The problem with this whole Concorde disaster thing is that, for me, and for maybe a whole lot of people, it doesn't really excite much emotion. It doesn't hold the terror of, say, a TWA crash, or a United Airlines midair collision disaster. I know why. It's because I could conceivably fly on United, or TWA. People I know may do it more or less all the time. But who knows people who have been on the Concorde? Most people have never been on the Concorde. And those that HAVE, those that DO, well, they're kind of a social THEM. In the same way that certain religious sects have adherents looking at gays, with that, "you're pretty likeable, pity you're slated for hell," type sentiment, my educational background, the thin film of Marxism accrued from a native fatalism and too much social history, has me looking at all possible Concorde riders with a similar sentiment. Specifically, "You're nice enough, pity that your demise will be required to further the revolution."

Admit it, you know what I mean.

If what had burnt up was an AA 747 packing a few hundred cabin feverish unfortunates who had already endured a good ten hours of no food and no space and recycled air, your heart would be out to those people bereaved, those killed. Those people could be you, or someone you know. You would feel it. It would hurt. But what a person buys with their Concorde ticket is precisely their dissociation from people with whom they could be interchangeable. What they buy is a token of mutual disdain. You for them, them for you. It doesn't matter as much.

And ironically, now that I think of it, my near-complete absence of concern is something a French person would be uniquely well-disposed to understand.

Et s'il vous plait, regardez Juked.