Sunday, September 11, 2011

September 11th, today

September 11th.  "Nine-eleven."

The date is always a problem: How to remember?  How to forget?  How to move on?  And, given the current historio-political realities, can or should we even be thinking about "moving on"?

When the attacks happened - and the word "attacks" in my opinion convolutes the somewhat counteroffensive quality the Al Qaeda actions employed, if we are to believe the anti-imperialist rhetoric of the organization - I was in high school in the Bronx.

More precisely, I was trying to figure out my scheme for history class, having neglected to do homework on the Dutch role in Triangular Trade.   We were called into the gym for a school-wide assembly, where big television monitors were hooked up to the news.

We watched the second tower get hit, and we watched both of them crumble.  It was very scary, odd, unnerving, sad, confusing, and everything and nothing.

Cellphone networks were down, so getting in touch with family was difficult.  I ended up spending the night with cousins, as rumors conflicted about bomb scares and what roads and bridges were shut down.

I think school was closed for a day or two while the damage was assessed.  One of my good friends went to a school in Lower Manhattan that was used for weeks as a triage center for the wounded.

I remember putting red, white, and blue ribbons in my hair as a sign of solidarity with the victims.  I also remember a friend bitching about how another student won an art contest later in the school year, for her photo of a seated man cupping his head in his hands, "only because it has a stupid American flag on the hat and everyone thinks it's deep."

Every subsequent year of high school, we had assemblies on the anniversary date to process what we understood to have happened.  Our Quaker principal tried to introduce the "silent meeting," during which individuals were to speak only if we were moved to do so.  Unfortunately for his good intentions, the majority of the student body was far too moved/egocentric to let any silence linger in the room.

It was a confusing time, a self-absorbed, unawakened time in my life.  I didn't understand the motives for the attacks or the subsequent wars, or why people would still sign up to be soldiers, or how oil reserves figured into all of this.  It didn't make sense to me why people would fly a plane into a building just to make it fall down, who would think of such a thing, and who would want to be involved in a suicide mission like that.

In college, people used to ask me where I was on "9/11," and if I knew anybody who had died.  I always thought it was weird that other people cared, even though I remember seeing German people on TV hold vigils for the victims, and watching other commemorations around the globe.

I guess it comes down to a sense of ownership over the occasion, having been in New York City at the time it happened.  I was even upset at my sister for doing a computer project about it, thinking "Why should she have feelings about this?  She goes to school in New Jersey."

These feelings were from a place of uncertainty.  Where does September 11th belong in the individual or collective memory?  What should we have though about it at the time, and what should we make of it at this point?

Over the past ten years, I have thought about September 11th both often and infrequently.  It is not good to dwell, but it is good to remember, I suppose.

It is hard to talk about, and sometimes hard to think about.

Sometimes it is frustrating, especially when I think about how even the day's name has been co-opted by militaristic, opportunistic, proto-Fascist elements in this country, who have led us down from a pedestal of international grief and goodwill to a pit of overreaching, bankrupting pan-continental imperial aggression.  And while there is a lot to think about, there is really not a lot it seems that I can do.

This year I joined the New Orleans Jewish Federation in doing a community service project to mark the date's passing.  We were mudding a house for a lady who has been displaced since Hurricane Katrina.  That is fucking ridiculous.  And here we are as a nation, spending money on stealth bombers and bullshit, when we can't even fix a woman's house six years after it got flooded.

[I always feel a little guilty doing projects like that, because I think it lets the powers-that-be off the hook for taking care of these things.  Like, why should I spend my free time fixing these things when they really shouldn't have happened in the first place, and whose progress has been thoroughly impeded by a gross compendium of negligent government engineering programs, unscrupulous insurance companies, and predatory contractors?]

On the way to the work site, I was listening to NPR coverage of the memorial ceremonies in New York, DC, and Pennsylvania.  I started to cry hearing the bells ring behind the children's voices saying the names of their parents who died.

I felt stupid for crying, but glad that I could still get worked up about something so genuinely awful.

If it is awful just for the death of people with loved ones, then it is awful enough.  If it is awful for its place in U.S.  history as the impetus for far-reaching military invasion in the lives of foreigners and nationals alike, it is still awful.  And I'm not sure I'll ever know how to remember it properly.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Liveblogging Tropical Storm Lee, Part Deux

Not raining.

I'm hungry, Chloe says.
It's seven in the morning, kitty.  Stop stepping on my face like that please.
I'm hungry.
Okay, I'm getting up.
I'm hungry now.
I mean it.

Still not raining.  I'm going for a run, ie: fast walk.

Mmm, brunch.  The best meal of the day.  It's still not really raining.  Off to the gay parade.

Got to the Quarter at the "tail" end of the Decadence parade.  Good stuff.  It was drizzling for most of the time, which did not at all dampen my enthusiasm for the 90s-tastic outdoor dance party on Royal.  It is still drizzling, which means I have no excuse but to balance my checkbook and put away laundry and do other fun adult things that I enjoy immensely.

This storm is a bust, but has done wonders for my desk organization system!  What a holiday weekend.

I think that about does it for T. S. Lee.  There's been flooding in other parts of the city, but we're good here.  I would like to thank my fans for their undying support (especially Gaby and Mom), and Geico, for sending me so many sturdy envelopes that now hold my freshly organized bank statements, medical records, and James Baldwin interview printouts.  Too-da-loo!

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Liveblogging Tropical Storm Lee

Well it appears natural disasters follow me around, so it's only right to liveblog all of them.  It poured all through last night, and I understand that it will continue to rain heavily until the sin of humanity is washed out.  It is, after all, Decadence/Dykeadence weekend here in New Orleans.

So without further ado, here's what's happening:

I wake up to see my cat staring at me in the eyeballs.  This is very unnerving.  I wish she would stop doing this every day.  It is still kind of raining outside.

I go outside to put our garbage and recycling cans back on the sidewalk, the wind having knocked them over to the curb.  I go across the street to fix the garbage can for our neighbor, who tells me that the guy who just moved into the house next door had a heroin overdose the other day.  "He said it was his first time trying it," our neighbor says.  "Hmmm," we agree.  Time to go back inside.

Not raining at all.  Good thing I bought all that bottled water.

I go over to my friends' house, where we drink wine and talk about the impending doom.  One of my friends is in the Coast Guard, so I feel like if he's not worried, I'm not worried.

My Coast Guard friend is worried.


Home.  Making couscous.  Oh man, it's actually quinoa.  Why do I always confuse the two?  Still not raining.

Kind of raining?  What a tease.

I did not download enough Law and Order to last me through this tropical storm.  Good thing I have a shit ton of quinoa for provisions.

Storm preparations in full effect.  Got my water, about to take a nap, but not before watching that video of a teenage boy singing "Paparazzi."  He's so good, I seriously watch it like once a month.

Making tea while wearing a feather boa.  It is important to ride out natural disasters in style.

Here is a picture of Chloe the cat with a feather boa.  She is very unfazed by this whole storm business.  I have found that the number of page views on my blog increases dramatically when I post a picture of my cat.  This either means everyone else on the internet loves Chloe as much as I do, or my friend Collin is just clicking and reclicking on the links because he is weird also and likes pictures of cats.  But really who could blame him.  I mean, look at this punim!

My boy Campbell wrote this article for the Times, quoting Mayor Landrieu on this storm being "stranger" than others seen on the Gulf Coast.  We must not be misled by the on-again-off-again rain, the mayor says.  "Please do not be lulled."  Yet all this non-storm action is pretty lulling.  Bedtime for me.

We will continue this liveblog here.