Oh, and another thing: I'm supposed to be in Charlottesville as we speak, for Colleen and Lee's wedding. My flight (on United, via D.C.) was cancelled, to no one's surprise. I'm sorry I can't be there, guys. Congratulations.

More evidence of human stupidity: Reports on the radio this morning that the Chicago islamic center was vandalized last night. A long report on the neighborhood of Bridgeview, where many of Chicago's Arab-Americans live, on how idiots have been terrorizing the neighborhood, telling Arab-Americans to "go home" and "this isn't your country." When it was pointed out that hey, these people were born here, one idiot said "I don't care, their ancestors didn't come from here, they should go back to where they came from.' Listen asshole -- unless you are full-blood Native American, YOUR ancestors didn't come from here, either. This whole country is made up of immigrants. We were all, at some point, from somewhere else. That's part of or strength. The folks who run the Mr. Submarine in Bridgeview didn't bomb anything. Leave them the fuck alone.

In my Junk mail folder: "MAKE BUSINESS BOOM!" and "We are looking for foreign residents.. " Idiots. Perhaps these are not messages you should be sending out now, under the circumstances. Grrrr.

jsm, on adequacy.org -- I think I love you.

Just got back from a "Moment of silence/remebrance" across the river in Pioneer Court. It was.... weird. Unsatisfying. Part of it may be that I was educated by Quakers, and therefore I know from moments of silence. I know what meaningful contemplation feels like. It does not feel like a crowd chanting "USA! USA!" Very odd. And creepy. We don't even give ourselves time to mourn before we start getting all triumphal again. What purpose does that serve? Take this time to reevaluate everything -- things we've done wrong, things we've done right, things we wish we could do -- before blindly jumping into "USA rules! Let's kick some ass!" mode.

Note: I do not, in any way, shape or form, mean to say that we as a nation deserved this. NO ONE deserves this kind of devastation. NO ONE deserved to die like that. It's sickening and beyond comprehension. However, I don't think we should jump to defensive "USA! Love it or leave it!" mode. That's the whole point of the country -- we don't have to walk in lockstep, we don't have to believe what everyone else believes.

I don't know if I'm making any sense.

The last of my friends from New York just checked in. Thank god.

I spent yesterday trying to get my cable modem fixed, and it still doesn't work. I feel guilty for wanting to be annoyed about this. In the grand scheme of things, who cares about modem connectivity?

Read some truly infuriating remarks from Jerry Falwell. (He later "apologized." God, what an asshole.)We've started to get the stupid, infuriating, maddening comments from people who are either insane and reprehensible, or should really know better. I'm stillin shock from the attacks, mostly sorrowful and disbelieving, but comments like the above just push me over into rage. How dare you use this tragedy to advance your own agenda? How dare you call yourself a Christian and then dish out this kind of hate? So you realize that you're being just as much a fundamentalist asshole as the people who actually hit the WTC? Do you think before you open your mouth?

(On the same topic, see The Portadown News for its take on these sort of predatory, idiotic fuckwads. Yes, it's satire.)

This disturbs me a lot. I wrote earlier about envying my sister Laura's faith. She and her husband are born again, and when you say stuff like that, people immediately think they're like that Falwell asshole. They're not. Their true Christians, I think, in that they don't judge but are instead trying ti live a good, exemplary life. They don't spew hate. Hell, they're even pro-choice (anti-abortion, but pro-choice). I wish people like Laura and Jorge and their pastor had giant TV ministries instead of Falwell, but that's not the way it works out. Dammit.

I don't even know what to say. I drove into work yesterday, and heard about th planes hitting the world trade center towers as I was parking. Came upstairs, listened to the news a little more, and then we all decided to get the hell out, just in case. (Our office is in the same building as the Israeli consulate).

Nothing happened in Chicago. The downtown just emptied out, and we all went home. Wendy brought one of her staff, who lives downtown, back to our house, as they figured big tall buildings were more likely to get bombed than little dinky buildings in "changing neighborhoods."

And here's where I'm having problems, trying to figure out what to write -- if I'm going to write about how I reacted, what popped into my mind, I'm going to have to include the snarky comments that popped up. Because I did have snarky comments. I don't want to give the impression that I'm not taking this seriously, that I'm unaffected, that I don't feel the fact that so many people died.... God, i can't forget that. I'm terrified, and broken up, I'm numb, I'm hysterical .... I woke up in the middle of the night thinking of people choosing to jump fromthe WTC towers rather wait for it to collapse....God. I don't know if I'll ever forgive the media for broadcasting those pictures. Jesus.

And in a weird sort of way, I don't know whether I deserve to have a reaction, to have any thoughts on the matter. The people I love are safe, and out of harm's way. We were never under any credible threat. My sister and brother-in-law are in Wilmington, my other sister inthe Philly suburbs, and my parents in the middle of nowhere in Montana, probably the safest of any of us. All accounted for. The folks I know in NYC and Arlington also accounted for, and OK. Thank god. What right to I have to talk?

So don't read if you don't want. I just want to get some impressions down.

Came back home and tried to wake up Wendy, only to discover she'd already left. I tried to get her on her cell phone, but nothing was getting through. Finally got in touch with her, she said she was downtown, i freaked and told her to get the fuck out, she said she would as soon as she found out whether some of the downtown dwellers wanted to stay with us. I hand't even thought of that, and felt ashamed for not considering it. Wendy's a better person than I am, I'm afraid.

Tried calling my parents, my sisters... all lines busy. My cable modem is down, so I tried to install AOL just so I'd have some connectivity. Also busy.

Mary called, told me about her sister, her family. God. Told me N from northern Ireland was trying to get in touch with me, to make sure I was all right. It's never a good sign when someone from a virtual war zone is calling you to make sure you haven't been bombed. I finally got through to him later in the day, tod him all was well (or as well as could be expected.) He's supposed to come visit next week -- will he be able to fly? We don't know.

Listened to the news on NPR and kept the TV on mute so I could see the pictures. That was probably a mistake. Saw the towers collapse, people waving from the windows... Christ. I can't put it into words.

My sister Laura called, to let me know that my other sister, Amy, was ok, to findout if I was still at work. She was calm, talked sense. I was a bit hysterical. I couldn't get te thought out of my mind that probably thousands were dead. I envy Laura her faith, her ability to pray, her ability to trust in God. I don't have that. I wish i did.

I couldn't sit still, couldn't sign on, couldnt do anything. I turned on all the radios and paced around my apartment. Finally, I started cleaning my kitchen, just because I couldn't sit still. Now I officially know what it takes to make me clean voluntarily -- a major terrorist incident with massive loss of life. I'll live with a dirty kitchen, thanks.

Wendy and Dean came up to eat lunch, watch the news. We were appalled, but joking sometimes -- reacting to the fact that the news kept revealing the "secret location" that Bush had been whisked away to, but not where Cheney was. Hmmm. "President Bush has been chained to a super-secret railway track at logitude this, latitude that, and is invulnerable to attack there. Really. So no one even try. Because he's vital, I tell you, vital to the national well-being. Pay no attention to the vice president who's actually running the country. We have no idea where he is." Also, the local news kept cutting in to talk about what Chicago was doing (nothing), and we started getting the impression that our civic inferiority complex was kicking in -- "Chicago is, I repeat, really is imprortant enough to be bombed. We have big-ass buildings here, which are definitely worth being the target of terrorism. I'm sure the evil terrorists simply overlook all of our workd-class civic features and accomodations. It's just an oversite, and we could be attacked at any time. Because we're worth it, dammit."

Dean and Wendy went back downstairs, I paced more, than made cookies. Why? Something to do with my hands. Anxiety cookies. I don't know, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

The cats kept waiting for me to sit down so they could snuggle, but I was to keyed up. I still can't comprehend it all.

I want to give blood, but the last time I tried they said i couldn't til November, which will be a year after I visted a "suspect" part of Mexico. I'm healthy, dammit, and I want to do something. Take my blood. But I can't.

Since I was completel offline yesterday, I wasn't able to check out the Portadown News message board until today. These are people who deal with terrorism all the time, and for the most part, they were sympathetic to us. Thanks, everyone.

It feels pointless to be at work today. What are we doing to change the world? What are we doing here? Would i want to die here, doing this, as all those people in the WTC did? Fuck no. It's not worth it.

I'm numb. My brain isn't processing it all.

Be careful, take care of yourselves.

Comments from friends about my crackhouse post on Saturday:

Brian: Do you have a gun? Of course not, I was educated by Quakers. And for god's sake, I managed to break my arm walking -- can you imagine the damage I'd do to my self with a gun? Oy.

Brian and Angie (this was after I slammed some cider, so I don't remember who said what): We're worried about you, we don't want you to get hurt, be careful. Thanks. I'll be fine.

Laura, who is looking for a house, as I tried to convince her to buy in my neighborhood after telling the story of my morning: [Blank stare] Right. Never mind. I pretty much screwed myself there, didn't I?

N: I know better than to say ANYTHING about your weekend wake-up call, especially as this is clearly a predictable argument you've had with all your other friends already. I just wanted to say that I'm sure you'll be fine, and that much worse situations resolve themselves quite naturally.

I live in a pretty shite neighbourhood myself, without the prospect of it ever improving, so I chose another path -- I went a bit down-market myself. Drug-dealers make much better neighbours when your happiness is their business. I also have one of those doorbells you can switch off at night.

You're still a nutter though. Thanks for the suggestion? Um, no.

OK, here's the post from Sunday. Huzzah:

Notes on Urban Gardening

As I mentioned earlier, perhaps our house is being mistken for a crack house because of the overwhelming amount of weeds in our front parkway yard. Originally I was thinking I didn't want to put down sod, as that would be a pain to maintain. No, we'd plant a bunch of ground cover, and that would be sufficient. I discovered, however, that unless you by huge amounts of ground cover -- dozens, maybe hundreds of plants -- your ground is not, in fact, covered. Instead you have tiny little plants in this vast sea of dirt.

But it does not stay just dirt: The weeds come in to take over. I was overwhelmed, and let it go. Wendy is concentrating on the back yard (she actually got some beans to grow amongst the morning glory!), so the front bit is mine. Then we kept getting mistaken for a crack house, and I started to take it personally. Hence, the calvacade of weeding today.

In mid-weed, as I started to fill the second huge bag with noxious plants, I was trying ti figure out what my Public Television Gardening program would be called. The Pyrrhic Victory Garden? The Agony of Defeat Garden? They Can't Do That In The Garden? Don't Try This In The Garden? What the Hell is She Thinking Gardening? Abandon Hope, All Ye Plants Who Enter Here?

Nevertheless, here is some of my hard-won gardening knowledge. May it make you stronger.

1. Weeding, when done in sufficient quantity, is an aerobic activity


2. It also qulaifies as resistance exercise.


3. Oh, my back. I have a feeling that tomorrow i will be complaining about my lumbago, and I don't even know what lumbago is. (Note on Monday -- Back and calves are complaining. Go figure.)


4. Weeds are easier to pull when the soil is moist.


5. But not when it starts to rain, as everything gets slippery


6. Gardening gloves be damned, you're still going to get dirt under your fingernails.


7. In addition to the usual weed suspects, an urban garden -- especially one between the sidewalk and the street -- will sprout:
   
   • Valvoline bottles
   
   
   • Prestone bottles
   
   
   • Bottles that had contained alcohol (I personally seem to be getting a bumper crop of MGD and Corona, with the occasional exotic bloom of Heinekin and Barcadi)
   
   
   • Fast food containers
   
   
   • Candy wrappers
   
   
   • Cheetos and Ruffles bags
   
   
   • Random bits of plastic wrapping C
   
   
   • igarettes/cigarette packs
   
   
   • Bullet casings (joy!)
   
   


8. No matter what you do, the weeds (both leafy and of a man-made variety) will come back.


9. Hostas are apparently very difficult to kill, even with not-so-benign neglect. I officially love hostas.


10. Other things identified as "hardy" may not, in fact, be so.


11. Mulch is your friend. At this point, I'm also thinking that concrete might be my friend.


12. Get a yard boy

Speaking of yard boys -- Tripp, I think I deleted all the bugs, and we're left with features in the front bit.
If you want to play inthe dirt some more, I have a large expanse waiting for you.

Grrr. My cable modem at home continues to be on strike (Damn you AT&T Broadband!). So I wrote a post from yesterday and put it on a disk, but my computer at work isnt recognizing the disk. I am disgruntled.

So. After my rude awakening yesterday, I went to the great Andersonville Yard Sale to do my christmas shopping (every 10- to 50-cent cookie tin worth having), went to the Homelife liquidation sale to see if there was anything worth having (nope) and went home to eat lunch and "rest" before swinging over to Mary's to pick up the shelves/other stuff I bought from her. Four hours later, I woke up. Doh.

Mary was gracious about me being a big dork for falling asleep and not getting over sooner (Where else was I gonna be?) and had this to say about my post from yesterday morning: I'm glad you're finally being realistic about your neighborhood. Don't get me wrong -- I still like it here, and I'm glad we bought here, but yeah, the denial (No! Everything is perfect! I'm not listening! La la la la la...) is slowly fading away.

(I'm also slightly paranoid that I should really, really dig up all the weeds in the parkway out front, so this place would look less like a crack house. Sigh. Between rain showers, I'll be weeding and heading to Home Depot for a hell of a lot of mulch.)

Then, after much schlepping of my new swag, I ran over to a bar on Southport for Diane's 30th birthday (she's the last one to turn 30, I think, and all of a sudden she's saying things like Forty isn't old and the like. Hah. Welcome to my world, Diane.) I am at that peculiar intersection of weather, laundry and personal hygiene that I could either be seriously overdressed or wear my pajamas, so I was seriously overdressed, but what the hell. At least no one had to stare at my unshaven legs.

So, today: Laundry (obviously), weeding (ditto), possibly playing with Tripp's refugee cats in Wendy's apartment (if he didn't get them last night), and reading Georgiana : Duchess of Devonshire. Pretty cool, although I'm only on chapter five. Review to follow.