I woke up and went to work this morning. I was greeted with the news that Osama Bin Laden had been killed. My French employer was very excited, sitting in front of the TV telling me “Osama Bin Laden is dead!” I replied that he “probably died of old age,” which confused my boss, but through the haze he managed to explain to me “no, he was killed. Obama killed him.” Oh, gotcha. I watched the news with him for a few minutes, long enough to hear some old white guy talking to Wolf Blitzen about the future. He proudly recited “We’re going to hear a lot about ‘Obama got Osama’...” I wished, at that moment, someone American and comedically inclined were sitting with me to riff on that televised moment. There was no one in the room I could talk to; to laugh with. That man felt like he was the first person to say something that was, undoubtedly, going to be sweeping the country- a colloquial sensation all the kids will be slang-talking about. So good, in fact, the Bush administration had their opportunity to get Osama themselves, but after Palin was announced as the vice-presidential candidate, they let him go, knowing Obama would win. What were potential lives lost with the possibility of that phonetic gem looming in the distance.
On top of this, I read that it is extra dangerous for Americans living abroad right now. I haven’t been so excited to die since I bought a discounted airline ticket for September 11th. How great a death, to die a martyr to a country I abandoned 49 days ago. I would try to do something heroic before I went, like save something... a person or some plaster on the inside of a building... “nooo!” I would yell, throwing myself in front a stray bullet about to hit the wall. A French officer would gently pick up my dying body “why did you do that?” He would ask and in perfect French, I would answer “the plaster was laid in 1972, it’s older than me and I respect the history.” After that, my life would leave me and France would hold a renewed reverence for the Americans. Individuals would be free to travel with unearned respect for about 9 months before they ruined their reputation by insisting the portions are “muchos peetit” and that the "gare-son" was being “treyz woode”. However, I would die a legend, like Roosevelt coming to the aide of France during WWII, I would also be remarkable.
This couldn’t happen at a better time, because I am ready to get situated to living here. I am joining a gym and signed up for internet. If I die a legend now, someone else will finish my book and I will be posthumously famous, everyone I had loved would only recall me being an amazingly brave person with so much potential. What a waste and it wouldn’t even be my fault. It would be no one’s fault and I would never be judged negatively again. I like the idea that I could be this lazy, while I simultaneously hate the idea because it is the fantasy that keeps me from writing or working on something inspired. At least Obama got Osama- AMIRIGHT rich white guy on Wolf Blitzen?!
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