Make futile efforts to hide out for about ten years, it's Sick Little Suicide #23, "Bigger and Blacker," in which I am feeling an odd mix of happiness and guilt for feeling so happy about a death.
It's like watching an excellent comedian absolutely kill it.
Easter Eggs: Incredible source photos here and here.
Fun Facts: Having just destroyed that idiot Donald Trump the day prior (with great help from Seth Meyers), I felt that by the end of his Osama-killing announcement, Mr. Obama was primed for the ultimate in oratory finale: a Chris Rock mic-drop.
Sadly, he didn't do it.
But I can always imagine.
Baa: I was in 8th grade on 9/11, I had never left California before and had no relations to the east coast to speak of. I had no concept of New York as anything more than an abstract picture on TV, and although I recognized that morning as something utterly unbelievable, it only ever existed to me in intangible, even foreign, terms.
Maybe my four years on the east coast at Yale and my school trips to New York were key influences that made this past weekend's news so much more real to me now. I even felt tears of joy and incredulity gathering in my eyes as the President spoke!
I really didn't think we'd ever know Osama's fate, I thought he would steal away a quiet, peaceful death. Yet we now get to experience a rare sense of closure at least as far as he is concerned.
But oddly enough, even as the jubilation frothed forth, I couldn't help noticing how strange it is to rejoice at news of a death. But in any case, justice is among the most beautiful things in the world, and I am swelling with pride for my President, our military, and our country.
Speaking of pride, in the YDN's coverage of Yale's reaction, I noticed my T-Shirt design was front and center! What are the odds! Wish I could reprint that shirt, especially since I can use digital methods now...
That traditional work still looks so avoidably janky.