Horrible, horrible stuff. Today is horrible stuff.

Now that that has been said...

Every year, as the family members of victims read out the names of other victims, I get frustrated. They each have, what, ten names to read and they get them wrong? I know that you are in mourning, but at least work things out enough to have the respect to get them right. Those names belong to people, and those people are now dead.

It reminds me of when they televise the annual "War of the Roses" memorial. I mean, come on, everyone's last name is either Lancaster or York, and all the first names are something hoity toity and easy. I mean, it is AlisSTIR, not AlisSTAIR, get it right or pay the price.

And how about those names from the war that turned the gatherers into agricultural settlers? There's no way little Timmy, ancient ancestor of Garumph, is going to be able to get Garumph's name right with his cleft palate and lisp.

I'm going to go ahead and agree with Alanna and say that the best one, though, is the annual readings of the names from the victims of the Cold War. Nothing is more refreshing in these post modern times than three hours of complete silence.

-J