I'm Like "Whoa!" And He's All "Woe" So I Go "Wha?" And He's Like "Yeah"
I was all ready to leave the carnage of yesterday's post behind, but I guess it's just not meant to be. It's too bad too because I have some very strong thoughts to share about the persistent existence of Manhattan Transfer. But that will have to wait.

Since this business of the murder of an entire family happened within 100 miles of me and inside the imaginary lines that make up the long, straight borders of Riverside County, the local paper is treating it with just the right amount of total lack of reserve. Four full pages with pictures and diagrams of the layout of the house, where all the bodies were found, full transcripts of the 911 call (in which the person calling never actually says anything)... The Second Coming of Jesus would get less coverage. Unless of course it happened in, say, Palm Springs or something.

Lots of gross details are coming out about the massacre. What I'm disturbed most about is the computer print-out suicide-note the shooter left behind. It's got some lyrics to a Los Lonely Boys song called "Heaven" and the following haunting couplet: "Woe is me. I'm looking forward to seeing you in the next life".

Man. As all of you have recently learned, I'm something of an expert on the subject of poetry and I have to say, as a closing remark, that just plain sucks. Not only does it not rhyme, but the lines are all disproportionate. Sure, maybe it's supposed to be free-form, but you can forget about iambic pentameter. No structure at all. It's just sort of... I don't know, on-the-nose.

Plus, "woe is me"? Who says that? Maybe 70 year old Looney Toons cartoons, but that's Elmer Fudd after being outsmarted by the rabbit he's hunting. Again. People laugh, but being out-thought by a 6' tall rodent--I don't care if it talks or not, it's still a rodent--is some heavy, heavy existential shit. Plus he's got the speech impediment and the hair-growth issues... it's an unending cycle of aggression and depression for that poor giant-headed bastard. If anyone deserves a "woe is me", it's him.

And Los Lonely Boys. OK sure, they're the biggest thing in Spanglish pop-folk-rock since Los Lobos, but we're talking about a grown white man here. Los Lonely Boys is music for... you know what, I don't even know who. Someone is buying this stuff, but I wouldn't have assumed the primary demographic was financially-strapped murder-spree-capable monoglot Anglos. Not if you gave me a million guesses and a bag full of hints.

To be fair though--the paper printed all the lyrics to the song--that "Heaven" song is some depressing shit. Not shoot-all-your-family-members-while-they-sleep depressing, but definitely in the contemplate-a-bottle-of-sleeping-pills realm.

Without a doubt the most startling and disturbing thing about the whole 4 full page story and two-panel full-color pull-out section was that I know now that there is a little girl living somewhere in Riverside County whose name is Audi.

It's so heartbreakingly shocking and completely unbelievable I'm going to repeat that entire paragraph: Without a doubt the most startling and disturbing thing about the whole 4 full page story and two-panel full-color pull-out section was that I know now that there is a little girl living somewhere in Riverside County whose name is Audi.

In the course of interviewing people at the school the murdered children attended, they talked to a lady dropping off her niece. I'm sure she said some very heartfelt things and whatnot about how sad it all is and how nice the kids were, but it all went flying out of my head when I learned her niece's name was Audi.

Like the car Audi, really? I'd like so so much to convince myself it's short for Audrey or something. It is a newspaper, so maybe it's a typo for what is really just an odd alternate spelling, like "Audri".

Hang on, I'm going to check it again just to be sure.

Fuck me, it says Audi.

I really want to give her parents some kind of credit--just so I can maybe possibly understand and this one unreconcilable fact won't drive me completely mad--like at least they didn't name her Volvo because it sounds like "Vulva" and kids can be cruel, but man, I just don't think I can make the logical leap past the brick-wall of the fact that they named their child after a Swedish automobile corporation. Are they Swedish? Maybe they're German. I guess it doesn't matter. The point is they're a) foreign and b) not a little girl's name.

OK, I'm getting too worked up. The point of this blog, as usual, is to be constructive, even in the face of the whole nasty nihilistic world. As usual, I try to leave you with a little gem, something to tuck neatly in your rectum and sneak past the overseers at the mine for you to take home and cherish after a thorough cleaning or six.

Look, if you're despondent about finances, you don't murder your kids. Is that only obvious to me? If you want to off yourself, that's fine, but your kids... Everyone knows you're supposed to sell them on the black market. You know what I can get for blue-eyed gringo children in Honduras? And I have three of them. One flight to Tegucigalpa and I own my house outright.

I bring love, people. Nothing but love.



This post on the Narcissus Scale: 4.8


Pops


PS- I'd link you directly to the story, but the paper's site requires one of those annoying free registration things so they can track you and spam you about important shit you don't need. But if you're still determined to get your up-to-the-minute news about the greater Riverside area, the Press-Enterprise is the place for you.
- posted by Pops @ 9:49 AM