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9/11/2020

by Vanderleun on September 11, 2020

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jwm September 11, 2020, 3:37 PM

Not to be a nit-picky old bastard, but for the love of God, seeing those in attendance wearing the mask of submission is disgusting enough. To see the color guard in face diapers is disgusting, insulting beyond words.

JWM

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Terry September 11, 2020, 7:57 PM

@ jwm

I couldn’t agree with your observation more than I do. Absolutely sickening display of cowardice/stupidity.

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Vanderleun September 11, 2020, 8:07 PM

Not to put too fine a point on it but I believe that the color guard is required to obey orders regarding the uniform of the day.

It’s a no win for those who participate at the White House.

Either…
accept the ratio and drag from those who hate the masks. (I count myself among the hate but it doesn’t extend to the workers and the members of the service who have NO CHOICE in the matter.)

or…

Have the meaning of the moment of silence lost in the peals of hate from the haters of America among the media and the vile co-citizens of this nation.

Looking at that:

I hearby and through the powers vested in me issue an American Digest Pardon for wearing the masks.

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ghostsniper September 12, 2020, 4:41 AM

I looked twice, I only saw a mask on the sgt at arms, of the uniformed troops.
But yeah, masks blow.

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Next post: The Missing

Previous post: What I Saw: Notes Made on September 11, 2001 from Brooklyn Heights

Welcome to the New American Digest: 2003-2020

My Back Pages

Van der Leun: The Normblog Bio of Your Host

“From a student radical/hippie/leftist of the Free Speech Movement/Vietnam Day Commitee era and a full-on Democratic Liberal in the decades after, I think I’ve evolved a politics that is neither right nor left but is, in its elemental nature, draconian. In the last 20 years, I’ve taken apart my beliefs with a sledgehammer. Now I’ve got to put the surviving parts back together with tweezers and other ‘shabby equipment, always deteriorating’.”

A Wicker Basket

Comes the time when it’s later
and onto your table the headwaiter
puts the bill, and very soon after
rings out the sound of lively laughter—

Picking up change, hands like a walrus,
and a face like a barndoor’s,
and a head without any apparent size,
nothing but two eyes—

So that’s you, man,
or me. I make it as I can,
I pick up, I go
faster than they know—

Out the door, the street like a night,
any night, and no one in sight,
but then, well, there she is,
old friend Liz—

And she opens the door of her cadillac,
I step in back,
and we’re gone.
She turns me on—

There are very huge stars, man, in the sky,
and from somewhere very far off someone hands me a slice of apple pie,
with a gob of white, white ice cream on top of it,
and I eat it—

Slowly. And while certainly
they are laughing at me, and all around me is racket
of these cats not making it, I make it

in my wicker basket.

— BY ROBERT CREELEY