Aftermath, as we say.
I really have little, if anything, in me to say about the NYC bombings this weekend. Yet, parts of me feel the urge to pontificate . . . of course, there's also the questions from a couple of close friends wanting to know when I'll ponder. When 9-11 happened I was teaching a course--we were covering the Comstock Laws--and when Saddam Hussein was captured I was shoveling my car out of a blizzard. When he was executed I was in rural Virginia for a holiday and packing, as I was headed to my first trip to Turkey that January. When Osama Bin Laden was captured I was doing laundry in an urban, city 'hood fashion. I pontificated here, probably one of the better ones . . . or not. When bombs, of pressure cookers and burner phones, went off in NYC I was home . . . reading literature on Chinese American restaurants, blaring some "empowered women's mix" from Apple radio, and rotating with edits on a grant application to finally finish my Aegean Sea cultural st...