The Final Goodbye

Courtesy of Deviant Art

Morning comes. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee filters through underneath her bedroom door. She closes her eyes and inhales the aroma of strong and black as it cloaks the stench of Death that has arrived. All of her life she wondered how people knew when their end was near and it was time to cross over to that ethereal world that promised happiness and peace. And now she knew. And it was not what she, or anyone else, thought it would be. No family member long gone came to greet you to guide you into this new world; no benevolent light shone; no peace of mind and heart were to be found. Instead, Death came to visit. And it was ugly. Death came to visit with its rotting smell of carcass to stand vigil at your bedside, silently watching and waiting for that last gasp of breath. It waits for you to die as it tries to contain its ambitious desire of claiming you before your time. Its cold, fetid breath enclosing your world even more.

Each day she has been held prisoner inside the same four walls - four telling walls that could write the story of her life. Walls that once bore witness to the moans of slow, rhythmic pleasures that happened within; walls that now, instead, bear witness to the moans of pain that is slowly leaching her of life.

What kind of God would allow Death to visit and mock her pain? Was there a God? She had prayed to him for guidance and strength, yet Death had come. She guessed He must’ve been busy.

She hears her door crack ajar. A young face, ruddy with life, peeks inside, "Are you awake?"

"Yes. I smelled the coffee." She attempts to sit up in bed even though she knows she is unable; atrophied and frail arms no longer able to aid in moving her fragile weight. She gasps at the sudden unbearable pain that overtakes and tries to control her breathing. A tear escapes the corner of her eye.

The young woman enters the room and quickly places the cup of coffee on top of the bedside table, "Mom, please, let me help you." The young woman knows that this loving and thoughtful act of assistance only serves to sadden this once strong and vibrant woman even more. A daughter that precariously walks a line between helping or allowing a mother some room for independence. It is a fine line that causes both of them much pain. She notices her Mother’s labored breathing and paler-than-usual look. She is clammy to the touch.

"I'm going to call the doctor. You don’t look well."

"Please don’t." She could barely speak. "There’s nothing else he can do....no more hospitals...please, no more hospitals." She looks up at her daughter and beseeches, "I don’t want to die there."

The young woman's eyes begin to water, "Mom, please..." She doesn't know how much more she could take watching this incredible woman deteriorate who, not too long ago, was healthy with life. She feels ashamed for her lack of emotional strength.

But the Mother has stopped listening. Death no longer waits. He is impatient and hungry and his rapacious appetite needs to be fed. The pestilent vigil has come to an end.

She closes her eyes, "Please, baby, I'm just a little tired. Just let me rest a bit."

The young woman covers her Mother with a blanket and kisses her cold, clammy forehead, "Let me go make you some breakfast. I’ll be back in a few, ok?" But the Mother knows exactly what she is going to do. It no longer matters, however; by the time they arrive, it would already be too late.

"Ok." The Mother looks lovingly at her daughter's eyes one last time; eyes that resembled hers in spirit and kindness, eyes that have cried much these past few months and for which she was to blame. She grabs her daughter’s hand and squeezes it with all her might. This was their final goodbye. She knows when she returns, she will most likely be gone. She lets go of her daughter's hand and the young woman leaves the room.

She closes her eyes in final submission to Death that stands near. He acknowledges his victory and, at last, approaches to enshroud his due, finally claiming what he is owed.

POD Webisode 3: Said The Spider to the Fly

Compliments of Deviant Art

Day Three.

I arrive a half hour early and I'm happy to see the room is not in use. This gives me a chance to review for the quiz on terms and usage that were still clear as mud. I take out my books and notebook that's filled with paperwork, notes, suggestions and ideas of classes gone by. I take out my black fine-point pen and red fine-point pen and yellow highlighter, each of which has a specific purpose. Yes, sometimes my mental illness does come in handy and this closet OCD that I claim not to have proves valuable. I settle in, begin to read and review. I then wonder if I have the beginnings of dementia because I can't seem to retain a thing. What was it that I just read?

No sooner had I read one page when Young Miss Maiden enters. She smiles, I smile. She sits down and immediately begins to speak, "I'm finding this subject very hard." She looks horror stricken. Phew! Glad to see I wasn't the only one that felt that way! I tell her I feel the same and was so glad to hear her voice it because it then means I'm not the only dummy in class. Oh, my...did I just call her a dummy? Yikes! Will have to repair that little unintended faux-pas next time around. That wasn't I meant. See? It's all about the usage.

Dr. Phil is the next one to come in; he with the big smile. Nothing bothers this kid. A big hearty "Hello" follows. We greet in turn. He takes a seat next to me. I'm feeling a little generous so I begin to do what I do best: I begin to play reporter and ask one question after another to find out more about him and his passion. He loves it. And, what do I learn? That the kid is not so bad once he lets his arrogance down. He's handsome, has a lot of ambition and mucho brain power, so I'm thinking he'd be a good catch for any girl. Er...I think. She'd have to be formidable enough to be able to handle his ego; and, he would have to be careful enough not to talk her to death. Goodness the kid can talk! I was dizzy from the onslaught of words.

Then The ShyOne enters the room. She's a very sweet young woman who's always smiling. I find myself always smiling back. Can't help it. I feel if I don't, I'd be rude, which of course, I would be. She doesn't talk much outside of The POD asking her questions but she decided today she would join in our little pre-class conversation. I was so happy about that. But, of course, me being me, when I get into questioning mode it's a little hard for anyone else to interject. *sigh* yeah, call it a little personality glitch in an otherwise perfect program. It's just that I don't want to share the floor with others, it's just that I get into a zone I forget others exist. Hm? Narcissism. Excellent. Will have to work on that and tweak it to perfection. So, The ShyOne quietly goes back to her book and now we've lost her. Well, too late now, will have to remedy that next week. At this rate, next week is going to be very busy for me.

Moving on.

Guess who walks in? No, it's not The POD. It's Big Dude. With his benevolent face. Oh, I'm sorry, did I say benevolent? I meant MALevolent. This guy is a walking Black Hole. He sucks all the energy out of everything he comes into contact with. My newfound BFF Dr. Phil who was still animatedly talking all of a sudden forgets how to form a sentence and quiets down. The ShyOne and Young Miss Maiden take one look and their eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. Yeah, they obviously felt the same as everyone else - we had hoped the dude had dropped the course. He takes a seat in the corner of the room and doesn't join us at the table. Loving it, thank you. The farther you sit Big Dude, the happier we will be. Besides, I don't want you sitting next to Dr. Phil because he'll pee for sure and I really don't feel like moving to another seat.

We're all quiet and looking at each other. Are we afraid to talk? Oooo, big man is in the room and now we're all scared? Come on! What the heck is going on here guys? I was just about to start a conversation when MKIA walks in. Oh, MKIA. What. Are. You. Webbing? And wearing?!!

Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly,
'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy"

MKIA was all glammed up. Gee, I wonder why? Methinks she's looking for a lover.

In walks her dinner, The POD. MKIA turns her chair around so The POD can see her bare legs, high heels, and itty-bitty skirt...

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly"

The POD does not notice MKIA but notices Big Dude right away. Yeah, MKIA you got competition,but it's not what you think. "Why don't you join us at the table," says The POD to the Big Dude.

"No, thank you," is the answer.

Yet, The POD continues, "No, please, I want you to join us at the table." Really, POD? I thought you smarter than that. Big Dude's not budging.

Dr. Phil scoots on over closer to me so he can make room for Big Dude. "Here, pull up your chair," he says to him. Easy there, Dr. Phil, that sounded a bit too forceful and I think Big Dude is not going to like it. He expects submission and words said to him in broken fear.

Big Dude looks at them both and says, "I said I'm fine." All quiet and menacing and very friendly-like.

*sigh* yes, always in your gentle ways, lest we forget. Listen, dude, why don't you get up from that chair and go drop the course and make us all happy, will ya?

The POD gives up. Dr. Phil decides he will keep his chair very cozily next to mine because now I see he's a little afraid of Big Dude. If he pees, I'll belt him.

Moving on.

The class is interesting. Very animating, very informative. The fog starts to lift and I actually begin to understand all this complicated stuff. Hm? Go figure. I'm not that dumb after all. I notice the remainder of the students feel the same because, apparently, they were stuck in that mire of confusion themselves. I felt good and happy when I got certain answers that others didn't. Hehe! So friggin' mature Rebecca. So high school. But, yeah, that's how I roll....na, na, na, na, na!

During the break, The POD decides to give the floor to MKIA who blushes and giggles at the attention she's suddenly getting from him. Hm? That little skirt is working after all. Oh, PODdy, I thought you a more evolved human male, what a disappointment you've turned out to be. MKIA somehow manages to put the brakes on that fast train to Embarrassment and manages (I was very impressed how she did this) to switch to Intelligent mode and inform us of a paper she was writing on the miseducation of U.S. children. Her argument was that we overpraise our children in an effort for them to do well in school when, in fact, what we are doing is just the opposite. We are setting them up to fail because they believe their mediocre efforts are outstanding and then they really don't push themselves to their full potential. I must say it's an argument I've been having for decades with others. And MKIA adds that she finds college here in the U.S. to be too easy. In the U.S. five courses is considered to be full-time course load when in her country, 14 courses is the required amount of classes they have to take each semester for them to achieve full-time status. We all did a double take and thought maybe there was a glitch in the translation and we had misunderstood. I asked, "You mean fourteen credits?"

"No! Fourteen courses! And we don't get to choose what we want either!"

You could've heard a pin drop. Wow. "Yes!" she screams. Her complexion turns ruddy and now she's all hot and bothered and I wonder if it has anything to do with what she's talking about or the fact that The POD is all eyes....on her. Hm? Is he salivating? He better not be salivating.

Class ends. The POD senses our delight in finally understanding this week's work and decides to drop a bombshell, "I've been easy on you. Starting next week it's going to be harder. Much, much harder. This was just a little taste. Next week, the real work begins."

What!!!????

You should've seen all of our faces. I knew it. I knew the evil, little bastard was still alive and kicking and lurking inside that suave 007 costume somewhere.

So, it appears I will have to read and reread the ridiculous amount of pages he wants us to cover each week (and actually absorb and understand the information? HA! that's laughable) and, unless we can all borrow MKIA's brain for the semester, we're all doomed.

Class ends, everyone begins to walk out and I see MKIA stay behind to speak with The POD, swinging in her chair, playing with her hair, giggling....

"Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."

Class: Day Two - Oh Boy

Day Two. Two more people have joined our group. Thankfully, Big Dude wasn't there to mess with The POD and, personally, I was relieved.

The two newbies were the editor of the school newspaper, The Dave, a nice young man that was the spitting image of David Duchovny, and a young girl, Young Miss Maiden, who was, for lack of a better word, apoplectic. Young Miss Maiden appeared terrified when I came in. It appeared The Dave had taken on the role of informant and graciously apprised Young Miss Maiden all things POD. As an example, he related an incident where The POD was accosted by a student one time after class and began arguing with him about his grade. The Dave informed Young Miss Maiden that The POD was not bothered by this one bit and simply stood his ground and stated the grade would stay and no amount of aggression or threats would change it. I believe the whole point of The Dave being so graciously forthcoming was to instill fear. Poor kid, the story was obviously working. The Dave was obviously having too much of a good time messing with Young Miss Maiden's head and this only made MKIA (Miss Know It All) salivate and want a piece of the action. So she, in turn, gifted Young Miss Maiden with some horror stories of her own. I then felt it was my turn to join in the diatribe - "Oh, he isn't that bad. You'll do well. I wouldn't worry. In the end, you'll come to love him." Yes, I put a damper on these two evil spirits. I then thought I saw The Dave and MKIA give me the evil eye but since I was wearing my cross and garlic necklace, I felt I was protected.

Moving on.

This week I got to know a little more about my other classmates. One is a published writer who is quiet and shy and writes fantasies. He brought his published book which looked very interesting. That it was not a self-published book and he was able to have a house publish it on its first try was even more impressive. First try! How awesome is that? But when The POD asked him how the royalties were coming along, he laughed. Meager. Paltry. Non-existent. I felt bad for him but fantasies - unless they are well known - are a hard genre to sell. I, for one, will be buying his book not only as a supporting classmate but mostly because it really does look interesting. I skimmed the pages and the writing was intelligent.

Another classmate, who took the opportunity of alpha male Big Dude not being in class this week, decided it was his turn to become this night's big dog. Let's call him Dr. Phil. Dr. Phil is a last year student who is a philosophy major. He was all about philosophy. Ad nauseum. He peppered all of his answers with philosophical examples that went on longer than they needed to be - I mean long....real, real long. He actually brought his corgito ergo sum take on an answer that did not require it by any means. I think you're talking way too much, therefore you're beginning to annoy me. Yeah, that's what I corgito. Dude, speak normal, will you? Even The POD doesn't speak that way and he could get away with it. I wanted to run screaming from the classroom but felt that would have been quite unladylike. So I stayed and suffered. And he continued with the philosophical lingo and references that went above many heads, including my own. I'm all for learning and I am in an institution of higher learning but his 'act' was more for show than anything else. He was a bit much. During our 15 minute break when the professor asked those of us who stayed behind what we wanted to talk about, Dr. Phil quickly asked if he could speak about philosophy because he loved it so much and was his passion. Really? I didn't pick that up. The POD humored him and what happens? A 15-minute monologue follows where he loses all of us, including the professor who said he wasn't that smart when it came to a lot of things, one of them being philosophy (I think that was a little dig for Dr. Phil to take it down). Another student who sat there literally with his mouth open in amazement finally voiced what we all thought: "Wow. I have no idea what you just said." You had to laugh because it was so out there. At the end, he thanked all of us for listening to him (did we ever have a choice? Hostage would be the noun best used here) and said that no one ever wanted to listen to him and he really appreciated us showing an interest. Well, if you could view a class filled with confused looks and open mouths as interested.

Moving on.

The second class half of the class got very animated analyzing one single word that I - yes, me - had a problem with in a certain context. My question fueled a lengthy discussion. We dissected the word, analyzed it, turned it every which way from Sunday and would be the kind of roundtable discussion that would drive any non-English usage/language lover insane. Dr. Phil was quiet. The English language not being his true passion, he had very little to contribute.

Point taken. Sorry Dr. Phil for not acknowledging your passion. But, anyhoo, I thought you were smart enough to know this was an English class, so learn the rules. When in Rome, got it? So if you want to spout ad nauseum about English, bring it; anything else, leave at the door. These are our two hours. Yes, we're selfish that way. It's our time, it's our rules and that's the way we roll.

=======

And because a blogger friend, an exquisite writer named Jonas whose blog happens to be one of my favorites - Beyond Wunderman just tagged me in a game called, "one word answers," here are my truthful/not so truthful/funny answers:

Where is your cell phone? Tethered

Your hair? On me

Your favorite food? Spanish

Your dreams last night? Interesting, confusing

Your favorite drink? Chocolate shake

Your dream/goal? To exercise today

Your hobby? Procrastination

Where do you want to be in 6 years? Alive

Where were you last night? None of your business

Something that you aren’t? Skinny

Muffins? Not a fan

Where did you grow up? My mother's womb

What are you wearing? Sweats (in an attempt to reach my goal)

Your TV? Taking a break

Your pets? 3+2+4

Missing someone? Not right now

Something you’re not wearing? A straight jacket

When was the last time you laughed? Yesterday

Last time you cried? Can't remember

Favorite place to eat? Anyplace that serves food

First Day of Class - Oh, Joy

So this class I’m taking with the POD is interesting. It should, by the end of the semester, completely remove any creativity I have left in me. **sigh**

First off, let me start by saying that I don't know what’s happened to my POD. He's changed. He seems tame and quite charming and attentive. Rather suave. I think he is wooing all of us. Tramp. His name from here on in, until he changes back to that wonderful evil, merciless man I once liked, will henceforth be 007.

Secondly, the class is very small (8) and consists of equal number of gals and guys. One gal and one guy, in particular, seem to stand out already. Ms. Know-It-All, a boorish, "Oh, pick me, pick me! I know, I know!" person that I just wanted to belt. And I'm not a violent person let me tell you. Yeah. It’s college sweetheart, not grammar school. Try to act your age, will ya? And, a big, big dude who obviously has too many issues to count. Seriously. He was challenging 007 from the get-go and wanted to know time after time why all of his brilliant assumptions were wrong. This man does not like to be proven wrong. It must be such a pleasure to live with him. And to have him in class? Shoot me now.

So, at one point, Ms. Know-It-All (MKIA) loses her cool, has a meltdown with Big Dude and literally screams at him, "What is it you don’t understand?! We’re not talking about that! God, what is your problem?" She yelled at him. Yes. No embellishment on this writer’s part whatsoever. Me, who had the tremendous luck of the draw to sit next to MKIA, quickly move my head out of the way just in case Big Dude decides to react violently and lunge at her. I mean these things happen you know and one can never be too careful. But, Big Dude instead decides to take the high road and raise his already powerful, menacing voice much higher and retorts, "Excuse me! Ex-cuse me! I wasn’t asking you the question, I was asking the professor!" Very powerfully I might add. I thought I was going to pee in submission. But, MKIA simply humpffs, crosses her arms and pouts. Pouts! Who pouts in class at this stage of the game? College? Seriously? And, she's not young, let me tell you, that this type of behavior can be excusable. No, this chick's been around the block a couple of times already. But Big Dude manages to shut her up (and everybody else I might add) and finally quiet her down. Meanwhile, 007 is in the corner shrinking in horror thinking this little scenario might turn physical and oh, dear he’s just not a fighter, he’s a lover, and he can’t have this in class. I think he may have peed. And Big Dude was still being confrontational and not understanding why his transformational sentences changed the meaning of what 007 wanted. I got it, MKIA got it, everyone got it, but not Big Dude. You add certain words, it changes the meaning. Period. What's the problem? But, no, this prompted a lengthy discussion on why he felt he was right and 007 was wrong (and tells 007 he was wrong!) that that’s when MKIA (who personally, I think, has the hots for 007) lost it. She didn't like anyone, regardless of muscle or brain size, challenging her 007. I actually don’t blame her for losing it, but come on, don’t you know how to read body language? Can’t you see this mammoth of a guy has issues? And 007 can suave his way out of it, believe me (which he did by the way), so it's all under control. But, no, MKIA wanted to exert her right to speak and tell Big Dude off, thereby creating more attention to her so 007 could notice her. I mean, seriously, the girl was all glammed up and giggly, making eyes at 007 and flirting! Flirting! In class! To the professor! It was embarrassing. Really.

Moving on.

More exercises, more information, my head is spinning – subject-verb agreements, dangling participles, comma splices, ach! Don’t ask me to explain why I manage to write well, I don’t know, lucky, I guess. I've had some good English teachers in the past, I'm a fast learner, plus being a lover of words actually helps. But language to me is innate, I've never analyzed it (which is what I'm learning in this course). I have an ear for language probably because I was raised bilingual and had a mother who was a stickler for proper usage. But, I know, it is far from perfect. And to write it better than I do now is what I want. I'm not Big Dude. I don't want to challenge PODdy with what I know; I want to learn what I don't know. I want suave 007 to teach me the mechanics of language and show me where I'm writing wrong. And, I felt the more I learned, the less I knew so, yes, by the end of this semester, whatever joy I have left in writing should be completely gone. Unless I get to MKIA before Big Dude does and be put in jail at which point I will have all the time in the world to write but have to figure out the mistakes on my own.

The POD is Back!

Courtesy of Deviant Art

It’s September and guess what that means? It's PODdy POD time again! Yes, I am once again taking a course with my greatly misunderstood POD. My POD whose initiation rite consists of mercilessly flogging new innocent blood and making them squirm in fear to the point of meltdown. My POD who has dispatched many students in fits of tears as they leave and curse him to all eternity. My POD who causes much emotional ado in his quest to teach his minions proper English and give them some semblance of an education.

*sigh* I miss my POD. This should be fun.

Real fun.

Another course with the POD. Hmm? What can that mean? Well, discomfort for starters. Then, emotional pain which in time will segue into horrific amusement because it's just so crazy and over the top. But what I look forward to the most will be watching the newbies squirm. Oh, yeah, I've been there. He is not the most agreeable and gentlest of teachers at first. At first. He tests you. It's not that this is how he gets his kicks; it's how he gets to know you and how formidable of a student you will be. So time will tell whether these newbies have it in them to make it through or not; taking his course is not for the weak. I can already see how horrified he will be at learning how much of himself he will have to give - oh, the hours and the pain! - when he finds how tragically we are slaughtering his English language. Oh, I can’t wait. This.will.be.fun.

It’s been awhile since I’ve been inside the PODs inner sanctum genuflecting at his intellectual greatness. Like innocent lambs to the slaughter, this new blood will have no idea what they have just signed up for and what they will be expected to produce. The man will not accept ordinary or mediocre or for you to simply coast because you don't want to give 150% and you just want to give enough to pass the damn class and get your three credits. No. You will produce with blood, sweat and tears and nothing less and believe you me when I tell you they will be crying and left standing in their own pool of blood. Some will regress and stick their thumbs in their mouths and begin to cry for their mommies; others will just simply laugh in nervous horror and leave.

Well, I am no longer a newbie and he no longer scares me. I’ve been challenged to the extreme by this man and have been taken to the precipice of madness where he has wickedly whispered in my ear to “jump” simply because he felt I would never be able to produce anything he could ever be impressed with and was simply wasting not only my time but his time as well. When I refused to cower in fear or scurry away like some frightened animal and instead simply looked him straight in the eye and responded, “you first,” I won his respect. He finally smiled, nodded his head, and said, “well done. Very well done.”

When I emailed him today to say hello and tell him that I’d be taking a course with him once again, he was happy. The POD has grown a certain attachment to me and he seems to really, really like me (I say this as I hold my Oscar a lá Sally Field). Well, I really, really like him as well and I think we should each start our own fan club.

And, of course, those inevitable words will eventually be said, “How is your novel coming along?” To which I will respond with a million excuses and fail to look sincere because I can’t lie to save my life. The Novel – with a capital T and a capital N because in my world it requires it – has been on the back burner for a solid three months. After my manic commitment where all I did was eat and sleep Zafalon, I couldn’t and didn’t want to channel the freaky kid anymore. I needed a break. Summer beckoned and my mind went on vacation. The birds were chirping and I wanted to join them, the grass was growing and I wanted to sit on it with a blanket and a bottle of wine and block of cheese; there were flowers to be planted, beaches to visit, people to see and BBQ with and places to go. You get the picture. I wanted outdoors, I wanted my weekends, I wanted, I wanted, I wanted. What I didn’t want to do was write. So, I am sure the POD will be disappointed when I tell him I was on hiatus and I will probably loose some of his respect because I have now shown him how undedicated and what a loser I am and he abhors undedicated people and losers, most of all. Oh, f*ck it, I needed a friggin’ break, so there! That’s what'll tell him! Yeah, right.

But, summer’s gone and it’s time to get serious again. I can write prolifically during the winter months because I am nester in winter and can spend entire weekends indoors and be completely happy. I can finally channel creepy Zaf once again and his creepy friends and begin to pen, pen, pen with much promise. And, maybe this renewed commitment will sate the manic, hard-to-please POD for a bit...or maybe not. I shall soon see. But if you never read another word from me again, then you know the man was not pleased and has sent me to the bowels of Hell where I obviously belong.

A Tasteless 911 Tsunami Ad

DDB Brasil, a well-known Brazilian advertising agency, created an ad and a video for WWF (World Wildlife Fund) in Brazil. According to WWF, they never approved the ad but, DDB nonetheless entered both ads in the Cannes Lions International Advertising Festival in June.

The video compares two major tragedies that have occurred in the last decade: 911, which took 2,819 lives, and the 2005 tsunami that claimed 280,000 lives. What follows in the video I will not say and let you see for yourself. That it is tasteless, offensive and insensitive is an understatement. To use the tragedy that happened on 911 - that was an act of extremists with the sole purpose of committing murder - as an example of lives lost that were far less in numbers than those tragedies that naturally unfold themselves through nature makes no sense. To assume one tragedy may be more important than the other simply because of numbers - whether 2,819 or 280,000 - is not the issue; the issue is that lives were lost. Period. Each life mattered. And to resurrect 911 and use it as an advertisement example shows such insensitivity it is quite unfathomable. The ad, at the end, states that "our planet is brutally powerful. Respect it." Yet, DDB failed terribly in showing proper respect for 911 and understanding that numbers in any tragedy, in the end, are insignificant to family members; they don't care about numbers, they care about having lost one of their own. Each.life.matters. To say that 2,819 or 280,000 were lost doesn't lessen their pain. And I say this with any tragedy. But I also think there is a vital difference between the two that DDB didn't quite think through. 911 was created by man, fed and fueled by the ideology and anger of man. The tsunami was the result of Mother Nature's sometimes uncontrollable, deadly trait. To compare 911 to a natural catastrophe is like comparing apples to oranges. It makes no sense. But what I find unconscionable is that they then show how many planes it would take to get similar numbers lost to that of the tsunami. What were they thinking? This was a terrible gamble by DDB, which is quite reputable in the industry, and I believe, in the end, they will pay for it dearly. At least, I hope they will.


You can read more about it here.