The Columbine Pilgrim [antikvár]

PmcC^UE I' My name is Tony Meander, and I am a Colum-bine-oholic. Does that sound corny? Like I'm trying too hard to be clever? Aren't all of these "-oholic" suffix words just a bit too cutesy? "Chocoholic." "Shopoholic." All quite benign, provoking an indulgent chuckle from others. But what if the thing you're addicted to isn't just bad for your body or budget? What if you find yourself irresistibly drawn to a mass murder/suicide? What does that say about you, or communicate about you to others? No tolerant half-smile, shake of the head, or shrug of the shoulders will be forthcoming, certainly. No: tell people you're obsessed with Columbine, and their eyes will cloud over. "Columbine? You mean the school shooting?" But no . . . they won't even ask that. They already know. No one in the Eng-lish-speaking world thinks of a "columbine" as a flower anymore. It's as though the word never meant anything else besides a high school soaked in blood, sprayed with bullets, scorched with bombs. And can you believe that the school still exists? There it is . . . just around the bend, tucked away in its peaceful, affluent Denver suburb of Littleton, Colorado, just a cannon's fire away from where I stand by the roadside, in a dazed, darkly ruminative state of mind . . . but forgive me; I'm getting ahead of my- i • ! '