Wednesday, September 11, 2002
In the end, there is nothing to say. Take a cue from Rudy and Mike. No speeches and no grandstanding. I thought maybe I would have something of substance. In the end, there is nothing to say.
One year later, we have seen things that, in the end, I think only serve to give us false senses of security against a bodiless threat. Where once we stood united, in the end we are divided. Recompense for families affected has been wraught with obstacles and controversy. Consensus on a fitting memorial is proving difficult to reach.
There are questions that are logical to ask, one year later.
For ourselves: Are we doing what we can to better ourselves? Each one of us has a take-home lesson from that day. Have we taken it to heart?
As Americans: Is our country being prudent in its actions? What can we do to be a part of the decisionmaking process?
As for me, it’s been hard these last few days as I try to assess its impact on me, tempered by the knowledge that there are those that experienced much worse and by trying to make sure that I don’t blow things out of proportion nor take things too lightly.
For my part, I’ll be observing quiet moments of reflection at 8:45, 9:03, 10:05, and 10:28.
Tuesday, September 10, 2002
I remember talking to my friends later that week. Maybe the one thing that surprised all of us was all the calls, checking up on us, wondering if we were okay.
School is nowhere near the Towers. We were somewhat confounded by the frantic calls hoping we were okay.
If I told you that it was 1.5 miles to the towers, you might think that that’s pretty close. Well, no. The Financial District was worlds away from the East Village. It’s at least several subway stops. Maybe a thirty-minute walk. You had to cross through Soho. Chinatown/Little Italy. TriBeCa. Then you were in the Financial District. Worlds apart.
But on that day, no matter where in the five boroughs you lived, to a non-New Yorker you were potentially near the Towers. The towers’ footprint grew to encompass the entirety of New York City. The city shrank to those few city blocks bordered by Trinity, Vesey, West, and Liberty.
I’m still not sure if I can answer the question, “Are you okay?”
Tuesday, September 10, 2002
I caught a few bits of last weekend’s edition of CBS Sunday Morning, which was centered around September 11. In one clip, a man likened the attacks and its aftermath to a funeral: many people gather to mourn the passing of a loved one. These are people that don’t normally get together, and may not have seen each other in a long time. After the funeral, they vow to get together sometime soon; only, it never happens. They part, go their separate ways, until the death of another mutual friend.
I’m sure I don’t need to explain how apt that is.
Tuesday, September 10, 2002
Holy Fucking Shit Day, a group weblog about September 11-related events. Good read. Makes you think, if you haven’t already. From Jill Matrix (welcome to the ‘burgh!).
Tuesday, September 10, 2002
Continuing with the September 11 anniversary anticipation:
I don’t feel right not being in New York tomorrow, and I think I know why.
It’s the implicit connection that you make with other people. In New York, I would be surrounded by other people who were there, and maybe that alone might offer some comfort. Shared understandings, and all that.
Out here, the tragedies affected people differently, so it’s hard to establish a common thread.
I was in Las Vegas pre-July 4th. Over dinner one time I recounted to my cousins and my father what it was like to be in New York after that day. It was storytelling. That’s what it feels like when I’m with others and the subject of September 11 comes up. Mere…storytelling.
Monday, September 9, 2002
I am going to forsake the media on Wednesday. What possible purpose could watching the television serve for me? Its images are cold and barren. I have memories enough.
If I want to relive that day I have notesfile archives, saved email, IM transcripts, videotapes, and newspapers (one copy each of the Times, the Post, and the Daily News) from the 12th of September 2001.
If anything, my thoughts are with Matt, who is the only one I know that lost someone that day. How dare I think about what I experienced when what I experienced is so inconsequential in comparison.
No, it will be just me and my computer. Me, trying to find something to say.
For the first time in a long while, I was conscious of feeling numb. At the same time I just wanted to slump over in my chair, no longer able to keep myself upright, my energies drained from keeping it all inside. Emotions that have no real definite source, emotions that have no description. The only thing you’re aware of is that it’s there, and it’s strong.
Blank stare. Sotto voce. Single-objective clarity of focus. New York-style determination in movement. These are the tools by which I keep the lion at bay, retain control.
I think Rudy’s words still hold true: it seems like only yesterday, but also an eternity.
Saturday, September 7, 2002
Whoda thunk it? My hardware problems were solved by swapping for a better Firewire card.
Friday, September 6, 2002
Pictures that I took over Labor Day weekend can be found here. Mostly Chicago, a couple from Purdue.
Coming up on one year.
September 11, 2002 is almost upon us, and our eyes and ears will, I’m sure, be saturated with retrospectives, remembrances, and other events and specials to commemorate the one-year anniversary of–
(What should we call it? “September 11″ is probably the best name we have, but the other variants drive me batty, like “9-11.” In any case, using “September 11″ in the paragraph above would sound rather redundant.)
–the attacks on our country. Everyone, from the largest media conglomerates right down to the average Joe and Jane Blogger, will probably be producing something to mark its passing. Books are already available for those who wish to engage in somber reflection. Soon, our televisions will be once again displaying the images that have already etched themselves into our memory.
I was thinking of writing something lengthier than my normal post to mark that day as well, but how do you do that in a way that seems meaningful and respectful of the day’s true importance? The New York Times already ran a fairly thorough review of the literary offerings available; the reviewer criticized some for the authors’ “cold cerebrality,” some for selfishly centralizing the event around themselves, and some for making wild proclamations about the meaning of the tragedy and radical philosophical connections where none exist. And some just come off as rather trite.
Most of all, though, the reviewer scolded many for their lack of originality in writing personal pieces about that day. What makes your experience so unique? he asks. Or, rather, what makes you think any of us care?
So, when or if I do write my own piece regarding September 11, I must think about what would make what I write unique. What is it that I have to say that you would be interested in reading? We were, after all, all in the same boat, we watched the same images, felt the same emotions. For awhile, we were all united by a common bond, and even, dare I say, without trying to be presumptuous or disrespectful to those lost near Pittsburgh and in the Pentagon, that we were all New Yorkers that day (yes, this was the attitude we felt in the city at the time). And so, nothing I experienced would really make for engaging reading–just look to your own experiences that day.
I did not witness it with my own eyes. I was at home, in Queens. Yes, that counts as New York City proper, but as far as I was concerned, I could have been three thousand miles away on the opposite coast. With all routes into Manhattan closed, we, the bridge and tunnel crowd, were isolated from the city center. So we might as well have been somewhere else. I have no unique perspective–it is the same as someone in Chicago or Los Angeles. But I lived in New York. Certainly Chicagoans or Los Angelenos were not treated to whole walls covered with posters desperately asking for information about loved ones decorating the subway and streets. Or the makeshift memorials in the shadows of skyscrapers.
While I take my time to consider something worthy of publishing, I also welcome your thoughts about what you would like to hear from me, if there’s anything that you feel I am capable of commenting on or some point of view I can offer.