United States.
Listen: The Aestheticians of Genocide
In the interview, he spoke of his grandfather, who had escaped to Egypt. And I heard echoes of my own father, whose father died in a concentration camp in WWII, and who had himself spent time in a camp, though I know nothing of the specifics of it - it isn't something that he speaks of easily. Those of Djanikian's family who had survived the genocide also didn't speak of it. His grandfather, like my father, was a very gifted man, able to speak 7 languages, and who devoured books in multiple tongues - religion, politics, history, biography: anything but fiction. More books than there were shelves.
He disliked fiction, Djanikian said, maybe because it wasn't real. My father says the same thing.
I believe that it is not just that. I think that on some level, my father views fiction as escapism at best, a distraction from reality. And that where fiction tries to touch on important issues, on issues that deal with the horrific in human nature, that it invariably tames it, tempers it, and worst of all, trivializes it.
He also hated "Hogan's Heroes" with a passion.