It might be a little too fresh, and a lot too politically incorrect, but let's face it:
If all you can do on a Thursday evening is go out to the bar and shout "Whoo-hoo!" as Great White takes the stage, then your life is over, no matter how you calculate it.
Better you should have perished flicking your Bics at Journey or Toto. What a perfect waste of perfectly good mullets.
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Appalling. That's my usual reaction the next morning when I read what I've blogged (is there some alternate word? Blurched? Blopped?) the evening before, usually under the malign influence of beer, or worse.
As penance, I did a bit of research on some of the other major fire fatalities (Coconut Grove, Beverly Hills, etc.) and have come to the conclusion that I'm glad I wasn't there.
Death just reaches out and grabs you when you least expect it. I imagine that the people thinking that unthinkable jump from the World Trade Center must have thought
not here
not now
no, never