The Defense

Well, I made #4 on The BEAST's 50 Most Loathsome People in America, 2005. I suppose we all did, but I feel I should at least answer the charges. Here they are:

4. You

Charges: Silently enabling and contributing to the irreversible destruction of your planet. Absolving yourself of your responsibility to do anything about it that your immediate neighbors don't. Assuming that it's normal behavior to spend several hours each day totally inert and staring into a cathode ray tube. Substituting antidepressants for physical motion. Caring more about the personal relationships of people you will never meet than your own. Shrugging your shoulders at the knowledge that your government is populated by criminal liars intent on fooling you into impoverished, helpless submission. Cheering this process on.

Exhibit A: You don't even know who your congressman is.

Sentence: Deathbed realization that your entire life was an unending series of stupid mistakes and wasted opportunities, a priceless gift of potential extravagantly squandered, for which you deserve nothing but scorn or, at best, indifference, and a cold, meaningless demise.

OK, let's start with my pleas to the charges, in order: guilty, guilty, guilty, not guilty unless you count caffeine as an antidepressent, only slightly guilty, guilty, guilty. I guess I didn't do to well.

The evidence: Nita Lowey, bitch.

Sentence: Yeah, I suppose I'll take it. But considering I'm not totally guilty on all the charges, and they really have no evidence, I think I'll instead take a deathbed realization that my live was only wasted opportunities and not stupid mistakes...I've made a few stupid mistakes, but I'm much more of a wasted opportunities sort of gal, wasting opportunities such as college. And I think I deserve befuddlement, not scorn, and, God no, not indifference. The cold, meaningless demise? Sounds about right. Although if, in honor of my death, we could keep the thermostat at 72 degrees for just a couple of days, that would be great. I'll let you know when I'm a few days from death and willing to use all my money to pay for the wasted oil that went into heating my final hours. But hopefully the price of oil will be down by then.

In other words, I'm creating a special circle of hell for incompetent and/or scheming realtors, along with blood-sucking insurance companies. A small, vaguely special place in heaven goes to the guy in the breakfast cart who knows my order and smiles when he gives me my coffee and to the young, upbeat cab driver who makes talking about the weather seem like something slightly more than smalltalk.