I posted earlier about how when I read names on 9/11, it occurred to me that the people I was reading names with were the people who went down there to help and lived. The readers this year were first responders and volunteers. When we were lined up to read, I turned around and took pictures of the people in the line behind me.
Some of you may remember me pointing out the sweet faced guy in the white hat.
A firefighter friend IM'ed me. "The Lt with the nice face is Mickey Kross. Mickey survived in the stairwell remember that group?"
Mickey Kross, a Lieutenant with Engine 16, was in stairwell of the north tower when it collapsed. I found his story in his own words. I'm posting a few excerpts, but the full story is here.
“We had finally made it down to about the 3rd floor when we suddenly heard this tremendous noise. Hurricane winds overcame the stairwell and picked me up. I moved towards the railing to try to make myself as small as possible for shelter; I literally tried to squeeze myself into my helmet. Debris hit me from all angles and enveloped the stairwell in total darkness. I didn’t know what was happening, that the entire tower was collapsing down on top of us, but whatever it was, I didn’t think it was something I could overcome. My prayer was that it just be quick. But, just as suddenly as it began it ended, and I was engulfed by a total silence.”
Stairway B, Tower 1.
“We were given rope to help us extricate ourselves from the debris and we crawled out one by one, but at the top, were faced with a minefield of jagged surfaces and beams. You had no idea where you could and couldn’t step. I started walking what I now know now was east but it brought me to a less stable area. I was told to turn around. Everything from the offices was pulverized, like a blizzard, except a two of clubs playing card which I found in the debris and still have today. Eventually, I saw my captain coming up the pile and that’s when I realized that I was probably going to be all right.”
"There was a desk set up on West and Vesey with a list of about 400 firefighters who were presumed dead, including myself. I still can’t believe that I was able to cross my name off that list, but 343 members of my department remained on there permanently, including many longtime personal friends, six firefighters from Ladder 7, the unit we shared our firehouse with, and the officer from engine 1, who I’d just been traveling up the stairs with. I stayed at the site until 10 p.m. that evening, and returned every day for approximately three months to bring them home."
"I don’t like to revisit the memories of that day, and thankfully some have been erased from my mind, but I feel compelled to try to remember and express what happened there for sake of those who can’t."
I don't know what to say. I wish I had shaken his hand. (All of their hands, really.)
My friend Paula Bernstein's book Identical Strangers: A Memoir of Twins Separated and Reunited is going to be in bookstores on Tuesday, October 2nd. Everyone has a book coming out! Paula is also going to be on "CBS Sunday Morning" this Sunday, Sept. 30th at 9 a.m. ET (and I am DYING of envy). Paula found out a couple of years ago that she had an identical twin sister, who was living in Paris. Can you imagine??
From Publishers Weekly: In this transfixing memoir, Bernstein, a freelance writer, and Schein, a filmmaker, take turns recounting the story of how each woman, at age 35, discovered she had an identical twin sister ... Once you find someone, Bernstein writes, you can't unfind her.
That's Elyse on the left and Paula on the right, at age seven.
It's been pointed out that some dogs do like to carry things in their mouths, so there. I take back all the evil thoughts I had about dog owners who walk around with their dogs carrying stuff in their mouths.
Here's another picture of the fabulous dog-rescuing Matt and Joe. I know there are lots of people rescuing animals all over the world, sorry to focus on Matt and Joe, but this was so great.
I am very very very very happy with how this new chapter has turned out, and I'm pretty sure my editor will be too. It's got a ghost story!
Plus, I'm very happy because the new TV season has started. Everyone, don't forget the show Reaper. It premiered last night. I meant to post a reminder, but I'm sure you can find it online if you missed it. Tonight I'm hopeful about Bionic Woman and Dirty Sexy Money.
Before I forget, I wanted to give a shout out to my friend: HI CHRIS!
I know you've all probably seen this picture, but I just love these two guys. This is Matt Smolenski and Joe Riopelle rescuing a dog named Shell-B in Michigan. I just love that they did this. I wanted to email them and thank them, and I figured they're in their 20's, they must have a Myspace page or something, but I couldn't find anything.
Thank you, Matt and Joe. Oh, look at that sweet dog face. Thank God for Matt and Joe.
It always freaks me out to see a dog off its leash. Not because I don't think the dog is well behaved, but because you never know what can happen. I worry for the dog. I guess you can't keep a dog on a leash all the time, it's like thinking I'll never leave the house and therefore nothing will happen to me, but still. It's inexcusable on city streets I think. The dog sees a stray cat or mouse, runs into traffic and that's it.
Speaking of things that owners do that bug me, I don't like how some people walk their dog and have the dog carry something in their mouth, like their water bottle, or the paper they're going to use to scoop up the dog's you-know-what. It's like the dog is a walking-performance-piece, there's something so narcissistic about it. I've never had a dog who does that voluntarily. Yes, they like to chew, and moves things from place to place, but walk around for a while with something in their mouth? No. I'm sure the owners love their dogs, and I'm as narcissistic as the next guy, but I feel for the dogs. But maybe I'm wrong about this. If someone who does this wants to set me straight, that would be cool.
My friend's brother, who I adore, has a new book out called Nobodies: Modern American Slave Labor and the Dark Side of the New Global Economy.
From a review in USA Today. "Something must be said of Nobodies' final chapter, a masterwork and mixing pot of ideas, spiced by the anger of an intelligent man who has witnessed too many instances of the Latin proverb, homo homini lupus: man is a wolf to man.
I've been mulling that over. Someone has a book out that moves people to say things like that. He's going to be on Jon Stewart on Monday, by the way. He's very cute. And smart. Just saying.
Then I see a clip of Naomi Wolf on the Colbert Report. It's worth watching. Wolf has a new book out called The End of America: A Letter of Warning To A Young Patriot. A lot of us are thinking what she has written about, and she carefully laid out arguments demonstrating that our concerns are not groundless.
I've been trying to think of a book that will put me in an interesting place with interesting people (trying to find an adjective other than "interesting") and meanwhile John Bowe and Naomi Wolf have written the kind of books that could change lives and history. So I've changed my line of thinking. Except so far the only idea that came to mind is a book that demonstrates the need to protect animals and I admit that I don't have the heart to write it. It would mean investigating and immersing myself in the horrible things we do to animals and I can't even watch a TV show if an animal gets hurt in it and that's a fictional animal.
Fuck. It takes courage to write these books. That never occurred to me.
My cats and I frequently have the following debate:
Me: Could you be more cute??
Buddy or Finney:
Me: I don't think so! [I kiss the top of their heads] I don't think so!
Buddy or Finney:
I never tire of this. This is Buddy at the moment, being as cute as is possible in the universe.
I'm in a good mood because I thought of a cool way to go with this pesky new chapter, and tonight choir practice resumes. We're doing Mozart's C Minor Mass, among other things. So life is good at the moment. Until I or someone else invariably does something assholish. Oh, and new TV is starting up this week. There's that. I think Grey's Anatomy is starting up this week. It might be a recap show though, this early. Does anyone like recaps shows? NO. In any case, thank you TV people for bringing us TV.
First, I know I'm not a model, this was just for fun. But More magazine and Wilhelmina apparently have a modeling contest every year for women over 40. There are lots of prizes and gift bags so I thought, what the hell? Unfortunately, a few things went wrong.
1. I went to the wrong address. (I wrote down Park Avenue, but it was Park Avenue South.)
2. You're supposed to bring a picture.
3. It cost MONEY to enter. It was $25, but I'd already gotten up early and showered and trekked over to the wrong address, so I paid it.
They took polaroids of the people without pictures, but the picture they took of me totally sucked. I can re-enter by mail, which I am tempted to do, but it costs another $25, and it’s not like I could win. It all worked out in the end because they gave everyone a great gift bag full of Garnier Fructis products I actually would want and will use, and other do-dads. I'm sure it's all worth more than the $25, so the fee was a wash.
Here are some of my fellow contestants, and the all important GIFT BAGS.
First, for the record, I thought I was doing that pony-like dance the twin girls do in A Charlie Brown Christmas. I now see that I look nothing whatsoever like them. But that's what I was attempting.
But here I am dancing with Matt Harding, of Where the Hell is Matt fame. He was an absolute sweetie. If he were my son I'd be bursting with pride. I can't believe how stiff I look at the beginning. Or how teeny. I'm 5 feet 2 and a half!! Thank you for organizing this Matt, it was fun. Oh, and there was a whole crowd of people for the actual video. He was just nice and stayed around after and danced with anyone who wanted to dance.
I believe I've posted before that I keep a journal where every day I list three things that made me happy. I came home yesterday after a long day of work and my friend Jonathan had sent me this picture. This is the kind of thing that makes me happy. Below are some recent entries. I love how sometimes I have to really scrape the bottom of the barrel to find things. (But I always manage.)
- Finney doesn’t have ringworm, So You Think You Can Dance, singing with friends.
- Relief from headache following nap, phone call from Steven, grilled cheese.
- Movie with Howard, sour patch candy, People Magazine.
- It’s not hot, mangos, nice Big Brother chat.
- Orange juice, Mitford bio, toe is sprained not broken.
- Getting chosen to read names on 9/11, breakfast was interesting, a mineola orange.
- Lunch with Marianne, air conditioning, foot is much better.
- Nice lunch with Rebecca, orange had no pits, faxing with Howard.
- Relaxing in Big Brother chat, effortless food, compliment from Karen.
- Feeling hopeful because the introduction is starting not to suck, Big Brother, pomegranate.
- Chatting at the diner with Dimitra, Full Frontal Fashion, fresh air.
- My crisis of confidence has passed, Bones, help from Howard.
- Pedicure, Full Frontal Fashion, chat with Chris.
- Potato chips. That’s all I remember.
- The pleasure of curling up when really weary, the Tribute in Lights, nice comments on my blog.
- Cheese and bread, my favorite meal, a rose, my white pants came clean.
- Lovely day, probably found enough to do a chapter, pizza.
I'm pretty sure I posted about this guy before. His video made me happy. Watch it, you'll see. I, and about a million other people, wrote him to say we'd dance with him, and now he's coming to New York! He sent email about where and when to be tomorrow. That picture is below.
I'll bring a camera so I can post before and after pictures of this spot. (It's in Central Park.) Thank you for existing, Matt!
The people reading the names down at the Trade Center today were first responders and volunteers. While I was in the tent waiting for the ceremony to begin I realized, these are the men and women who went down to help and lived. Given the recent article in the Times about the number of first responders who suffer from PTSD, I wondered if some of the people I was with today feel survivor's guilt. (I was a volunteer. I didn't work on the pile, I was feeding rescue workers and making their beds at St. Paul's Chapel.)
As always, I took pictures. These were the people behind me on the line to read names. The guy in the white hat has a sweet face, doesn't he?
This is a picture of the platform from where I stood, waiting to go up. That's a big hulking secret-service-type guy in the foreground. There were a number of those, but not nearly as many as years past. (I would love to be a big hulking guy for a day, just to see what that feels like.) I couldn't count, but it seemed like there were hundreds of people lined up to read names.
These are people actually reading names. When I got up there it really began to pour. The guy holding the umbrella behind me used me almost like an anchor. The umbrella was against my neck and head and I couldn't move, he had me pinned.
I listened to myself on the tape, and it sounds like I mispronounced a name. Amy R. King. It sounds like I said Amy R. Kim. I apologize to the friends and family of Amy King. But they told us they had people whose only job was to listen to us and if any name was mispronounced it would be said again at the end. I can't believe I got through my one difficult name and messed up "King." I'm so sorry. I feel terrible.
My out-of-focus shot of the Giulianis. I am not a fan of Giuliani, but he got up, read a short and lovely Elie Wiesel quote and got off. I was right there when he got off and I said, "That was perfect," to him because it was, and he squeezed my arm and said, "Thank you, dear." (And I screamed in fear. Okay, I didn't do that.) Eliot Spitzer was there and he shook the hand of every person in line, and I am a HUGE Spitzer fan so I fell apart when he shook my hand and said something to me, I don't remember what, but I said, "Thank you," even though whatever he said was not something you say 'thank you' to. Andrew Cuomo was there, and man he's handsome, but there's something wrong about him, isn't there? I forget.
This is walking down into the site.
These are the flowers in the reflecting pool in the footprint of the towers.
This is the wood around the rim of the reflecting pool. Wherever people could write, they did. Sharpies were placed there so they could.
This is walking out of the site. It's such a forlorn shot, isn't it? I was so proud to read names today. Every few feet there was someone who had a job to do, lining people up, explaining when to start and stop, holding umbrellas, doing security, getting water, escorting people on and off, and so on. Everyone was so nice and efficient. I saw a bunch of my friends, and some of us went to lunch at the Millenium Hotel, which was nice, because that wasn't something we could do back then, of course.
Good bye World Trade Center. Rest in peace, people who died there. It felt sad to walk away from you then. Sadder than reading your names.
I just pointed my camera over the heads of the crowd on the roof at the Metropolitan Museum of Art last night. One guy on the right apparently didn't like that! Cool shot though, right? No one in the crowd is over the age of 18, I don't think. Look at them!
But it was lovely strolling through the new Greek and Roman galleries with my friend Dimitra, and then hanging out in a diner, just gabbing, which I haven't done in so long. Just hanging out without a purpose. And I almost cancelled because I was feeling stressed out and having a crisis of confidence about my book. My inner dialogue was going something like, "Ohmygod. Look at my editor's notes. I can't do that!! Now what do I do?? Mommy." It passed. Today I look at the same notes and I'm all, "No problem. I'm good at exactly what she is asking me to do."
I'm going to be one of the people reading names on 9/11 this year. I have to say something in response to recent talk about moving on. Even though I am honored to be reading names, I have a special connection to 9/11 and I don't have a problem with the suggestion that it's time to move on. The city should not shut down every year on 9/11. People of course should be able to observe the anniversary any way they want, and if people want to gather in a park and read names they should be able to do so.
I will be reading twelve names. My biggest fear was mispronouncing someone's name, but the city is terribly organized. They sent me the names this week along with a CD of someone saying each name aloud. Since I knew beforehand whose names I'd be reciting I wanted to look up who they were.
Here they are, along with quotes I found from newspapers and websites. I just cut and paste whichever moved me for whatever reason. I don't remember all the places I went to, but I believe I got the pictures from CNN, and many of the personal quotes from legacy.com.
There are two firefighters, two people who were on United Airlines Flight 175, and eight people who were at work in the Trade Center towers. Their ages go from 25 to 56 years old.
William Hill Kelly, Jr., 30, salesmen, Bloomberg, LP. World Trade Center, Tower 1, 106th Floor. “Last heard from: 9/11/01 at 9:23 a.m., Bill e-mailed from the 106th floor of the World Trade Center Building 1 (the second building to collapse) that he could hear firemen approaching.”
“After Sept. 11, his mother, JoAnne Kelly, was surprised to receive an envelope full of a 4-year-old Billy's dark curls, from an early trip to the barber. She had given the envelope to a beloved neighbor, whom Mr. Kelly had nicknamed Pal, as a joke, and Pal had saved it for 26 years. Now Mrs. Kelly has something of her son left to treasure.”
Thomas J. Kennedy, 36, firefighter, Ladder Company 101, Brooklyn. World Trade Center. “At 4 p.m. that day, Tom's wife, Allison, called and said she'd heard her husband and his colleagues were safe. ‘We went to bed thinking everything was OK,’ Bill Kennedy said. ‘At about 12:30 a.m., we got a call saying the whole company was missing.’" His father, Bill Kennedy, was a retired NYC firefighter.
Ralph Francis Kershaw, 52, Marine Surveyor. UA Flight 175. “I think of Ralph almost every time I go out on my boat. As a young paperboy, Ralph was my boating mentor and helped me in more ways than he could have ever imagined. I'm sure I was a bit of a nuisance, but Ralph always found the time to give some advice, or help me get something at a price a 13 year-old could afford.
“I hope that I will continue to have the opportunity to return the favor to someone in the same spirit and manner that Ralph gave to me. A true life lesson of patience and kindness. Always grinning past the #4 buoy, John Elder (Hamilton, MA)."
Howard L. Kestenbaum, 56, Senior VP, Aon Corp. World Trade Center. “Lauren Kestenbaum had been on a bus bound for Manhattan when she saw the first plane hit. "My daddy is in that building," said the New York City librarian as she and fellow passengers stared in horror from their bus, which was beginning its descent toward the Lincoln Tunnel toll plaza. A woman gave Lauren a cell phone and she called her mother but lost contact when the bus entered the tunnel.”
Ruth Ellen Ketler, 42, Dir. of Research, Fiduciary Trust International. World Trade Center. “Ruth E. Ketler once said she thought it was possible to be an executive who was liked and admired, instead of respected and feared.” “There were few things that have ever brought more joy to my life than making Ruth laugh. That laugh of hers, it came from somewhere deep within her - so deep it was almost like she was a little afraid of it, it filled up the room, and it touched your heart. A friend.”
Sarah Kahn, 32, Food Service Handler, Forte Food Service. World Trade Center, Tower 1, 101st floor. “A cafeteria manager for Forte Food, which ran the Cantor Fitzgerald dining rooms, Mrs. Khan, 32, emigrated from Guyana in 1992, arriving in New York where her husband had settled two years earlier. They coordinated their schedules to maximize their time with the children; she worked early and got home when school let out; he went in a little later, after getting everyone ready for the day.” “I miss you so much mommy. It's been so long since i'v seen you and felt your love, but it seems like juss yesterday you gave me a kiss goodnight.You will always be in my heart and i will never forget you. I love you mom. Annie.”
Rajesh Khandelwal, 33, Business Analyst, Marsh & Mclennan Cos. Inc. World Trade Center, Tower 1, 97th floor. “My son Rajesh was a gem in my family, he was born in candle light (as for few minutes whole city become in dark) Dr. Who was on duty comments that he will be light of your family and it become so....he who never fell sick was never in fear in any circumstance.he was the symbol of peace and and happiness, always telling every body not to worry.”
“In my life I never found for any punishment. He born like lord Krishna Astrologically also he was too similar to him, always stood 1st in order of merit for 10 years he was the leader of his school keeping flag in his hand whole school was proud of him. I still believe he may come any time as he comes in-to my dreams.”
“Rajesh was a boy of courage, studious, honest and hard working was loved by every man of my family friends and city. When I came on 18th Sept. 2001 and met to the persons - no body address him Mr Rajesh but only bhayya(brother) Rajesh that is what he earned and I am proud of him. God bless America. Ramesh."
Michael Vernon Kiefer, 25, firefighter, Engine 280/Ladder 132 in Brooklyn. World Trade Center. “As a toddler, he and his father, Bud, would visit the firehouse in Franklin Square, N.Y., so that he could sit on the trucks.
“As a schoolboy, his impression of a siren was so convincing that he once caused a bus driver to pull over abruptly. And his sisters were often drilled on how to rescue their dolls from pretend fires in the backyard shed.” “In October of 2000, Michael was now in "Probie" school or as he put it - heaven. The following December he received the best birthday gift he could ever ask for when he attained his diploma and was now officially a FDNY fireman. His dream assignment came through when he was told to report to Engine 280/Ladder 132 in Brooklyn. Life was now "perfect" for Michael. He had found the other love of his life Jamie two years ago and was saving for a ring.”
Andrew Jay-Hoon Kim, 26, Certified Financial Analyst, Fred Alger Management. World Trade Center, Tower 1, 93rd floor. “At Columbia University, where he studied engineering and finance, he developed his spiritual side, working with the Campus Crusade for Christ.” He’d only been working at Fred Alger two months. “Seated in the back row, Andrew Jay-Hoon Kim's mother, Lee, wore a simple black-knit dress. A petite woman, she wore her dark hair pulled back and sat with a black pocketbook on her lap.As she listened, she bowed her head slightly. Sunshine streamed through the trees. She held a crimson red silk handkerchief up to her eyes and wept.”
“You were a man, ridiculed for his fervent faith, a man who would take out his checkbook if anyone was in need of money to pay the rent, a man who was the BYG praise leader. Andy was someone who was deeply missed in our adult and youth congregations, missed but not forgotten. You left your imprint on many lives, forever. God bless. Bruce Kim (Temecula, CA)."
Mary Jo Kimelman, 34 Volume Control Clerk, Cantor Fitzgerald. World Trade Center. “Ms. Kimelman, 34, was always a taker when people had an extra ticket to concerts or sporting events. She often read poetry at clubs in Greenwich Village and ran up on stage when bands invited audience members to sing. About two years ago, Ms. Kimelman impressed her friends by belting out a Melissa Etheridge tune at a bar near Wall Street. "At the beginning she was a little nervous," said her friend Carolynn Kutz. "But once she started going, she let it rip. The band helped her along and she shined."”
“Thank you mary for being so kind to my two cats when i carted 'em over to you and scotty's apt many years ago. I fondly remember you tying a big red hristmas ribbon around my cat lucy, and wanting to use her as a christmas ornament. You are forever sweet. patricia schmidt (nyc, NY)."
Amy R. King, 29, flight attendant, United Airlines. UA Flight 175. “She enjoyed running, painting and traveling. She was especially close to her longtime boyfriend, Michael Tarrou, who also died in the crash ...” “I miss you Amy. I just wanna tell you that you must have known something about life very few people will ever understand. I can honestly say that I never once, from second grade on (that's when I first moved into your neighborhood), remember you saying or doing anything negative. That's pretty amazing Amy! I feel very lucky to have known you. You were an angel as long as I knew you and that's how I will always remember you. I will try to live the rest of my life as you did...peacefully. Love, Aaron."
Lucille Teresa King, 50, Aon Corp. World Trade Center, Tower 2, 91st floor. “During baseball season, Lucille T. King always bet against the man she loved and put her money on the team she cherished. She took her beloved Yankees; her husband, Richard, went with whatever team was playing the role of hated opponent. The wager was always the same: 25 cents.”
“Dearest Lu:
On this 2-year anniversary, as I watched the children today reading all the names, with tears running down my face, I picture you sitting out in the Plaza, like you used to do lapping up the sunshine with your humorous self. I miss you Lu, Mary and I talk about you constantly. Believe it or not, we have both been baptised since 9/11, and trying to walk a straight line, that is to say, Mary is always falling off, I know you are laughing about this too (laugh). I hope your family draws strength from God to live thru this terrible loss. I hope, Lu, that you are snug in the arms of Jesus. Ta-Ta, my Friend, RIP until we meet again. Doris Leslie (Springfield Gardens, NY)."
I am continually horrified by the amount of things I don't know. I'm not talking about not being able to pass a basic physics test (something I couldn't do) but things like "name ten presidents." Again and again when they're doing that thing they do on TV, where they ask a group of people some truly common knowledge type thing, something any child would know, invariably I don't know the answer.
This happened last night while watching my recording of America's Princess (a reality TV show where a bunch of girls compete to become a "princess"). They gave the girls a pop culture quiz and I couldn't answer some of the questions. Yes, I do appreciate the irony here. Maybe I should stop watching shows like America's Princess, but that isn't going to happen. They are too much fun! Oh, and I'm probably using the word irony incorrectly.
I never know the answers on Jeopardy. Okay, I do know some of them, but not as many as I should. I do worse on the new show Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader. Really worse. Horrifyingly worse.
The thing is, I read a lot. If something is interesting to me I make an effort to learn about it, and as it happens, pretty much everything is interesting to me. I am always looking up something. Seriously, always. If I meet someone who knows about something I don't, I ask them about it. When channel surfing I stop on Nova and shows like it as much as reality TV. I've been absorbing information like this for I'm not saying how many years. Not as much as some people I know, it's true. I have friends who just go at it harder than I do, and are extremely knowledgeable about a vast array of subjects. But I should at least be able to get through Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader and I can't.
The only explanation I can think of is, I retain little. Sadly. For instance, I remember a couple of years ago I realized it was important to understand how our economy is tied to China, and how we've been borrowing and are now in a vulnerable position. I read up on it, asked questions, argued with my brother Douglas about it at a backyard party (he works for Merrill Lynch, economics is his thing) and I came to understand it somewhat. Since then I have forgotten every single thing I picked up. Oh god, the stuff I don't know or don't remember about basic American history, world history, ugh.
Sigh. What are you going to do? I read this blog called 3 Quarks Daily. I don't read every entry, I scroll through and read one here and there, but man. These people are not only members of the "go at it harder" club, but they are phenomenal retainers. Heavy sigh. Maybe I should just read the Times more thoroughly each day. Maybe keeping up with current events is the only recourse with my retension issues.
(The picture is of my friend Marianne, somewhere in Massachusetts, taking her dog Schlomo for a therapeutic swim. I find pictures of Marianne taking care of her dog incredibly touching.)
I'm backing up my computer before taking it to Apple to hear the bad news. As that cliche goes, I can buy a better computer for less money than it may cost me to fix this one. A new computer would cost $1,099. A new motherboard for this one $1,200.
This is me at the Brazilan festival on 46th Street yesterday. My arm is almost completely back to normal. I drummed for hours and I was fine. Walking home I had a thrilling moment (for a musician). Someone saw my tshirt and yelled out, "Manhattan Samba! You guys playing the festival?" We're known! What can I say, it was a pleasure. Someone wanted to hear us.
Ugh. Can't stop thinking about the computer. On the one hand, a new computer is always fun, but on the other hand, I can't really afford the expense. I'm not wealthy, you know. Universe? I posted that for your benefit. In case you're listening. Or reading, I guess.
Further evidence of my distress: I bought Smarties to eat for dessert. After breakfast.
I've been thrown into the past! I spilled orange juice on my laptop and now I'm on an old Mac, with an ancient version of Instant Messenger running in the background, hearing sounds I haven't heard since I was in love with this guy and my heart would pound whenever I heard that door-opening sound effect it made every time he appeared.
I remember how terrified I was to switch from this operating system to my new computer and OS X, it was so completely different. But it was wonderfully, unendingly better. I don't like being back here. I've just been saying on Echo how I want to pick a subject for my next book that puts me in a whole new world for a while. Living in Durham for a few months showed me that I would like that (although I did get terribly homesick, I love New York so much).
Change change change change change. Love it, hate it. That guy will never again come through that tiny IM door, even though my heart still pounds.
Maybe the problem isn't change so much, it's that we are not in charge of when or how it comes about.
What should I write about next? If I get the chance to write again? I'm saying that to appease the gods of change, knowing how they like to mess with me. The bastards.