9/11 IS PLAYED OUT -OR- MISTER ROGERS IS MY GENERAL PETRAEUS

I don't cry very often, but I cried today. Sometimes when girls play the piano or I'm bargaining with God, I'll let a few drops go. Today, as General Petraeus articulately bumbled through his performance on capital hill, I couldn't hold it. It was one of those cries where your lip quivers and you have to work to catch your breath. A real good, cleansing cry.
Six years ago, I went to a Sade concert the day after 3500 people died under the weight of some rather large office buildings in manhatan. She sang a song with the line, "you didn't suffer in vain" and again, I had to cry a little. At the time I thought, "she's right. these people suffered and died, but now that the world has seen what hate and hostility has spawned, humanity will purge itself of the fuel of fear, so they didn't die for naught." As you might recall, that fruity new age masturbatory hippie idealism was shattered in short order by the clumsiest foreign policy since the third reich.
To be fair, I have to say that I cannot report on Petraeus' testimony, because after I vomited last night's Tecates and an ecstacy pill, I changed the channel.
Wiping bile from my chin and tears from my eyes, I turned to what I knew would flush my brain: E entertainment television.
They've been going bonkers all day about Britney's dastardly performance at the VMAs. That, too, made my lip quiver. To know that every bored and lonely desk jockey in America is youtubing Britney's prozac-induced shuffle to ease the pain of the desert bloodbath also makes me cry. It is comforting, however, to know that General Petraeus isn't the only one phoning in a forced performance.
So I turned to PBS and an was surprised by an old friend: Mister Rogers. He was playing the piano and singing a lullaby and I was on the verge of tears yet again when I realized that the public demi-god of gentle kindness who essentially raised me looks EXACTLY LIKE GENERAL PETRAEUS! If only Mister Rogers could gauge the success of our troop surge in a warm and soothing voice. Before we get on the imagination train which takes us to the white house, where it's a winnable war and not a repulsive scam, Mister Rogers will preface it with "Let's have some make believe now". And then I'll know what's pretend.
I've spent a lot of time in NYC this summer, where every guido in a tank top has a 9/11 tattoo and girls are still flashing their boobs at passing fire trucks. One of my favorite things to do in New York is tell my 9/11 joke.

Me:Knock Knock.
Police Man: Who's there?
Me: September Eleventh.
Police Man: September Eleventh who?
Me: I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU'D NEVER FORGET!

I'm done with 9/11. I'm over it. And I think we all should be. It was a tragic event which stole the lives of thousands of innocent, beautiful people and I acknowledge that. But it's become the preface for illegal wars, constitution shredding and the misery of thousands MORE innocent, beautiful people. 3500 people died in that rubble. More people than that die every WEEK from lung cancer. Are we going to declare a war on tobacco?
Soon after the towers fell, a pundit famously coined the phrase "irony is dead." At the time, we were so emotionally wounded that it seemed we would never be able to be smart asses or make sideways comments again. Six years later, irony has become an untamable and tyrannical beast that my generation relies on to blind us from the lunacy and carnage of our modern world. Irony is how we cope.
The hippies had LSD. We have Stephen Colbert. How else to process the tragedy?

So I have no choice. This is my America and I embrace it. I'm gonna go see about a sub prime mortgage to buy some property in New Orleans where I can curl up on the couch and watch Deuce Bigalow: Osama Bin Gigolo.