On Tragic Tuesday. Hmm, nothing like a boot to the head to unglaze the eyes. Strange how it takes a catastrophe of greater size than Hollywood could produce to make what’s real come back into focus in a matter of hours. You get so used to all the smaller tragedies and senseless deaths, that the only pang of compassion one feels is induced by having a victim’s mother, son, or daughter cry into a tele-journalist’s mike. Now, with something this big, all sorts of views and identifications change. Pacifists call for counterstrikes. Misanthropes donate blood. Journalists write of their own prayers. MTV youth say they’d answer a draft. The pose unravels.

Give blood, and every morning pick a name or face from the newsreels to pray for.