A Brief Romantic Blog

This posting is in the response to the requests of both an old friend and of a sweet niece, for whom it could be sub-titled "How I Met Your Aunt Linda." It is the first or second day of school in the fall of 1969 and disturbingly hot in the halls of Chittenango High School. I am sweltering in a sport coat and tie because I believe that is the way a teacher must dress. The 13 English teachers, at least 5 of us newbies, attend the first English department meeting of the year in the upstairs teachers' room. Across from me sits Linda Baker, a lovely brunette in a blue dress. At least, I believe it was blue. I couldn't swear to it. Little do I guess that upon first glance, she doesn't like me. It's because I am wearing a suede sport coat and have a wide leather watch band. She thinks I must be one of those stuck on themselves, cool kind of guys, whom she doesn't care for. Needless to say we do not fall instantaneously in love.

But fortunately, Linda soon forgives me my deer skin jacket. She's very literary, so maybe my coat reminds her of Natty Bumppo. And gradually we fall in love. It helps that we teach ROMEO AND JULIET together to all the ninth graders at Chittenango High School. It helps that many of those ninth graders would choose to play Cupid and urge us together. For example, Sue Matina nee Myers delivers notes to me from Linda. Sue thought that was quite romantic, she reminded us not long ago.

Our love is also fueled by our proximity to each other during the hours off from school. Young teachers hang out together and party together, and there was a bunch of us new teachers, and we were a hanging and partying crew. It took almost 2 years until I asked her, in a cottage on Oneida Lake, to marry me, and a year later we were married and went honeymooning on Cape Cod. In the years that have followed we probably have been back to Cape Cod 100 times. Maybe more. We go back to the Cape for a little renewal, I guess, although I don't think we really need it. We always seem to be new to each other. Let me cite one of my favorite lines from OUR TOWN. On the morning of his son's wedding, Doc Gibbs admits to his wife that when they got married, "I was afraid we weren't going to have material for conversation more'n'd last us a few weeks. I was afraid we'd run out and eat our meals in silence. That's a fact. You and I have been conversing for 20 years now without any noticeable barren spells." For Linda and me, it has been 37 and 1/2 years.

We Used to Fall in Love A Lot

On Saturday night, we went with my mother-in-law, to a very nice restaurant in Waterford. The night was lovely, temperature nearly forty, no cold wind, and the air smelling of nearly spring. Shortly, after we were seated, our server, a very pretty girl, small, sort of snowboarder size, with a great smile and the uniquely spelled name "Lindsie," read us the list of specials. Not being interested in the specials, I glanced around the room. Sitting next to us, with his mom and dad, was a guy of about 20 in a college sweatshirt. He didn't notice that I happened to look at him, because he was looking at Lindsie, and there were stars in his eyes. I knew he had fallen instantaneously in love.

This moment, combined with the fact that spring was in the air in Waterford, sent my mind reeling back to 1966 or '67. About 20 miles from where I was sitting is the UAlbany campus, and back those many years, when spring was in the air, or fall or winter for that matter, my roommate Mike and I would fall instantaneously in love, like the kid at the next table, at least 2 or 3 times a week. Mike would come back from the library, and say, "G, I just fell in love." I would come back from the humanities building and say, "Rose, I think I'm in love." It was wonderful, foolish, and frustrating, because usually we wouldn't see the girl we had fallen in love with again for months, if ever. After all, the university had a huge campus, full of girls worthy of falling in love with. (That's one of those sentences that just needs to end in a preposition.) Mike was particularly good at getting first names and hometowns. He would then come back to the room and search through the thousands of names in the campus directory until he found the full name of the young woman who had swiftly stolen his heart. I wasn't effective at all. I was too shy.

An extremely major issue in the life of many a teenish or twenty something-ish guy is the perfect girl watch. The seeking of the soulmate, so to speak. Until I happened upon the boy at the table in Waterford, who had been quietly thunderstruck by Lindsie, I may have forgotten the sweetness and agony of being alive and on society's version of the prowl. I felt really bad for the kid next to me, because he was with his mom and dad. If he'd been with his buddies, he could have turned and said, "Hey, guys! I'm in love!"

I hope this post,

is not too smarmy for most.

Life in Chittenango is Great, but. . .

In my 150 postings, I have often written about the joys of life in the village "where waters run north, " but I have to say there are some pretty good things about living in Fayetteville, that little village just north of Manlius, too. The thing that has caught my eye each day for the last few weeks, when I head to Panera Bread for the world's greatest dark roast coffee, is the construction of the world's most beautiful combination gas station, convenience store, and car wash, from now on referred to as the GSCSCW.

Anyone who hasn't seen it owes himself or herself a drive down Rte. 5 to the corner of Burdick Street when Towne Center lies. (I have to admit, I don't know if there's an "e" at the end of Towne in Towne Center, but when discussing Fayetteville it looks so right.) On the northeast corner of that intersection sits the nearly completed Sunoco GSCSCW. The building is spectacular. At the north and south corners of the new building, facing west, are two stone... turrets, I guess you'd have to call them. The roof above the doors appears to be made of COPPER, and the multi-paned windows, trimmed in pristine white, complete the sort of Northwoods look about the place. This GSCSCW will not be run by some guy named "Shorty." Strips of flypaper will not hang from the bathroom ceilings or over the little see-through pizza display case. And though, I'm sure they will be sold there, I just can't imagine this joint peddling Ho-hos, Almond Joys, and those little pine trees that take the stink out of your car.

I imagine the interior of the GSCSCW to be apponted with bearskin rugs, large leather couches, and fireplaces big enough to live in. The place will be filled with handsome apres ski folks. The Olympic Lindsays--Vonn and Jacobellis-- will be holding court on the leather love seats. And in a better world. it will sit right in front of El Capitan in Yosemite Park instead of next door to an all you can eat sushi place.

I don't have a picture of the GSCSCW so I've provided a picture of the aforementioned mountain, instead. When you see this monument to gas station opulence, imagining it sitting in front of El Capitan!

This is a Job for Stacy Foxx and the Double X Girls!

I haven't blogged in a week. I'm two postings away from my 150th entry. I want to blog today, but I'm a bit woozy still from two conscious sedation procedures I had yesterday, which determined that I was internally pristine. So today's blog is going to be cheating. I got a kick out of posting a line from the play SATURDAY NIGHT AT THE BLUE MOON GRILLE on my FACEBOOK profile a couple days ago. So today, I'm going to post a scene from STACY FOXX AND THE DOUBLE X GIRLS, which featured Stephanie McCann, Amanda Clarke Zaengler, Amanda Horning, Catherine Cohen, and Martina Durfee Bex, pictured above. STACY FOXX is a play about a little radio station during WW II and the radio serial, STACY FOXX AND THE DOUBLE X GIRLS. Early in the play, Bonnie (Stacy Foxx) introduces her compadres on their radio serial.

Bonnie:

Well, one night I was talking to four of my friends, and we were all wishing that we could be more of a help with the war effort. Then somebody said wouldn’t it be swell if we were spies or worked undercover for the war department. We were just being silly, of course. But a couple days later when my uncle Ned--he just loves doing sound effects--suggested that I write a serial that we could do on WBTR, I remembered that silly conversation we had. And before you know it, I’d written the first installment of “The Adventures of Stacy Foxx and the Double X Girls.” (she makes her voice very deep) “The story of five young American women, working undercover for the war department, fighting the enemies of America, here on our native soil.”

I’m Stacy. And my four friends who I was having that talk with that night all have parts, too. Nancy Wilson (Amanda Zaengler) plays Vivian Vixen--the femme fatale, Mary Doolittle (Martina Bex) the voice of Spunky Townsend--one tough little customer, Claire Sauer (Stephanie McCann) plays “Big Barb” O’Brien--the muscle of the group, and Jackie Terwilliger (Catherine Cohen) is Naomi Lake, the scientific one.

One of the opening lines features perhaps, the favorite double entendre of the show. Of course, way back then, I claimed it was completely by accident. Right! As this scene begins, the girls are hunting down evil Nazi Herr Weiner. They trap him in a Chinese restaurant and use chubby nun, Sister Corpulenta (Laura Sawyer) as a willing, but shocked, stand-in for the sexy character Vivien Vixen.

Bonnie:

I’m the only one of us who knows what Weiner looks like. I saw his secret photo down at the war department’s secret photo department. I’ll go in and point him out to you Viv?

Jackie:

Don’t you think a German spy is going to kind of stand out in the middle of a Chinese restaurant, anyway?

Bonnie:

Hey, he could be in disguise.

Jackie:

Good point. I’d forgotten that.

Bonnie:

Spread out, gals. Come on Viv. You’ve got a hun to seduce.

Sister:

Saints preserve us. . .I mean I can’t wait to help our boys in the service.

(there is the sound of a door opening, Ned clinks some glasses together and some chopsticks, the girls mumble softly in the background)

Jack:

(in a politically incorrect Chinese accent) You rike table, radies.

Bonnie:

We’re looking for a friend, thank you.

Jack:

OK. Egg loll velly good tonight.

Bonnie:

Thank you. . .There he is Viv. There sitting at the table right underneath the painting of the Great Wall.

Sister:

I see him. He is a handsome fellow isn’t he. Too bad he’s a dirty Nazi. I’ll go over and pitch a little woo in his direction.

Bonnie:

Try to lure him out into the back alley. We’ll get the drop on him there.

Sister:

(beginning to enjoy her role but still a bit tentative) Will do, chief.

Bonnie:

See you out back. Good luck, Viv.

(Ned makes the sound of footsteps crossing the room.)

Sister:

Hello tall, blond and Aryan. What’s a good lookin’ guy like you doin’ here?

Larry: (Nick Roach, in a thick German accent)

Da China man told me to sit here. I vas only following orders.

Sister:

I mean . . .what’s a handsome hunk of a man doing in a joint like this?

Larry:

Oh. I am vaiting for a boat.

Sister:

Really. . . (crosses herself a couple of times) How’d you like to take a little sail around the harbor, skipper?

Larry:

U-boat or mine? (he laughs) A little German humor! Von’t you sit down und have a drink mit me?

Sister:

I’ve got a better idea, baby. Let’s slide out into the alley behind this dump and take on a little cargo before your ship leaves. Whatta ya say?

Larry:

Vy not.

(We hear the sound of footsteps and a door opening.)

Sister:

It’s nice and fresh out here. I hate the smell of Chinese cooking.

Larry:

Ah, Fraulein, you look beautiful in de light of de moon. . .even back here in de alley vere de moon doesn’t shine.

Sister:

Like I said, I hate the smell of Chinese cooking, but ya know what I really hate the smell of? . . German cooking. There’s nothing worse than the stench of Kraut!

Larry:

Vas is loes? Gott in Himmel! Dis is a trap!

Bonnie:

That’s right Weiner, and you’re caught in it.

Claire:

Don’t move ya blond palooka. You’re covered from all sides.

This post may only entertain a few, but, hey, it's February, and my ideas are a bit frozen. (I think this is probably the only time I've written the words "chubby nun!")

I'm LOST!

I used to be a LOST-aholic. Watched it faithfully for several years, but it got so "out there," plus I could never tell exactly what part of the year it would be shown in, so I quit "Losting" just about the time Charlie died in that underwater chamber and the ship blew up. Now I know that death and time and space mean nothing on LOST, so I decided that I would start watching again. After all, these were to be the final episodes of the series.

I DVR'd last week and watched the first hour of the new season yesterday. (I think it was the first hour, anyway.) It's the episode where Jack is in the plane with most everybody else. Then he's back on the island with most everybody else. Then the H-Bomb goes off a couple of times. Or the H-Bomb doesn't go off no matter how hard Juliet hits it with a stick or looks at it with her sexy yet puppyish eyes. I think that was the first episode. If I'm wrong, I'd appreciate being informed.

Here's what I discovered. Hurley still looks like the world's largest unmade bed. Jack still maintains a three day growth of beard without ever shaving. Sawyer's hair is always the same disreputable length, and his eyes have remained bright with which to stare at the dying Juliet. Kate is still the hottest tv chick not to wash her hair in seven years. And John Locke! In and out of the wheelchair. Never has to shave his head. Just how many white t-shirts did he bring to the island? Most amazingly, in one scene, he's alive in the cave and dead on the beach, and he's also the smoke monster. They should have an Emmy category just for him: Best Performance as A Live, Dead, Crippled, Walking, Bald Man Without a Costume Change. I also found out that Charlie is not dead, but instead is trying to kill himself by swallowing a condom full of heroin in an airplane bathroom.

Sayed (sp.) is dying, too. Gut shot, as they say in cop movies! Hurley's gotta take him to the temple so the ghost of Jacob can cure him. If I were Sawyer, I'd bring Juliet's corpse along, too. If the temple can cure a guy with his stomach shot to pieces, maybe it can resurrect a woman with her internal organs crushed.

Having said all this silliness, let me state unequivocally that I LOVED THE EPISODE and plan on watching it until the end. I have no idea what's going on, but isn't that one of the charms of LOST. Sometime, in the future accounts of television history, it will be written that early in the 21st century there was a TV series that made little sense and yet many people loved it. And by the way, how can the smoke monster batter people around when it's made out of smoke? Choke them, maybe.

OD'ing in the 'Nango

Phil Austin with Lion First Vice President Pete Owens

I have just used the inexcusable--a suggestive headline to get people to open this posting. The OD to which I refer is the ONEIDA DISPATCH, and on Thursday night at Lions Club, the Lions heard Phil Austin, the DISPATCH owner and publisher, and a Chittenango resident, discuss his plans for what his paper could mean to and do for Chittenango.

It will mean to us a new medium from which to publicize the activities and good things that are happening in our area. This past summer, I bemoaned the lack of outlets to spread information about SUMMERPLAY. With the CB TIMES defunct and the POST-STANDARD virtually impossible to crack, the only real alternative I had was online. Phil Austin is forward-looking. He saw the need our area has for a newspaper actually printed on newsprint.

More publicity about our village and surrounding area can do a lot for us. I blogged sometime in the past year about how sad it is to see the empty retail buildings on Genesee St. in the village. Last week, the DISPATCH printed an article about Michael's Restaurant, a business that's trying to make a go of it here. Mr. Austin said that he can't wait for more information and photographs about the 'Nango. As soon as I'm done blogging, I'm going to send him a press release and photo for Lions Club.

But you say, I don't subscribe to the Oneida paper. To get my news, you say, I get the POST STANDARD or I search for it online. Well, it's time to subscribe to the OD. The paper is being offered to Chittenango residents for the remarkably reasonable price of 99 cents per week. That's six issues for a penny less than a buck.

Phil Austin is visiting schools and organizations throughout our community to get his message out. And it's message that can make life better and easier for a lot of people. If you'd like to subscribe, go directly to the website www.oneidadispatch.com. If you have photos or a press release you wish to share, send it to PAustin@journalregister.com.

I like newspapers. Linda loves them. We subscribe to the POST STANDARD, and I check the online version of the Madison Courier every morning. Those things won't change, but I look forward to having the ONEIDA DAILY DISPATCH as a Chittenango-friendly alternative.

(Is it me or does the fact that the POST STANDARD features a Madison County page without any Madison County news seem a bit. . .absurd?)

From the Source: My Final Columbine Post, I Think

I blog about things I find interesting and thought provoking, and I blogged this week about the book COLUMBINE for both those reasons. But I discovered that my postings about the famous school shootings would cause an unprecedented reaction for my blogsite THE BLUE MOON GRILLE. There are people for which the truth about Columbine is and always will be a cause from the heart, an open sore, and a mission. Those people must monitor the web for others offering commentary about the tragedy.

I received thoughtful and logical commentaries from someone named Lisa. Lisa is a proponent of the theory that bullying was an integral part in causing Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold's decisions to perpetrate horrible violence. She first sent me a link for a COLUMBINE book review by Randy Brown, which I discussed in my blog yesterday. Today she sent me the link to another review of Dave Cullen's book, this one by Columbine researcher Alisa Kester. Reading the new review was illuminating. Even more illuminating was my discovery of whom I believe Lisa to be. Thank you for contacting me. Lisa, and presenting your side. Know that I was a high school English teacher for 33 years, and I despise bullying. In fact, I blogged about it on January 8. I hope you and those you represent have found some measure of peace. I hope you don't mind if I pray for you.

From the sublime, we sometimes progress to the ridiculous. I was also contacted by a blogger or organization which calls himself/itself starviego. A little research revealed that starviego is/are deep into conspiracy theory. I could almost hear the X-FILE theme and see the smiling faces of the LONE GUNMAN group. I loved those guys.

Finally, I received two comments from Dave Cullen, the author of COLUMBINE. He thanked me for my open-mindedness and provided some really interesting commentary about the arguments I set forth yesterday.

If you would like to read these comments, and you have been following me on FACEBOOK, then you need to go to my blog itself at wwwmotleyplayer.blogspot.com/ As I've said before, the missing (.) after the w's is intentional and the final / is necessary.

I think I'll harken back to THE X-FILES for a moment. A quote that followed Mulder and Scully around was "The truth is out there." It is. I wish the best of luck to everyone who is searching for the truth about Columbine, but I'm quite sure that no book will ever please everyone. My wife is fond of saying, " 'I see,' said the blind man." I guess when I wrote my commentary on COLUMBINE some people thought that quote was devised just for me. I might be getting a touch paranoid, (does paranoia come in touches) because in searching for a photograph to illustrate my blog with today, I became worried that the one I chose might not really feature Columbine survivors. Ah, well.

If you aren't likely to go to my blog but would like to read the review of COLUMBINE, paste the web address below into your browser.

http://www.amazon.com/review/RKT7NOFW8H8OH/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm

On COLUMBINE again. To: Lisa, Peg, and Jim

"Columbine is a major social issue, and it deserves a lot of books to be written about it -- a lot of serious books." Jeff Kass, author of COLUMBINE: A TRUE CRIME STORY

One of my favorite things these days is to get a reaction or reactions to one of my blog postings. When I blogged about the book COLUMBINE by Dave Cullen yesterday, I received three reactions, all questioning the veracity of Cullen's book, and/or suggesting that his research was flawed. The reactions came from Peggy Nunez and Jim Small, two people I've known a long time and whose opinions I respect. The other came directly to my blog rather than through FACEBOOK. It was from Lisa, who also offered interesting thoughts, but I have no way to write back to her, so I hope she reads my blog again and sees that I have responded.

I went web searching to see what I could find out about the criticisms. I searched statements like "lies and mistakes made by Dave Cullen in his book COLUMBINE," "Dave Cullen vs. the Littleton citizenry," and "Jeff Kass on Dave Cullen." I found mostly praise for the book but some criticism.

Peg, Jim, and Lisa offered a variety of objections to Cullen's book. I'll try to speak to three of them:

1. It has been suggested that Cullen greatly downplayed the amount of bullying that Eric and Dylan received. It is even suggested that Columbine High School's administration fostered a climate of bullying. I researched an interview of Jeff Kass, author of COLUMBINE: A TRUE STORY, a book that was recommended by Peggy Nunez as being particularly truthful. Of Kass and Cullen, the interviewer states "the authors agree on plenty of things, including the relative unimportance of bullying as a motivator for the killing spree launched by Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold." Lisa sent me to a book review of Cullen's COLUMBINE written by Randy Brown, father of Brooks Brown, a sometimes friend of Dylan and a Columbine author himself. It's online at: http://www.amazon.com/review/R3AJEK6T7746K6/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm. Brown attacks the book and speaks to bullying as a cause, but he is so close to situation as a Columbine parent, whose son wasn't treated particularly well in Cullen's book, that the review is without objectivity. My heart goes out to Mr. Brown, but I'm afraid his commentary is affected and possibly flawed by his heart. I found nothing on the web to suggest that Frank DeAngelis, principal of Columbine H.S. was accepting of bullying in his school, but there are probably items out there. I find it interesting, though, that Cullen named DeAngelis, along with survivor Patrick Ireland, as the two heroes of Columbine.

2. A second point made was that Cullen ascribed emotions and conversation to Eric and Dylan that he couldn't possibly know about. I don't necessarily find Kullen at fault for this. These ideas, emotions, and conversations are logical extensions of his research and the videotapes and writings left behind. Eric Larsen, a great non-fiction writer, creates dialogues and reactions based on careful research. It certainly is a fair criticism, though.

3. The third point is the fact that the locals, those closest to the tragedy, are against Cullen; ergo, he must be a liar. My college friend Jim Small wrote me about a person who lived close to Littleton. Of Cullen, Jim wrote, "They have no use for the guy." That doesn't surprise me one bit. The citizens of Littleton needed someone to blame, and they didn't want two dead kids, which is what COLUMBINE by Cullen gives them. I believe they have a legitimate target for their anger in the Jeffco Sheriff's Department, whose administration missed so much. Cullen is hard on the sheriff's department. He doesn't sugarcoat their errors. It was the courts that released them from a lot of culpability. The Littleton citizenry would also love to blame their terrible sadness on Eric and Dylan's parents, but Cullen, aided by the research of Dr. Fuselier, doesn't grant them that release. What is the most troubling is the fact that a judge sealed the transcripts of depositons made by the killers' parents until 2027, which, of course, might suggest some horrible secret contained within.

Finally, I could possibly concede these points about COLUMBINE the book and still believe it to be an important document. That's because I feel that Dwayne Fuselier, the FBI behavioral psychologist, whose son was a freshman in Columbine H.S. the day of the massacre is the hero of the book. His tremendous research and analysis leads me to believe that Eric is a psychopath, and that his supposed regret was simply part of his sociopathic game. And contrary to those that believe they should have seen these psychopathic behaviors earlier, Fuselier was surprised to see the behavior in a person of such a young age. I feel sorry for Dylan whose depression turned him into Eric's violent pawn, and I believe that the basic cause of the tragedy was something terribly wrong with the chemistry of Eric Harris' brain.

I quoted Jeff Kass at the beginning of this blog, and I think he's right. Only thing is I don't want to be reading those new books. COLUMBINE the book takes you to a terrifying place: Columbine High School in April of 1999. I've spent enough time there for awhile.

Columbine, Nearly 11 Years Later

I just finished reading Dave Cullen's book COLUMBINE. Cullen is considered the foremost authority on the school massacre, and his book, of course, is far more frightening than anything Stephen King ever penned. I can't say I liked reading the book, but I think it's an important read for anyone who cares about kids and wants to keep them safe.

What struck me as I read the book were the number of myths or misconceptions that rose from the events of April 20, 1999. To begin with, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold were not the loners which is so often suggested. They had friends, they worked at a pizza parlor, and they had both gone to the prom the Saturday before the attack. Nor were they the victims of constant bullying, though in some of their writings and videos they ranted at the jocks and the preps, who may have made fun of them. In reality, in Eric and Dylan's senior year, they were more likely to be doing the bullying than being the object of it. They played violent videogames and watched violent movies like NATURAL BORN KILLERS, but Dr. Dwayne Fuselier, the FBI behavioral psychologist, who studied both the boys, doesn't name this as a direct cause. Even the famous Trench Coat Mafia that the boys were supposed to belong to is a misconception. The Trench Coat Mafia was a group of boys who hung out in long dark coats at Columbine, but the group had disbanded a year earlier, and Dylan and Eric hadn't been members. The boys did wear black dusters to hide their weapons the day of the attack, and researchers feel that probably that reminded the kids at Columbine of the TCM. One kid mentioned it to another then to another, and pretty soon, the press picked it up and it went on the internet, and became "truth."

Perhaps, the most frightening misconception is that Harris and Klebold were just a couple of school shooters. These two, and particularly Harris, were looking to create a mini-Armageddon. They planned to kill thousands that day with pipe bombs, Molotov cocktails, and bombs they had built using propane canisters. Had the propane bombs gone off in the cafeteria where they were placed, hundreds of students and teachers would have been crushed by rubble. Not only that, but the boys had also tried to turn their cars into bombs and had parked the cars where they figured fire and rescue vehicles would eventually be parked. Thank God, that Eric Harris couldn't make a timer that would detonate and that even when they fired directly into their propane bombs, they didn't explode.

The Columbine community and the world looked for someone or something to blame. The Harris and Klebold parents have taken most of the heat, although according to this book, they had no idea of their sons' plans and had tried to be good parents. Some people blame the school system, but in a school with 2000 kids, it's a challenge. Dylan's creative writing teacher brought a violent story he had written to the attention of the guidance counselors and Dylan's parents. But the counselor and the Klebolds just wrote it off to an active imagination. Some blame must go to the Jefferson County Sheriff's dept. for not foreseeing the attack and for mishandling and ignoring reports about Erik's violent nature months before the massacre.

Blame belongs to the killers themselves. According to Dr. Fuselier, Eric Harris was a psychopath. He hated the world and wanted to destroy as much as he could of it and be remembered for his evil. Dylan Klebold is the poor sap who followed along. Klebold was so depressed, so down on life, felt so unloved by the girl of his dreams, that he looked at the massacre as a way to commit suicide and end his troubled life. Horrifyingly, both boys completely anticipated and accepted dying and figured they'd have "fun" doing it.

On a video made shortly before April 20, Eric Harris assures his parents that they shouldn't feel any responsibility for his evil. He quotes Shakespeare: "Good wombs have borne bad sons." Just typing those words gave me a chill.