I must admit that while her piece triggered the Red Curtain Of Blood in Kevin, it just left me staring, agog in slack-jawed amazement, at my monitor. Folks, I'm a bloody-minded anarchist compared to your average Lee Greenwood-humming Limbaugh listener, but what floored me was the fact that Ms. Burleigh wrote this piece and published it for all to see, and it didn't seem to contain the slightest hint of self-consciousness, as though she fully expected anyone literate enough to mouth out her syllables to just nod along in knowing agreement.
Granted, I spent last Friday night with my hand over my heart in respectful silence as the national anthem was sung at a minor league ballpark here in the buckle of the bible belt, so I'm probably not Nina's target audience, but there are some things we do because that's how we all live in the same monkey cage together, okay, Nina? Of course, I have a nasty habit of standing when they play Dixie, too, so my reflexive respect for forms & observances probably carries no weight with Ms. Burleigh. (On the flag-burning issue, I fall squarely with Miss Florence King, who wrote "'Shoot if you must this old gray head, but spare this yankee rag!' she said.") There are some things that are Just Not Done, but the emotion of shame is apparently no longer issued to a certain class of NYC resident.
This is America. If you think your country is screwing up, you do something about it, honey. You don't wring your hands and whine, or write about how you wish you were in France, or make snide asides to your peers about how you said the Pledge but didn't really mean it, for fear you won't get invited to the next gallery opening. You roll up your sleeves and get to work fixing what you think is busted.
Or just punk out and move to France.
Frankly, honey, I'd prefer you took the latter course, 'cause you're dirtying the air breathed by those veterans you mocked.