Waking Up From a Nap To Find out Henry Kissinger Died
When I was in Hanoi, I went to the Vietnam Military History Museum, where, for the first time, I encountered what was true: the United States had lost. I remember feeling silly that this simple fact had not occurred to me—that so many lessons about how the Vietnam War simply ended and that we just left had so effectively obscured the reality of it all.
I also couldn’t help but think of the people—Kissinger and Nixon and their ilk—who had unleashed so much horror into the world, and for what? To have their failure and the futility of their murderous ambition so plainly stated was kind of funny. Name one character who could beat Captain America. Go ahead, I’ll wait. The thought that they would be mad about it. It wasn’t a lot, but it was something.
Captain Vietnam.
That old quote from Anthony Bourdain has been going around—Once you’ve been to Cambodia, you’ll never stop wanting to beat Henry Kissinger to death with your bare hands. I’d been there, too, and it’s true—if given the chance, how could you pass it up?
My phone was buzzing over and over. I had fallen asleep on the couch, and the sound of it vibrating on the coffee table woke me up. First, I worried—why were so many people trying to reach me?—and then, ah! Death had finally come, far too late and much too comfortably, for one of the worst to ever to do it. A celebration. It wasn’t a lot, but it was something.