»In which I celebrate, or, I am a mean, petty man

Taking delight in the misfortunes of others is one thing, but to celebrate when someone dies -- that is another level of ill-tempered selfishness altogether. I did not let anyone stop me polishing up my dancing shoes when Ronald Wilson Reagan finally kicked over. Seeing the inexplicably long-lived members of his Cabinet also go to meet the dust of the earth that they have despoiled also makes me happy.
And I get a little chuckle as I see a tow truck pull a car away from in front of a fire hydrant, out of a handicapped spot, or away from a Baptist double-parking zone -- indeed, my afternoon bus ride takes me past the San Francisco Auto Return, and that offers some vicarious pleasure.
That pales, however, because one of the reasons that I never will believe in an Almighty or any sort of Divine justice is that people like Augusto Pinochet lived and fluorished. He brought more than enough evil into the world to compensate for a continent filled with the M K Gandhi and Mother Teresa; with Jimmy Carter and with Bill Gates; with St Isidore and with whoever invented Cheddar cheese. In short: a great but mixed joy comes from reading that Augusto Pinochet has died. Aram said it well last week, when Pinochet was expiring:
"Here's to hoping Dante underestimated all that you will suffer, you bastard."
For the curious, Dante would place Pinochet (and Hussein, and Kissinger, and the various and sundry dictators this country has propped up over the years) squarely in the Ninth Circle. That is The Ninth Circle, for traitors to their country; for betrayal to one's love; and for those who perpetrate crimes with great historical and societal consequences.