...the more your slip sliding away... and I'm happy for it.
These are the last 50 minutes of work left here at The Castilian. I'm very glad to be going and of course I've met some pretty great people here and listen if they could work with me and tolerate me then they have to great. A few of the RA's waited for me to come in last night and they had a cake and some cards and parting gifts and it was nice of them. I said my farewells and we each went on to our lives and it just makes the leaving all that more satisfying. So today i grab my vehicle, get to packing it all up, toss out my furniture, and clean the hell out of that apartment. Nothing much else to report, not much more on my mind than the immediate future and I can't even think about the Mets about to blow their damn season to the Phillies. You Mets better pull it together for the next few days because Lord knows the Phillies ain't slowing down for nothing. I'm gonna go about my business and hope for the best, anyway, I'm way the hell down here in the south and I don't have cable so I'll be out of the loop until I pick up a paper every morning or watch some hotel news at night, which I'll do with dread.
I'll be on the road for the next 4-5 days trying to stay awake!
Oh yeah, "so long Texas and thanks for all the fish!"
oh yeah, to my brother seven red in Chicago--> 9/27/07: Happy Birthday, I love that flick of my niece and her goy-goy...Don't lose hope yet, keep the faith!!!! Second choice--Colorado Rockies!
Friday, September 28, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
my my head automatica,
I meant to make the next five days a sort of tribute to Texas but as usual my head went into automatic slouch mode, even in the midst of a personally momentous event, well, here I am so lets get to it. I stopped in the last post in mid praise of Pinkie, all that and a bowl of chili if I recall.
Okay, to the next point. Well I lived in what is somewhat of the outskirts of Austin, up by Duval and 183 and it wasn't a half bad neighborhood. Extremely quiet. Too quiet. If you don't have a car, your proper fooked!
Thats one thing I absolutely miss about NYC, the access to public transportation anywhere and anytime, almost anytime. The on time rate here is pretty good. Buses basically come when they're supposed to, but too far in between for such a small city.
Austin is experiencing such immense growth and for their infrastructure and what the people are used to here, it is a big deal here. Boycotts and town hall meeting fighting certain big name businesses from building in Austin-- part of the Keep Austin Weird phenomena--- as well fighting against a metro-line to connect northern regions like Round Rock to downtown Austin, as well as the making of some toll roads which helped to clear up traffic and pay for heavy Austin projects.
There are lots of projects going on in Austin as far as economic growth, apartment buildings going up everywhere(of course, many Austinites absolutely abhor this and I can't blame them for that, even though I am accustomed to that being the path to a real city, it doesn't necessarily have to be that way and Austin natives are trying to do their best to make their own path, hats off to them for their vision, for the fight to Keep Austin Weird). You can keep your weird all you want Austin. Nothing compares to the feeling one gets walking on a late Manhattan afternoon in a heavy jacket, thick jeans, gloves, woolen cap and scarf tight around the neck, a cup of coffee in hand, the high gray buildings at your shoulders, the high gray sky on their shoulders, steam rising from sidewalk grates and through the holes in the manhole covers, orange and white coned vents puffing hefty gobs of white smoke into the air, the smell of a vendor roasting peanuts, the sound of traffic rushing like metallic land-sharks in a feeding frenzy, people rustling about, single minded and off to where ever they are always rushing off to, subways, taxi backseats, city parks, restaurants and offices, the late Autumn chill and that something akin to crisp burning leaves that makes you feels like it could snow at any moment. Thats what I want. I don't want weird.
There is a tinge of that sensation here and it comes about in early December and lasts for a minute and then poof, like Kaiser Sause, its gone, or as I've often wondered about our Hungarian madman, 'did it ever really exist?'
I enjoy the New York winter just as much as I enjoy the Central Texan spring/summer, two seasons topped easily on one another like scoops of vanilla ice cream lazing in a cup. This phenomena happens from February to October. Its quite pleasant, when its not raining 60 % of a four month period(which is actually a blessing, even if dozens of people get swept away in flash floods) or if it isn't bursting over 100 degrees everyday for the entire month of August and more(thats where the excessive rain actually helps, keeps the ground from catching fire and the lakes, streams and creeks from drying up).
Its a mixed bag of all the same flavors, just made by different brands. Like the BBQ. Sorry Austin, but Stubbs and Rudy's and Green Mesquite taste almost all the same to me. Of course, being a New Yorker, I'm no 'real' BBQ expert but i know dry meat and simple flavors well enough and I think Poke-e-Jo's has you all you snobby BBQ joints beat.. So Yippy-Ki-Ay muthaf*%#@$s!
To almost anyone who has lived through a Yankee winter or three and that goes for those freaks from Oregon straight through to Michigan and round about Illinois and into Ohio and such, a central Texan spring/summer free-for-all season is better than one endless winter in New York and I understand that. Thats a fare conclusion to make.
This jerk, this jerk loves his my changing of the seasons, ones where you can tell they are actually changing and a cold night is 10 degrees, sometimes below zero, not 40 or 50 degrees with the random ice storm once every three years throws seemingly normal folk into a tizzy.
I love my thick skull caps, my scarves, my gloves and my long johns, my sniffling nose from cold air, not from a rampant assault of Texan ragweed, mold or cedar allergens. I love my warm portly frame tucked under a thick comforter while the room around me is cool enough for me to see my own breath, well, maybe not that cool, but if its cold, its cold because its cold outside, seriously cold, not because I left the A/C on all night.
Alright, I lived up on the outskirts of Austin, toiled everyday with often aggravating yet rewarding renovation and contracting projects. I mean renovating as rewarding as far as I having learned a bit about that area of the workforce and although I am far from an expert in any of it, I can surely be added on a construction crew and have the basic know how to blend in easily enough. Like I said, I'm no expert, but I'm glad for the knowledge I've learned in the struggle, as Einstein said, "knowledge IS experience, everything else is just information."
Due to the not so much unforeseen yet temporary fizzling out of friendship with my then roommate Big Casino(he who took me in and got me work, etc.. I think I already thanked him, don't push it, he he), I left the neighborhood of Duval and 183 and with yet more help from another super come through in a pinch friend extraordinaire, Miss Pinkie, I got an apartment down in West Campus.
West Campus is an almost exclusively a University of Texas student neighborhood. My apartment at Viewpoint, 26th and Leon street was only 6 blocks west of Guadalupe street and the UT campus. Guadalupe, a.k.a The Drag is the main artery that runs north to south. From 29th street to MLK it is a very busy place, primarily during school time. College kids, frat/sorority folks and hipsters unite to make it a few bustling blocks of pizza and sub shops, copy stores, boutiques, bookstores, a tattoo parlors, a Scientology headquarters and a few bars here and there. Its alright for people watchers, especially the kind who like gorgeous Texan young women. I swear they produce them like widgets somewhere out in the sticks in ultra mass quantities and ship them off to Austin. They are everywhere, blondes, brunettes, redheads, Asian, black, latino; all types, all beautiful. That'll be something I truly will miss about leaving Austin.
On The Drag is where i've been working for the last year and a half. Nothing special, definitely not the job my college education and 30 odd years of life warrants me working for as long as I did, but I settled, my bad and now I am seriously ready to move on, back to NYC, to make money and work at learning a new skill; to find myself a career. Its long overdue. Its time.
The Castilian, a private college dormitory across the street from UT hasn't been a bad place to work. Frankly, the only few things I had to deal with taht irked me was the pay, the dealing with random obnoxious, know-it-all students, the 40 year old, schizophrenic elevator system that was the bane of my shifts. Oh yeah, I work at night, 11:00-7:30 a.m. Sunday through Friday morning. I have gotten use to it, but I'm ready to break that pattern and return to having a more normal schedule and having the Life that goes along with that. I'm just ready for real change.
a cut in the wall,
The Mallet
Okay, to the next point. Well I lived in what is somewhat of the outskirts of Austin, up by Duval and 183 and it wasn't a half bad neighborhood. Extremely quiet. Too quiet. If you don't have a car, your proper fooked!
Thats one thing I absolutely miss about NYC, the access to public transportation anywhere and anytime, almost anytime. The on time rate here is pretty good. Buses basically come when they're supposed to, but too far in between for such a small city.
Austin is experiencing such immense growth and for their infrastructure and what the people are used to here, it is a big deal here. Boycotts and town hall meeting fighting certain big name businesses from building in Austin-- part of the Keep Austin Weird phenomena--- as well fighting against a metro-line to connect northern regions like Round Rock to downtown Austin, as well as the making of some toll roads which helped to clear up traffic and pay for heavy Austin projects.
There are lots of projects going on in Austin as far as economic growth, apartment buildings going up everywhere(of course, many Austinites absolutely abhor this and I can't blame them for that, even though I am accustomed to that being the path to a real city, it doesn't necessarily have to be that way and Austin natives are trying to do their best to make their own path, hats off to them for their vision, for the fight to Keep Austin Weird). You can keep your weird all you want Austin. Nothing compares to the feeling one gets walking on a late Manhattan afternoon in a heavy jacket, thick jeans, gloves, woolen cap and scarf tight around the neck, a cup of coffee in hand, the high gray buildings at your shoulders, the high gray sky on their shoulders, steam rising from sidewalk grates and through the holes in the manhole covers, orange and white coned vents puffing hefty gobs of white smoke into the air, the smell of a vendor roasting peanuts, the sound of traffic rushing like metallic land-sharks in a feeding frenzy, people rustling about, single minded and off to where ever they are always rushing off to, subways, taxi backseats, city parks, restaurants and offices, the late Autumn chill and that something akin to crisp burning leaves that makes you feels like it could snow at any moment. Thats what I want. I don't want weird.
There is a tinge of that sensation here and it comes about in early December and lasts for a minute and then poof, like Kaiser Sause, its gone, or as I've often wondered about our Hungarian madman, 'did it ever really exist?'
I enjoy the New York winter just as much as I enjoy the Central Texan spring/summer, two seasons topped easily on one another like scoops of vanilla ice cream lazing in a cup. This phenomena happens from February to October. Its quite pleasant, when its not raining 60 % of a four month period(which is actually a blessing, even if dozens of people get swept away in flash floods) or if it isn't bursting over 100 degrees everyday for the entire month of August and more(thats where the excessive rain actually helps, keeps the ground from catching fire and the lakes, streams and creeks from drying up).
Its a mixed bag of all the same flavors, just made by different brands. Like the BBQ. Sorry Austin, but Stubbs and Rudy's and Green Mesquite taste almost all the same to me. Of course, being a New Yorker, I'm no 'real' BBQ expert but i know dry meat and simple flavors well enough and I think Poke-e-Jo's has you all you snobby BBQ joints beat.. So Yippy-Ki-Ay muthaf*%#@$s!
To almost anyone who has lived through a Yankee winter or three and that goes for those freaks from Oregon straight through to Michigan and round about Illinois and into Ohio and such, a central Texan spring/summer free-for-all season is better than one endless winter in New York and I understand that. Thats a fare conclusion to make.
This jerk, this jerk loves his my changing of the seasons, ones where you can tell they are actually changing and a cold night is 10 degrees, sometimes below zero, not 40 or 50 degrees with the random ice storm once every three years throws seemingly normal folk into a tizzy.
I love my thick skull caps, my scarves, my gloves and my long johns, my sniffling nose from cold air, not from a rampant assault of Texan ragweed, mold or cedar allergens. I love my warm portly frame tucked under a thick comforter while the room around me is cool enough for me to see my own breath, well, maybe not that cool, but if its cold, its cold because its cold outside, seriously cold, not because I left the A/C on all night.
Alright, I lived up on the outskirts of Austin, toiled everyday with often aggravating yet rewarding renovation and contracting projects. I mean renovating as rewarding as far as I having learned a bit about that area of the workforce and although I am far from an expert in any of it, I can surely be added on a construction crew and have the basic know how to blend in easily enough. Like I said, I'm no expert, but I'm glad for the knowledge I've learned in the struggle, as Einstein said, "knowledge IS experience, everything else is just information."
Due to the not so much unforeseen yet temporary fizzling out of friendship with my then roommate Big Casino(he who took me in and got me work, etc.. I think I already thanked him, don't push it, he he), I left the neighborhood of Duval and 183 and with yet more help from another super come through in a pinch friend extraordinaire, Miss Pinkie, I got an apartment down in West Campus.
West Campus is an almost exclusively a University of Texas student neighborhood. My apartment at Viewpoint, 26th and Leon street was only 6 blocks west of Guadalupe street and the UT campus. Guadalupe, a.k.a The Drag is the main artery that runs north to south. From 29th street to MLK it is a very busy place, primarily during school time. College kids, frat/sorority folks and hipsters unite to make it a few bustling blocks of pizza and sub shops, copy stores, boutiques, bookstores, a tattoo parlors, a Scientology headquarters and a few bars here and there. Its alright for people watchers, especially the kind who like gorgeous Texan young women. I swear they produce them like widgets somewhere out in the sticks in ultra mass quantities and ship them off to Austin. They are everywhere, blondes, brunettes, redheads, Asian, black, latino; all types, all beautiful. That'll be something I truly will miss about leaving Austin.
On The Drag is where i've been working for the last year and a half. Nothing special, definitely not the job my college education and 30 odd years of life warrants me working for as long as I did, but I settled, my bad and now I am seriously ready to move on, back to NYC, to make money and work at learning a new skill; to find myself a career. Its long overdue. Its time.
The Castilian, a private college dormitory across the street from UT hasn't been a bad place to work. Frankly, the only few things I had to deal with taht irked me was the pay, the dealing with random obnoxious, know-it-all students, the 40 year old, schizophrenic elevator system that was the bane of my shifts. Oh yeah, I work at night, 11:00-7:30 a.m. Sunday through Friday morning. I have gotten use to it, but I'm ready to break that pattern and return to having a more normal schedule and having the Life that goes along with that. I'm just ready for real change.
a cut in the wall,
The Mallet
Friday, September 21, 2007
If you go away ...
In a week from today I'll be getting ready to pack my boxes of essentials into the Chevy Blazer I rented. By the next morning, Saturday the 29th , I'll be driving out of Austin, Texas, two and half years after I blew into it, my life and my spirit all the better for having been here.
Big Casino asked me the other day what my favorite memory of living in Austin was. I was pretty stumped. I couldn't pick out anything off the top of my skull. Big Casino and I had many months where we were not on talking or seeing each other terms so I felt bad when a memory crossed my mind that happened when I was out of contact with him. Still, I couldn't even pin down that memory for sure.
I can't say that I've lived the aggressive bachelor life down here, nor have I have much money to have done more of the things I would have liked to have done. Honestly, in these last 2 and a half years, I have been a bit of a hermit. I didn't come to Texas to make a millions friends, to find a bride, to stuff myself on Pokey-Jo's BBQ, to be a live music aficionado, to stake my claim in the Hill Country or to be the new guy on the Austin hipster social scene.
I came to Texas because I had no choice. I couldn't live in New York anymore for a variety of reasons that were all very emotionally and physically draining on me and the people around me. In a moments notice, I called a friend down here and I asked him if I had the money to get to Texas, would he put me up and he did. Thanks to Big Casino for coming through for me when I needed it.
The first year I was down here was difficult. I worked with Big Casino and some others doing contracting work for Miss Pinkie's private contracting company. That was the side job and it was busy. The main job was preparing make-ready's for apartment move-ins for a property management company. Miss Pinkie also worked for that property management company. Miss Pinkie was in charge of the branch of the property management company that dealt with residential apartments and so she was our boss on two fronts. You couldn't ask for a better boss, or friend. Pinkie is a kind woman, a generous and thoughtful friend and just downright one of the kindest and most sincere persons I've ever met.
Pinkie came to the rescue of many a people I've met down here; Big Casino and I are just the few in a long list of people who are grateful and all the better in our lives for having met Miss Pinkie. I couldn't say enough about Miss pinkie and one day I'll dedicate a post just to her. Lord knows a great book could be written about her life and her struggles and her ability to see the sunlight through the storm and to pull others by her side and help them see that beam of light as well. She helps other people to better themselves by helping themselves. She is all that and a bowl of chili.( I had to pay homage as well to chili, Texas' state food)
Time for bed and my last weekend before I vamoose....I'll get back to my week dedication to Texas on Sunday night.
Grateful and nostalgic,
The Mallet
Big Casino asked me the other day what my favorite memory of living in Austin was. I was pretty stumped. I couldn't pick out anything off the top of my skull. Big Casino and I had many months where we were not on talking or seeing each other terms so I felt bad when a memory crossed my mind that happened when I was out of contact with him. Still, I couldn't even pin down that memory for sure.
I can't say that I've lived the aggressive bachelor life down here, nor have I have much money to have done more of the things I would have liked to have done. Honestly, in these last 2 and a half years, I have been a bit of a hermit. I didn't come to Texas to make a millions friends, to find a bride, to stuff myself on Pokey-Jo's BBQ, to be a live music aficionado, to stake my claim in the Hill Country or to be the new guy on the Austin hipster social scene.
I came to Texas because I had no choice. I couldn't live in New York anymore for a variety of reasons that were all very emotionally and physically draining on me and the people around me. In a moments notice, I called a friend down here and I asked him if I had the money to get to Texas, would he put me up and he did. Thanks to Big Casino for coming through for me when I needed it.
The first year I was down here was difficult. I worked with Big Casino and some others doing contracting work for Miss Pinkie's private contracting company. That was the side job and it was busy. The main job was preparing make-ready's for apartment move-ins for a property management company. Miss Pinkie also worked for that property management company. Miss Pinkie was in charge of the branch of the property management company that dealt with residential apartments and so she was our boss on two fronts. You couldn't ask for a better boss, or friend. Pinkie is a kind woman, a generous and thoughtful friend and just downright one of the kindest and most sincere persons I've ever met.
Pinkie came to the rescue of many a people I've met down here; Big Casino and I are just the few in a long list of people who are grateful and all the better in our lives for having met Miss Pinkie. I couldn't say enough about Miss pinkie and one day I'll dedicate a post just to her. Lord knows a great book could be written about her life and her struggles and her ability to see the sunlight through the storm and to pull others by her side and help them see that beam of light as well. She helps other people to better themselves by helping themselves. She is all that and a bowl of chili.( I had to pay homage as well to chili, Texas' state food)
Time for bed and my last weekend before I vamoose....I'll get back to my week dedication to Texas on Sunday night.
Grateful and nostalgic,
The Mallet
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Salvation for Alphaville
Late to the game and having fallen off as a fan for the last decade, I haven't really followed up on their success and it seems they have had quite a bit of it, especially in Europe. Albums like Salvation, released in 2000 and 'Prostitute', released in 1994, have been claimed by critics and fans as some of the best stuff they have ever produced. 'Prostitute' has fans claiming Marian Gold's voice sounds the best it has ever sounded. I didn't think it could get better.
So, after all my fanfare, I am in the dark about the second coming of their careers. I mean, I did mention that I was aware of their being still around as a productive group and producing dance tracks, etc, but they may be more successful at it than I assumed.
I will check out what they've produced after 1989, my bad.
That is a problem I must remedy! I think i owe it them to give the second half of their careers a second listening to.
obsessed
The Mallet
So, after all my fanfare, I am in the dark about the second coming of their careers. I mean, I did mention that I was aware of their being still around as a productive group and producing dance tracks, etc, but they may be more successful at it than I assumed.
I will check out what they've produced after 1989, my bad.
That is a problem I must remedy! I think i owe it them to give the second half of their careers a second listening to.
obsessed
The Mallet
The Ringing of Your Laughter, It Sounds Like a Melody
It is really satisfying to see people appreciating the same (at least what I had perceived to be) obscure music as I do. In this case I'm referring to the 80's German electro-synth-pop-rock band, Alphaville.
Alphaville had pretty widespread success since their 1983 inception into the music world of New Wave so its not like 'nobody' has ever heard of them or at the very least, any of their songs.
I'd say their two most successful songs were "Forever Young" and "Big in Japan". Third runner up is "Dance with Me". Their first two albums "Forever Young" and "Afternoons in Utopia" sold remarkably well and gained them some notoriety.
With Marian Gold's brilliantly capable voice range and the unique sounds and subjects of their songs, they were different from the average New Wave band and for that I think they sat further in the back ground when put into comparison with bands like Flock of Seagulls,Simple Minds, Husker Du or Depeche Mode.
Now for some crazed fans(and I'm talking to myself here as well, as usual)lumping the New Wave gods Depeche Mode with the previous bands may be sac religious but then again, this is my blog, my own Personal Jesus, my own Black Celebration for one of my top five favorite New Wave bands of all time, Alphaville.
Now, back to the being satisfied part, the one I started with, the point that I'm continually digressing from. Tonight I typed in Alphaville into youtube.com and looked to see what videos etc they had from them. Some of their videos and the songs I thought were great when I was 10 are closer to uber-corny and just sort of disturbing, but I still have love for those quiffs, ahem.
What it was that I appreciated and was sort of surprised by, sort of, not entirely, were the multiple covers done for a song called "Sounds Like a Melody", which is a lesser known yet fantastic synth-violin-esque piece of music. Again, Marian Gold can sing anything, I'm convinced of that. The band Nod did a cover of it that was pretty impressive, more rock and roll, sort of NIN-ish, but well done.
DJ Lichtenfels made a dance track out of it, a modern dance song because its already meant to be a New Wave dance song. Its pretty well done. I have heard "Forever Young", "Big in Japan" and "Dance with Me" done to Techno so thats an obvious leap. Alphaville is a synth-pop band after all, cousin to Rave, Trance and Techno music.
Alphaville is still around today and they are more of a Trance-House dance version of their earlier selves. They aren't just this musically amazing group, but some of their songs reflect their awareness of the world around them.
Like I said earlier, their subject matter is often intense, sincere, passionate and hailing from Cold War era Germany, they are at times extremely conscious and poetic in their view of their part in the world drama. The song "Summer in Berlin" is the perfect example. This song reflects Marian Gold's current event consciousness and feelings about the long standing separation of East and West Germany and the plight of the people living under those conditions. How does one spend "a summer by the wall"?
according to Alphaville, something like this:
Summer in Berlin, it's alright
The day feels so tired
>From the lead in the air
And the fire in the skies
Life seemed to be a fault of grace
But it's ok
It gave you a kiss
In the middle of the crossroads
Summer in Berlin, it's alright
The heat of the sun
Which is stored in the pavement
Feels so fine
Here stands the innocent
and there it comes oh so wild
That's when you're longing
For a summer by the wall
Summer in Berlin, it's alright
Summer in Berlin, it's ok \
--One of my favorite songs and lyrics from Alphaville
I made a reference to them being 'quifs' at the end of an earlier paragraph. Of course, I have no problem with their apparent lean towards homosexuality. I've been on to it since I was 12 or so, the same way I knew Depeche Mode and Erasure were at least parts gay, possibly bi-sexual. My brothers told about DM and Erasure, to my youthful surprise. It did nothing to stop my amazement towards these groups abilities as song writers and over all musicians
side note--->
(Andrew Bell can sing like nobodies business and Vincent Clarke, these two make up Erasure, has produced legendary dance tracks that has gotten my head bouncing innumerable times. David Gahn and Martin Gore, the two main players in the Depeche Mode quartet are remarkable showmen and legendary songwriters and score writers that have marked their own places in history, not to undermine the ability and contribution of the other two DM members, Andrew Fletcher and Alan Wilder, the latter, after the 1981 DM debut album, replaced the aforementioned legend, Vince Clarke. Clarke went on to have major success with Alison Moyet in the band Yaz or Yazoo and still to this day, Erasure)<----side note concluded! I remember listening to the Alphaville song "Jet Set Society" and finally stopping to question what they meant by these lyric "If she's a lady I'm her man, if she's a man I'll do what I can". Well, its obvious Alphaville likes women because almost every love song they've written references some love for a woman but these lyrics, I mean, they're blatant bi-sexual lyrics.
I remembered my brother telling me about Erasure and then I said, wow, these guys too; oh well. The music is great, its fun, it was among my first great musical loves from my childhood and I still can dig it just fine today.
To me that shit never mattered, I mean, even the manliest of homo-phobes that I know are aware of Mick Jagger and David Bowie but they still sing along with the 'ooh-ooh's of "Sympathy for the Devil" and croon to the sad tale of title character "Major Tom" when they hear them on the jukebox, so really, the musicians personal sexual appetites are really so minor that they often fail to deter people from enjoying the products of their talents and passions.
Did I talk about digression earlier, i must be the king of it, lord. Alphaville, yeah, thats the ticket. I can't tell which album I listened to more, Forever Young or Afternoons in Utopia. The first one is darker, pop-rockier while the latter is airy, with stronger jazz-tones and as the title notes, a longing for a more idyllic sound and place in time, with songs where they cry out for "a universal daddy for everyone"(is that God or a sugar daddy for a lonely Marian Gold) In "Afternoons in Utopia", they sing often about magical worlds and scenes from outer space, all with the overtones of a desire for peace and the obvious 'Utopian' society. Politics from the shadow of the wall.
Anyway, even "The Breathtaking Blue" was so-so, a little too efforted and inane for my taste, yet never failing to showcase Gold's brilliant range and creativity in his vocals. The music wasn't half bad, a bit of a watered down mix of the two previous albums. The subject matter, for the most part, was dull and pointless. Of the whole album, probably three or four songs stand on their own. I believe they never gained back the early success after that third album. They were better off moving into the dance world and it has done them justice so far.
Once my friend The Debs found an Alphaville album on vinyl in a rinky-dinky little shop in Beechhurst, New York that had a song on it that I had never heard before and knowing what a huge fan I was of them, she grabbed it and bought it for me. I used to sense that she didn't really get my fanaticism for the band. I knew she liked a few songs, forever Young and the lot, but the rest I think she allowed me to keep for myself, yet she did like that one track on the vinyl she bought me very much, so I got the Alphaville bug through to her, at least a little bit.
I think the track was called "The Sun" or something like that. It was one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard and I haven't been able to find it again. Debs, if you know where it is, if you still have it, hold it for me, the "universal daddy" is coming home, by that I mean me, God.
Alright, so, check them out and any of the other bands I've mentioned if you already haven't and if you have, give them another go around, for old times sake. Listen to Alphaville, love Alphaville, you must do what I say,, schnell, mach schnell!!!(Top Spun, please correct my German)
Goose-Stepping to my bed by the wall
The Mallet
Alphaville had pretty widespread success since their 1983 inception into the music world of New Wave so its not like 'nobody' has ever heard of them or at the very least, any of their songs.
I'd say their two most successful songs were "Forever Young" and "Big in Japan". Third runner up is "Dance with Me". Their first two albums "Forever Young" and "Afternoons in Utopia" sold remarkably well and gained them some notoriety.
With Marian Gold's brilliantly capable voice range and the unique sounds and subjects of their songs, they were different from the average New Wave band and for that I think they sat further in the back ground when put into comparison with bands like Flock of Seagulls,Simple Minds, Husker Du or Depeche Mode.
Now for some crazed fans(and I'm talking to myself here as well, as usual)lumping the New Wave gods Depeche Mode with the previous bands may be sac religious but then again, this is my blog, my own Personal Jesus, my own Black Celebration for one of my top five favorite New Wave bands of all time, Alphaville.
Now, back to the being satisfied part, the one I started with, the point that I'm continually digressing from. Tonight I typed in Alphaville into youtube.com and looked to see what videos etc they had from them. Some of their videos and the songs I thought were great when I was 10 are closer to uber-corny and just sort of disturbing, but I still have love for those quiffs, ahem.
What it was that I appreciated and was sort of surprised by, sort of, not entirely, were the multiple covers done for a song called "Sounds Like a Melody", which is a lesser known yet fantastic synth-violin-esque piece of music. Again, Marian Gold can sing anything, I'm convinced of that. The band Nod did a cover of it that was pretty impressive, more rock and roll, sort of NIN-ish, but well done.
DJ Lichtenfels made a dance track out of it, a modern dance song because its already meant to be a New Wave dance song. Its pretty well done. I have heard "Forever Young", "Big in Japan" and "Dance with Me" done to Techno so thats an obvious leap. Alphaville is a synth-pop band after all, cousin to Rave, Trance and Techno music.
Alphaville is still around today and they are more of a Trance-House dance version of their earlier selves. They aren't just this musically amazing group, but some of their songs reflect their awareness of the world around them.
Like I said earlier, their subject matter is often intense, sincere, passionate and hailing from Cold War era Germany, they are at times extremely conscious and poetic in their view of their part in the world drama. The song "Summer in Berlin" is the perfect example. This song reflects Marian Gold's current event consciousness and feelings about the long standing separation of East and West Germany and the plight of the people living under those conditions. How does one spend "a summer by the wall"?
according to Alphaville, something like this:
Summer in Berlin, it's alright
The day feels so tired
>From the lead in the air
And the fire in the skies
Life seemed to be a fault of grace
But it's ok
It gave you a kiss
In the middle of the crossroads
Summer in Berlin, it's alright
The heat of the sun
Which is stored in the pavement
Feels so fine
Here stands the innocent
and there it comes oh so wild
That's when you're longing
For a summer by the wall
Summer in Berlin, it's alright
Summer in Berlin, it's ok \
--One of my favorite songs and lyrics from Alphaville
I made a reference to them being 'quifs' at the end of an earlier paragraph. Of course, I have no problem with their apparent lean towards homosexuality. I've been on to it since I was 12 or so, the same way I knew Depeche Mode and Erasure were at least parts gay, possibly bi-sexual. My brothers told about DM and Erasure, to my youthful surprise. It did nothing to stop my amazement towards these groups abilities as song writers and over all musicians
side note--->
(Andrew Bell can sing like nobodies business and Vincent Clarke, these two make up Erasure, has produced legendary dance tracks that has gotten my head bouncing innumerable times. David Gahn and Martin Gore, the two main players in the Depeche Mode quartet are remarkable showmen and legendary songwriters and score writers that have marked their own places in history, not to undermine the ability and contribution of the other two DM members, Andrew Fletcher and Alan Wilder, the latter, after the 1981 DM debut album, replaced the aforementioned legend, Vince Clarke. Clarke went on to have major success with Alison Moyet in the band Yaz or Yazoo and still to this day, Erasure)<----side note concluded! I remember listening to the Alphaville song "Jet Set Society" and finally stopping to question what they meant by these lyric "If she's a lady I'm her man, if she's a man I'll do what I can". Well, its obvious Alphaville likes women because almost every love song they've written references some love for a woman but these lyrics, I mean, they're blatant bi-sexual lyrics.
I remembered my brother telling me about Erasure and then I said, wow, these guys too; oh well. The music is great, its fun, it was among my first great musical loves from my childhood and I still can dig it just fine today.
To me that shit never mattered, I mean, even the manliest of homo-phobes that I know are aware of Mick Jagger and David Bowie but they still sing along with the 'ooh-ooh's of "Sympathy for the Devil" and croon to the sad tale of title character "Major Tom" when they hear them on the jukebox, so really, the musicians personal sexual appetites are really so minor that they often fail to deter people from enjoying the products of their talents and passions.
Did I talk about digression earlier, i must be the king of it, lord. Alphaville, yeah, thats the ticket. I can't tell which album I listened to more, Forever Young or Afternoons in Utopia. The first one is darker, pop-rockier while the latter is airy, with stronger jazz-tones and as the title notes, a longing for a more idyllic sound and place in time, with songs where they cry out for "a universal daddy for everyone"(is that God or a sugar daddy for a lonely Marian Gold) In "Afternoons in Utopia", they sing often about magical worlds and scenes from outer space, all with the overtones of a desire for peace and the obvious 'Utopian' society. Politics from the shadow of the wall.
Anyway, even "The Breathtaking Blue" was so-so, a little too efforted and inane for my taste, yet never failing to showcase Gold's brilliant range and creativity in his vocals. The music wasn't half bad, a bit of a watered down mix of the two previous albums. The subject matter, for the most part, was dull and pointless. Of the whole album, probably three or four songs stand on their own. I believe they never gained back the early success after that third album. They were better off moving into the dance world and it has done them justice so far.
Once my friend The Debs found an Alphaville album on vinyl in a rinky-dinky little shop in Beechhurst, New York that had a song on it that I had never heard before and knowing what a huge fan I was of them, she grabbed it and bought it for me. I used to sense that she didn't really get my fanaticism for the band. I knew she liked a few songs, forever Young and the lot, but the rest I think she allowed me to keep for myself, yet she did like that one track on the vinyl she bought me very much, so I got the Alphaville bug through to her, at least a little bit.
I think the track was called "The Sun" or something like that. It was one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard and I haven't been able to find it again. Debs, if you know where it is, if you still have it, hold it for me, the "universal daddy" is coming home, by that I mean me, God.
Alright, so, check them out and any of the other bands I've mentioned if you already haven't and if you have, give them another go around, for old times sake. Listen to Alphaville, love Alphaville, you must do what I say,, schnell, mach schnell!!!(Top Spun, please correct my German)
Goose-Stepping to my bed by the wall
The Mallet
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
So I ran to the Devil, he was waiting....
Power, power, power, power....to have power like a Nina Simone I just might run to the Devil, but then of course, the song 'Sinner Man' would be written about me, the envious.
Loot introduced me to that song, 'Sinner Man' a few years ago and I recognized it from The Thomas Crown Affair, but to listen to it in what seems a quite necessary 10 plus minutes, especially that last minute and a half or so, when she confesses to the Lord how she needs Him, oh Lord, oh Lord, its absolutely spellbinding. I haven't heard a song quite that rapturous in my life.
Now, I don't profess to be a Nina Simone know-it-all. I know very little about her life, except that she was an ex-pat for most of her life, living and eventually dying in France. I think Loot once told me that he was able to see her in her first show at Carnegie Hall shortly before she died; what I would have paid to have been there with him.
I can only name three or four other songs that she does and I'm not sure whether they are remakes, like 'I Put a Spell on You' or 'House of the Rising Sun', which I think is a Leadbelly's song, but it might have actually come from an unknown creator and Leadbelly took it and made it famous; well, more famous .
I never delved too deeply into jazz, even when I was living with Hurlbut back in college, who was quite a jazz aficionado. Even Debs tried to lure me into that den of sound with the Coltrane and Miles Davis CD's she made for me and hell yes, I do see why those two are among the greatest in the biz, but I just never dedicated myself to it fully the way Hurlbut and Debs would have wanted me to.
There is always time and I think I'll try it out now, now that I've come to my senses I suppose. I always considered myself open minded to music, but I certainly have not been as much as I've professed or thought myself to have been. I barely, if ever, listen to classical either and I consider that a shame on myself, not to mention a sort of disrespect to my parents who are quite the avid classical music listeners, my father especially.
A number of times, my father would put on some CD and then ask me who I thought it was.
"Bach, no, no, Bellini--no, wait," I'd stutter.
"Buh," he'd breathe out heavily at me, disgusted, "its Verdi, you barbarian," or "its Chopin you fool."
..I think his reaction is funny and quite the right amount of seriousness and over-reaction that makes me love my father, but I know what he means. Its just something I should be more aware of. To not be a 'barbarian' is to have a more than average grasp and knowledge of almost everything around you, whether it be ballet or stamps or classical music.
It won't necessarily make my life 'better'; thats for me to determine, but to be well-rounded just may help out in other aspects of my life, maybe I can impress Trebek on Jeopardy, who knows.
Wasn't I talking about power. Power, power, power; and then some, in Nina Simone's lungs and beauty and in that invisible chamber in her heart that propels her passion to soar to heights unparalleled. For that power, I just might run to the Devil, he'd be waiting for me and Nina Simone, she'd be praying for me and with that voice, the Lord would definitely hear her.
The Mallet
Loot introduced me to that song, 'Sinner Man' a few years ago and I recognized it from The Thomas Crown Affair, but to listen to it in what seems a quite necessary 10 plus minutes, especially that last minute and a half or so, when she confesses to the Lord how she needs Him, oh Lord, oh Lord, its absolutely spellbinding. I haven't heard a song quite that rapturous in my life.
Now, I don't profess to be a Nina Simone know-it-all. I know very little about her life, except that she was an ex-pat for most of her life, living and eventually dying in France. I think Loot once told me that he was able to see her in her first show at Carnegie Hall shortly before she died; what I would have paid to have been there with him.
I can only name three or four other songs that she does and I'm not sure whether they are remakes, like 'I Put a Spell on You' or 'House of the Rising Sun', which I think is a Leadbelly's song, but it might have actually come from an unknown creator and Leadbelly took it and made it famous; well, more famous .
I never delved too deeply into jazz, even when I was living with Hurlbut back in college, who was quite a jazz aficionado. Even Debs tried to lure me into that den of sound with the Coltrane and Miles Davis CD's she made for me and hell yes, I do see why those two are among the greatest in the biz, but I just never dedicated myself to it fully the way Hurlbut and Debs would have wanted me to.
There is always time and I think I'll try it out now, now that I've come to my senses I suppose. I always considered myself open minded to music, but I certainly have not been as much as I've professed or thought myself to have been. I barely, if ever, listen to classical either and I consider that a shame on myself, not to mention a sort of disrespect to my parents who are quite the avid classical music listeners, my father especially.
A number of times, my father would put on some CD and then ask me who I thought it was.
"Bach, no, no, Bellini--no, wait," I'd stutter.
"Buh," he'd breathe out heavily at me, disgusted, "its Verdi, you barbarian," or "its Chopin you fool."
..I think his reaction is funny and quite the right amount of seriousness and over-reaction that makes me love my father, but I know what he means. Its just something I should be more aware of. To not be a 'barbarian' is to have a more than average grasp and knowledge of almost everything around you, whether it be ballet or stamps or classical music.
It won't necessarily make my life 'better'; thats for me to determine, but to be well-rounded just may help out in other aspects of my life, maybe I can impress Trebek on Jeopardy, who knows.
Wasn't I talking about power. Power, power, power; and then some, in Nina Simone's lungs and beauty and in that invisible chamber in her heart that propels her passion to soar to heights unparalleled. For that power, I just might run to the Devil, he'd be waiting for me and Nina Simone, she'd be praying for me and with that voice, the Lord would definitely hear her.
The Mallet
Monday, September 17, 2007
All The Drunks, They Were Singing...
Your a bum, your a punk, your a no lousy drunk....and your excessive blogging and interacting in the web 2.0 world is killing culture.
Culture hasn't just begun to die, has it? Am I not, by the very act of 'thinking' about this, utilizing a part of my intellect, my ability to use my own 'individual' intuition(ok, that might be a stretch--no exit right) that helps to secure the structure that holds up our 'culture'. Or, as Andrew Keen says, am I just looking for others like myself, the mirrors in the mirror, to pat my endeavors and ideas on the back; minus the challenges of said ideas--those challenges being the thing that actually certifies the structure of our 'cultural growth' is legitimate in the first place. I'm not even sure where I'm going with this. "Legitimate' to who anyway? Who decides what culture is?
Or is culture just in a perpetual state of re-inventing itself.
Andrew Keen's new book named The Cult of the Amateur: How the Internet is Killing Culture" brings up some interesting points and like many of the current social discussions being offered up these days, I'm late to the table. It seems like this is being discussed around and for some time. I just saw an interview of Andrew Keen on PBS's Business Nightly News this evening and thought the concept warranted further investigation.
Why am I bothering at all? I haven't even read the book so I can't go full steam with this. Whose approval am I seeking? What is this need to post my pseudo-opinions, awfully ill-informed and poorly prepared as they are indicative of the need for self-exposure to the world; the very reflection I seek in the mirror of web 2.0 is my own nodding mug.
Then again, I remember one of Keen's concerns was about the anonymity provided to those who are reckless with web 2.0, the bad ones, the culture devourers.
The 'youtuber's, 'my spacer's and the army of vapid bloggers who have lost the ability to read, somehow. Do we need to know every day what kind of toothpaste some schmuck uses or in the perpetual surveying of my space(of which i am guilty also), what kind of cola or flavor of chocolate one favors.
No, nobody cares and in this fashion, the time it takes to write such things, make such foolish youtube.com videos, may take away from time better spent using the mind. Are these superfluous activities killing the Mozarts and the Picassos of our souls, this higher media and entertainment thus being the soul of our culture.
Amateurs who never develop into masters because they are so preoccupied with being amateurs, low level celebrities, 15-minute men and women drowning the 'class' of the world in their inane blog spots.
But then, what makes one creative and 'productive' may be to another a lesson in frivolity. One man's garbage, blah blah blecht.
Me, I am always exposing myself on the net, through my poetry, physically via pictures and here in the supposed mind numbed zone known as 'blog' world.
My brother used to asked me, who are you writing for, my poetry being at the heart of the question. I write for myself I'd demand, truly convinced it could be possible but in the end, I write for the imagined audience, full all of it with my very own likenesses and maybe a few of the people I seek approval from most, my family, my friends and my heroes in immortality(that place I long to be) I'd say, since every day and every night and every second of every minute I can still remember my name, I do everything for myself; inevitably.
Even in producing for the mirror, greatness can be born and culture propelled to new interesting places, no? Isn't culture just the conglomeration of the self's interaction with other variations of the self, the mosaic of our social activity when looked at up close, held together by the contributions of a million individuals dead, living and playing concertos at 5 years old. Can culture really be 'killed'?
Here, here I'm not being very anonymous, as far as the people who will visit this post almost all know me, anonymity, in my case, seems a bit of a mute point.
Okay, I've satisfied my reflection for now, still a bit undecided as of yet because hey, I haven't even read the book so how can I be conclusive about what I perceive Mr. Keen to mean(sister I'm a poet and yes, uh-huh, thats right, uh-huh, I know it--doing my best Fabu-lous meets Morrisey--now thats culture baby--thats entertainment).
I will change and save culture by reading
why it is that culture is possibly dying,
being killed no less; perhaps.
Alright, I'm so extremely tired, hoping there is some sense in here!!
live from the mutter museum,
here is the grotesque, twisted,
aberration of the our cultural soul,
for your voyeuristic, self-indulgent,
narcissistic, self aggrandizing delights,
here in this dirty old town called blog city;
Ladies and gentlemen--by which I mean, just ME,
The Mallet
Culture hasn't just begun to die, has it? Am I not, by the very act of 'thinking' about this, utilizing a part of my intellect, my ability to use my own 'individual' intuition(ok, that might be a stretch--no exit right) that helps to secure the structure that holds up our 'culture'. Or, as Andrew Keen says, am I just looking for others like myself, the mirrors in the mirror, to pat my endeavors and ideas on the back; minus the challenges of said ideas--those challenges being the thing that actually certifies the structure of our 'cultural growth' is legitimate in the first place. I'm not even sure where I'm going with this. "Legitimate' to who anyway? Who decides what culture is?
Or is culture just in a perpetual state of re-inventing itself.
Andrew Keen's new book named The Cult of the Amateur: How the Internet is Killing Culture" brings up some interesting points and like many of the current social discussions being offered up these days, I'm late to the table. It seems like this is being discussed around and for some time. I just saw an interview of Andrew Keen on PBS's Business Nightly News this evening and thought the concept warranted further investigation.
Why am I bothering at all? I haven't even read the book so I can't go full steam with this. Whose approval am I seeking? What is this need to post my pseudo-opinions, awfully ill-informed and poorly prepared as they are indicative of the need for self-exposure to the world; the very reflection I seek in the mirror of web 2.0 is my own nodding mug.
Then again, I remember one of Keen's concerns was about the anonymity provided to those who are reckless with web 2.0, the bad ones, the culture devourers.
The 'youtuber's, 'my spacer's and the army of vapid bloggers who have lost the ability to read, somehow. Do we need to know every day what kind of toothpaste some schmuck uses or in the perpetual surveying of my space(of which i am guilty also), what kind of cola or flavor of chocolate one favors.
No, nobody cares and in this fashion, the time it takes to write such things, make such foolish youtube.com videos, may take away from time better spent using the mind. Are these superfluous activities killing the Mozarts and the Picassos of our souls, this higher media and entertainment thus being the soul of our culture.
Amateurs who never develop into masters because they are so preoccupied with being amateurs, low level celebrities, 15-minute men and women drowning the 'class' of the world in their inane blog spots.
But then, what makes one creative and 'productive' may be to another a lesson in frivolity. One man's garbage, blah blah blecht.
Me, I am always exposing myself on the net, through my poetry, physically via pictures and here in the supposed mind numbed zone known as 'blog' world.
My brother used to asked me, who are you writing for, my poetry being at the heart of the question. I write for myself I'd demand, truly convinced it could be possible but in the end, I write for the imagined audience, full all of it with my very own likenesses and maybe a few of the people I seek approval from most, my family, my friends and my heroes in immortality(that place I long to be) I'd say, since every day and every night and every second of every minute I can still remember my name, I do everything for myself; inevitably.
Even in producing for the mirror, greatness can be born and culture propelled to new interesting places, no? Isn't culture just the conglomeration of the self's interaction with other variations of the self, the mosaic of our social activity when looked at up close, held together by the contributions of a million individuals dead, living and playing concertos at 5 years old. Can culture really be 'killed'?
Here, here I'm not being very anonymous, as far as the people who will visit this post almost all know me, anonymity, in my case, seems a bit of a mute point.
Okay, I've satisfied my reflection for now, still a bit undecided as of yet because hey, I haven't even read the book so how can I be conclusive about what I perceive Mr. Keen to mean(sister I'm a poet and yes, uh-huh, thats right, uh-huh, I know it--doing my best Fabu-lous meets Morrisey--now thats culture baby--thats entertainment).
I will change and save culture by reading
why it is that culture is possibly dying,
being killed no less; perhaps.
Alright, I'm so extremely tired, hoping there is some sense in here!!
live from the mutter museum,
here is the grotesque, twisted,
aberration of the our cultural soul,
for your voyeuristic, self-indulgent,
narcissistic, self aggrandizing delights,
here in this dirty old town called blog city;
Ladies and gentlemen--by which I mean, just ME,
The Mallet
Friday, September 14, 2007
Look Around, Its A Hazy Shade of Memory...
I continued with the story of my experiences on 9/11 down at the bottom half of the blog below.
The rest of the day of 9/11 became a but hazy between the eating at the deli, the fixing of my car and there after. I just don't really remember what went on. And I can't really explain why.
Its just, perhaps, like any other day 6 years ago that you try to recollect. Maybe you remember the exhilarating and outrageous moments of that particular day or something unique or special someone said to you, or the way you felt for a short period on that day for whatever reason, but you don't remember all of it.
Maybe the sheer shock and the constant watching of the news and the scrolling info across the bottom of the screen just outright exhausted me. Or maybe, I just need to be hypnotized.
Memories a bitch
The Mallet
The rest of the day of 9/11 became a but hazy between the eating at the deli, the fixing of my car and there after. I just don't really remember what went on. And I can't really explain why.
Its just, perhaps, like any other day 6 years ago that you try to recollect. Maybe you remember the exhilarating and outrageous moments of that particular day or something unique or special someone said to you, or the way you felt for a short period on that day for whatever reason, but you don't remember all of it.
Maybe the sheer shock and the constant watching of the news and the scrolling info across the bottom of the screen just outright exhausted me. Or maybe, I just need to be hypnotized.
Memories a bitch
The Mallet
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Sometimes an on/off switch would sure come in handy.
Being the intrepid sleeper that I am, not to mention a world class snorer, I was snoozing comfortably in my bed in Oneonta, an upstate NY college town, when the constant ringing of the phone outside my bedroom door irritated me into consciousness, again. The phone rang every too often for a good 40 minutes. I would hear the ringing, curse under my breath and cuddle myself back into sleep. Sometimes, the ringing would just invade my dreams and I remembered even in those moments, I looked around at some distant racket and wondered who the hell was calling me in my dreams. Whoever it was, wasn't getting me out of my warm woolen blankets for the world.
At about 9:45 a.m. I came to the realization that if somebody was calling that many times in such a short period, maybe it was worth getting my ass out of bed and answering the damn thing. I gave in. We had an answering machine and yet they weren't leaving any messages. Someone knew I might be home and was trying to get my attention.
I was the only one home. My roommate Dan was in class. Well, Floey was there. Floey is Dan's cat. Once I tied an empty 2 liter bottle of soda to his tail with a piece of yarn and he almost hyperventilated and died on me in the living room. That happened one night when Dan went out to the Black Oak Bar(but thats a tale for another post). Floey was useless at answering phones, but he was a classy feline all and all. Once again Floey, i apologize for almost killing you, my bad.
I was suppose to be in a 9:00 a.m. class that morning but I decided the night before I'd skip that class and get a little bit of the drink in me. Actually, I was in the transitional stage of getting out of one Spanish course and into another and the one I was 86ing was that morning, so it didn't matter whether I was there or not. By that Thursday, the 13th, I'd be in a higher level course starting fresh.
The night before, a friend of mine named Chris had been over. We drank some beers and whiskey and talked on all sorts of topics, as we usually did. One conversation I distinctly remember was about the fragility of society. As an example, Chris asked me what I thought would happen to NYC if all the ways out of the city were cut off, as well as the food and water supplies. What would happen to NYC then? How would New Yorkers behave? How long would it take before shit hit the fan? We agreed that within a few days, two weeks tops, the city would begin to revert back to chaotic ways, due to the stress of losing our basic needs. Our conclusions, which aren't genius or revolutionary by any means, were that civilization is only a few days away from being far from civil.
As the very early morning approached, Chris went to check on his old German shepherd Max who was outside the door. It turned out that Max had wandered off so we went around looking for Max, all over Oneonta, but with no luck. I needed to get 'some ' sleep, since I did have class later that day and I didn't want to miss that one. Leaving Chris to search for Max, I went to bed.
After only 3 hours or so of sleep, when I finally picked up the phone, I wasn't the most pleasant of people. I was cranky and still a little buzzed. In a pissy tone I said "YEAHHHH, WHAT DO YOU WANT?"
It was Nitz. Well her birth name is Mary, but Nitz is just what I call her. Mary was one of the Oneonta buddies that Dan introduced me to. We got along real well and us both being wise asses from Queens helped out our comradeship.
Immediately, she began rattling out news of that mornings events. She frantically told me to turn on the TV and about how the WTC was on fire, two planes had crashed, NYC is about to be destroyed, the Pentagon has been attacked.
'Mikey, we're under attack, you gotta turn on the TV, the World Trade Center is on fire, both buildings are burning, oh my god, Mikey, oh my god..."
I believed her as soon as I heard her. The tone in her voice was impossible to fake. I snapped out of my attitude and my drowsy stupor and ran to the living room, the phone still in my hand.
"Mary, relax, whats going on, what happened?"
"Just put on the TV, its everywhere, its all happening now." I got to the living room and as I stood there in front of the entertainment center, I remembered that Dan and I had not yet gotten our cable hooked up. It was only a week and a half since we'd moved into the second floor apartment on 14 1/2 Columbia Street and we were in no rush to get the cable hooked up. We had really enjoyed sitting around in our living room or out on the enclosed balcony, just reading, talking over a joint or two and listening from time to time to the radio.
The radio, thats it, I'll turn on the radio. "Mary, our cable isn't hooked up yet, but I'll try the radio."
"Just come over Mikey, get over here now, you gotta get over here and see this, oh my God Mikey, this is it, this is fucked up. THE TOWERS are on FIRE. i can't fucking believe it."
"Okay, okay, I'll be right there".
I stopped wasting time on the radio dials and threw on some pants, a T-shirt and a hoody sweater. I was in the car within a minute and rushed over to Mary and Scotty's place.
Scotty is another friend from my Oneonta crew. He was Mary's roommate and so was Scotty's Australian cattle dog, a red heeler named Digs. I raced cross town, which is no monumental feat considering the size of Oneonta, but between the two colleges in the town, SUNY Oneonta and the private school, Hartwick College, there are at least 7500 students and another 13,000 or so in the tiny community. So at 9:50 a.m., it isn't outrageous that a bit of traffic occurs, but on this morning I dipped and dodged it all, getting to Mary's in a record 5 minutes time. Of course, I was especially motivated by the information that I was getting on the radio as I went.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck", were just about the only words I could get out. I felt for a second like I was still dreaming. There was no way that this scenario was 'real'.
In those 5 minutes I started to register the information from the radio in my car as effecting real people. Real people there at the center of the disaster. I began to consider the plight and situation of my family. I don't know why I didn't think of it immediately.
My father, I thought, would be home in Queens, unless he had one of his Stamp conventions to go to, then he would be somewhere in midtown, near the West Side Highway. My mother would be in work, at the health care agency she worked for right up off 6th street, Avenue of Americas, on Christopher Street I believe, in Greenwich Village.
My brothers; who knew where they'd be? I honestly didn't exactly even know where they worked in those days but I did know it was downtown, not far from the World Trade Center, over in the Wall Street district. My sister-in-law Anna, I thought she worked up near or in the FlatIron Building, so I figured she would be far enough away to be safe.
But really, I didn't think anyone there was safe at all. How could they be.
At that realization I began to really panic. I felt an uneasiness overcome my body and my train of thought. If this was the end of things, my entire family could be wiped out in one day.
As I pulled into Mary's driveway and put the car in park, I noticed my hands trembling. My breathing had quickened and become a bit erratic. I stared up at Mary's porch and I saw her come to the door. We looked at each other for a split second; it was the look that let each other know that we were scared, seriously. I broke the gaze and got out of the car.
"Mikey", she said, her voice graver than it had been on the phone or maybe now that I could see her frightened eyes and paling face, everything seemed that much graver than before. I ran up to the porch and she moved backwards into the apartment, keeping the door open just long enough for me to catch it and get inside behind her.
"Mikey, holy shit, look at this shit Mikey. We're under fucking attack Mikey", Scotty said to me as he jumped off the couch and came to me, pointing at the TV and making me look as well. Scotty was always fidgety, ever since I've known him, like a kid who can't sit still in a classroom. Now, he was at his most agitated state. " I can't fucking believe this shit, thousands of people gotta be dead, how many people do you think Mary, how many fucking people are dead?" I stood there staring at the replay of the planes hitting, fireballs and debris floating into the skyline below. I lit a cigarette I had in my hand the entire drive over. I had been too focused on driving to get the lighter from out of my pocket. I began furiously puffing away, Scotty joined me.
"I can't believe I've been asleep for all this", I said, feeling weird as I said it, as though I was missing out on something everyone would be talking about. Those who were awake when it all went down would be in the know and I'd be out of the loop, an hour and change behind. I immediately shook that sensation off and asked Mary if she'd heard from anyone else. She jumped off of the couch and went to the phone, "I've been trying to call my mom but nothing is going through." She tried again, "still busy". I asked her if I could make a call to my home in Queens. I tried over and over and I couldn't get through.
I hung up the phone and focused again on the TV, the three of us ensnared in the events and I don't remember who was saying what but I had only been in Mary's place for a total of 5 or so minutes when the first tower began to collapse.
Mary started screaming, Scotty as well. A barrage of cussing and "Oh My God's" filled the room. I added a few myself as I went down to my knees and watched the Tower crumble onto itself.
I covered my mouth with both hands and just went silent. The island of Manhattan started to disappear into a cloud of smoke.
"Oh man, no fucking way, no fucking way," Scotty stood there, finally still, for a moment, as the scene on the screen was played over and over from several different angles. The voices of the newscasters mirroring our own disbelief. Then Scotty began to bounce up and down in place, saying over and over again "no fucking way, no fucking way."
"30,000, maybe 50,000 people. Oh my god, holy shit..." Scotty began calculating death tolls and freaking out. Mary remained silent and her eyes left the screen just long enough to catch my gaze. We stared at each other, quietly, without anything to say, as though someone just punched the wind out of both of us.
10:00 a.m. --"Everyone is dead, holy shit", I said to myself, "everyone is dead"
I don't remember what was said in the next 28 minutes, much of the same from before. Multiple attempts to call our families. A variety of theories, mostly coming from Scotty, about who could have been responsible for this. "We're going to war now, we're definitely going to war over this", said Scotty every few minutes.
Then some guy who lived next door to Mary and Scotty came over, Ed I think his name was. That douchebag ended up owing me 90 bucks later on in the winter he never paid me back. I still might pop him one if I see him again, crack head that he became. He seemed far calmer then we were. We asked him if he was watching the TV and he said he had been and stated how fucked up he thought it all was.
He bummed a cigarette and asked if Mary had any coffee going. I don't remember if she did or not. I was a little bit annoyed at his nonchalance about the situation. He was the first person that day that i bumped into who didn't seem at all frazzled by the events of that morning at either the Pentagon, Pennsylvania or New York City. I'll relay some of those reactions which fueled a strong anger in me, most of which I contained but some of which I let out in the form of vehement commentary to the peoples who I thought needed to be shaken from their ambivalence toward the situation.
10:25: I remember those few minutes before the second tower fell talking about what they were going to do if the second tower fell. we were all in awe at the manner in which the first tower fell. It didn't do it like the movies say it would. it just fell upon itself. Why hadn't it 'timberrrrreeeddd' like trees do in the woods. Scotty kept bringing up his estimated death tolls and in moments, bang 10:28.
The second tower started to crumble and as I watched I began to sway a bit like a palm tree to an evening tropical breeze. I leaned against the arm of the couch and repeated as its destruction came closer to completion, "There it goes, there is goes, oh wow. There it goes". What else was there to say. Everyone was stunned. My eyes tired, my shoulders slumped, my breathing became stressed again and I sat down. Mary sat down. Scotty sat down. Even Ed, suddenly became overwhelmed by the site of the missing towers through the growing cloud of dust.
I don't remember much more after that. I did get in contact with my father around 11:00 or 11:30 a.m and he told me that he had spoken to my brother who had gotten back to Brooklyn but who was still out of contact with his wife Anna. My older brother had went to my mother's work in Greenwich village and the two of them were at the moment safe.
Everyone, so far, was alright. Of course, my biggest fears were tamed, but were more attacks imminent? Was NYC going to burn or was it stricken with chemical agents? I knew where my family was, Anna aside, but was the danger over? My father was calm with me, but I felt that he was being extra calm to not get me any more excited than I was. His reserve and strength kept me from utterly flipping out and getting into my car to begin driving down to NYC, regardless of roadblocks and traffic. "Stay where you are, eh. Don't come here. I'll have your mother call you when she gets home. Stay calm, go to your classes," my father told me. He didn't need to tell me twice. I listened and obeyed out of reverence and respect, not out of fear or of some selfish intention. My family, at the moment, was safe and if anything were to happen to everyone, I'm sure my parents would be happy to know I was far enough away from it all to be safe and alive.
I can't remember if or when Mary got a hold of her mom who lived in Maspeth but I think she got in contact with her father who lived in Nyack, NY and possibly her brother in the Air Force over in Idaho or Montana or somewhere in the west. I called my friend Loot and eh told me so far, everyone in his family was okay.. That was a quick phone call since i think he was retreating further into Queens to avoid the pending traffic mayhem that the events would produce.
The day started to go on, noon came and we were getting tired of watching the devastation on the TV screen. We were all hungry and decided to go into town and get some bagels and sandwiches at this little deli that Mary's friend owned. The town seemed calm, no different than any other day. We were far from calm. Scotty was rambling more than usual while Mary and I were a bit more reflective about the situation. I was watching the people we were passing intheir cars to see if I could notice anything different about them. Honestly I don't remember really seeing anyone who seemed visually disturbed at all.
We parked and walked to the deli on Main Street. It was beautiful out. That same blue sky that got violently interrupted over the New York City skyline was quiet and stainless over The Leather Stocking District in upstate New York.
In the deli, I think that I ordered an everything bagel with cream cheese and chives. I grabbed a juice and went outside to where Mary and Scotty were chatting with some Oneonta folks they knew. I sat on a cobblestone plant holder across the sidewalk as they sat a few feet away at the tables set out in front of the deli. There was brief mention about the attacks, but it seemed quite tamed. Scotty started off strong about it but even he became a bit subdued by the calmness of the reactions of others. I remember him walking away from their tables, lighting a cigarette and running his hands through his hair with a mixed sense of frustration and bewilderment.
These other people just didn't seem to get it. Mary was trying to have a conversation with another friend of hers, something about the woman's young daughter I think. She seemed to really be stressing a sense of normalcy. People stopped by, Oneonta hippies that were friends with my room mate Dan and knew Mary as well, but I didn't really ever make any connections with them. We nodded at each other and they began at first to talk about the attacks and then quickly started talking about some concert or other they had went to recently. they were always talking about concerts. it was very annoying.
I became increasingly displeased with every bite of my bagel. I finished my food, tossed out the garbage and crossed the street to the coffee shop for a cup. In there, the same indifference seemed to permeate the air. I don't know, maybe it was me. Maybe I was expecting everyone to be up in arms, running around with their heads cut off. I mean, everyone was all smiles and business as usual, not even with the least bit of worry on their faces.
I got tired of the scene and went back to Mary and Scotty to tell them I planned on leaving. Dan was there now. He had walked back from campus. Classes were canceled for the rest of the day, which was no big surprise. Dan too, at first pissed me off at how off hand and dismissive he had been about the situation. We spoke about what we had seen on televeision, briefly. He seem unaffected by it. I was completely irked, especially after Dan's reaction. He was my friend. My family lived down there. Mary's family lived down there. How could he seem so disinterested in it all.
Mary and Scotty left with me. We went back to their house. I aired my frustration and they had noticed it as well. They aren't New Yorkers i thought, they can't relate. It has to be that I thought. Scotty wasn't from NYC but he had lived in the Village for a while before the millennium and still had numerous friends down there so he was very concerned for the state of things down there. I was beginning to get pissed about the situation and began to formulate a plan to drive down to NYC regardless of my fathers advice. I was going to get my car checked up and my brakes replaced that day anyway, after classes, so I dropped Mary and Scotty off at their house and went a few blocks away to Mary's mechanic and asked him to get to fixing' my 93 Ford Taurus.
The mechanic checked out my car and gave me an estimate. I told him I needed it as soon as possible because I planned on going down to NYC right away. "Whats in NYC that you need to get there in a hurry? You live down there or something", the guy said to me.
Now, at this point, its about 2:00 or 2:30 pm. I couldn't believe how he was asking me this question; that was the last straw. "My family lives down there, the city was attacked today. Manhattan is under a cloud of smoke, thats why I need to get down there. Haven't you heard about what happened?" My voice was trembling but t was fierce as well.
"Yeah, yeah sure, heard it , saw some of it too, on TV. What happened, some planes crashing into a building or something," he said, oblivious, as he was wrenching something into place underneath my car that had been raised in the garage. I bit my tongue, "yeah, thats it, planes hit a building." I was seconds from snapping, so I went outside to smoke a cigarette. The images kept going through my mind, some planes crashing into buildings, buildings crumbling, people dying, a city, my city, dissolving into possible chaos, possibly beyond repair. Rocky Votolato says "sometimes an on/off switch would sure come in handy...", sometimes, because those memories, those sights, those feeling, they don't fade easily. I guess if they did, I'd be unhappy in the forgetting as well as in the remembering. Could you turn that sword around, no, no, this way, no, no, maybe that way, oh, shit, stabbed!
At about 9:45 a.m. I came to the realization that if somebody was calling that many times in such a short period, maybe it was worth getting my ass out of bed and answering the damn thing. I gave in. We had an answering machine and yet they weren't leaving any messages. Someone knew I might be home and was trying to get my attention.
I was the only one home. My roommate Dan was in class. Well, Floey was there. Floey is Dan's cat. Once I tied an empty 2 liter bottle of soda to his tail with a piece of yarn and he almost hyperventilated and died on me in the living room. That happened one night when Dan went out to the Black Oak Bar(but thats a tale for another post). Floey was useless at answering phones, but he was a classy feline all and all. Once again Floey, i apologize for almost killing you, my bad.
I was suppose to be in a 9:00 a.m. class that morning but I decided the night before I'd skip that class and get a little bit of the drink in me. Actually, I was in the transitional stage of getting out of one Spanish course and into another and the one I was 86ing was that morning, so it didn't matter whether I was there or not. By that Thursday, the 13th, I'd be in a higher level course starting fresh.
The night before, a friend of mine named Chris had been over. We drank some beers and whiskey and talked on all sorts of topics, as we usually did. One conversation I distinctly remember was about the fragility of society. As an example, Chris asked me what I thought would happen to NYC if all the ways out of the city were cut off, as well as the food and water supplies. What would happen to NYC then? How would New Yorkers behave? How long would it take before shit hit the fan? We agreed that within a few days, two weeks tops, the city would begin to revert back to chaotic ways, due to the stress of losing our basic needs. Our conclusions, which aren't genius or revolutionary by any means, were that civilization is only a few days away from being far from civil.
As the very early morning approached, Chris went to check on his old German shepherd Max who was outside the door. It turned out that Max had wandered off so we went around looking for Max, all over Oneonta, but with no luck. I needed to get 'some ' sleep, since I did have class later that day and I didn't want to miss that one. Leaving Chris to search for Max, I went to bed.
After only 3 hours or so of sleep, when I finally picked up the phone, I wasn't the most pleasant of people. I was cranky and still a little buzzed. In a pissy tone I said "YEAHHHH, WHAT DO YOU WANT?"
It was Nitz. Well her birth name is Mary, but Nitz is just what I call her. Mary was one of the Oneonta buddies that Dan introduced me to. We got along real well and us both being wise asses from Queens helped out our comradeship.
Immediately, she began rattling out news of that mornings events. She frantically told me to turn on the TV and about how the WTC was on fire, two planes had crashed, NYC is about to be destroyed, the Pentagon has been attacked.
'Mikey, we're under attack, you gotta turn on the TV, the World Trade Center is on fire, both buildings are burning, oh my god, Mikey, oh my god..."
I believed her as soon as I heard her. The tone in her voice was impossible to fake. I snapped out of my attitude and my drowsy stupor and ran to the living room, the phone still in my hand.
"Mary, relax, whats going on, what happened?"
"Just put on the TV, its everywhere, its all happening now." I got to the living room and as I stood there in front of the entertainment center, I remembered that Dan and I had not yet gotten our cable hooked up. It was only a week and a half since we'd moved into the second floor apartment on 14 1/2 Columbia Street and we were in no rush to get the cable hooked up. We had really enjoyed sitting around in our living room or out on the enclosed balcony, just reading, talking over a joint or two and listening from time to time to the radio.
The radio, thats it, I'll turn on the radio. "Mary, our cable isn't hooked up yet, but I'll try the radio."
"Just come over Mikey, get over here now, you gotta get over here and see this, oh my God Mikey, this is it, this is fucked up. THE TOWERS are on FIRE. i can't fucking believe it."
"Okay, okay, I'll be right there".
I stopped wasting time on the radio dials and threw on some pants, a T-shirt and a hoody sweater. I was in the car within a minute and rushed over to Mary and Scotty's place.
Scotty is another friend from my Oneonta crew. He was Mary's roommate and so was Scotty's Australian cattle dog, a red heeler named Digs. I raced cross town, which is no monumental feat considering the size of Oneonta, but between the two colleges in the town, SUNY Oneonta and the private school, Hartwick College, there are at least 7500 students and another 13,000 or so in the tiny community. So at 9:50 a.m., it isn't outrageous that a bit of traffic occurs, but on this morning I dipped and dodged it all, getting to Mary's in a record 5 minutes time. Of course, I was especially motivated by the information that I was getting on the radio as I went.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck", were just about the only words I could get out. I felt for a second like I was still dreaming. There was no way that this scenario was 'real'.
In those 5 minutes I started to register the information from the radio in my car as effecting real people. Real people there at the center of the disaster. I began to consider the plight and situation of my family. I don't know why I didn't think of it immediately.
My father, I thought, would be home in Queens, unless he had one of his Stamp conventions to go to, then he would be somewhere in midtown, near the West Side Highway. My mother would be in work, at the health care agency she worked for right up off 6th street, Avenue of Americas, on Christopher Street I believe, in Greenwich Village.
My brothers; who knew where they'd be? I honestly didn't exactly even know where they worked in those days but I did know it was downtown, not far from the World Trade Center, over in the Wall Street district. My sister-in-law Anna, I thought she worked up near or in the FlatIron Building, so I figured she would be far enough away to be safe.
But really, I didn't think anyone there was safe at all. How could they be.
At that realization I began to really panic. I felt an uneasiness overcome my body and my train of thought. If this was the end of things, my entire family could be wiped out in one day.
As I pulled into Mary's driveway and put the car in park, I noticed my hands trembling. My breathing had quickened and become a bit erratic. I stared up at Mary's porch and I saw her come to the door. We looked at each other for a split second; it was the look that let each other know that we were scared, seriously. I broke the gaze and got out of the car.
"Mikey", she said, her voice graver than it had been on the phone or maybe now that I could see her frightened eyes and paling face, everything seemed that much graver than before. I ran up to the porch and she moved backwards into the apartment, keeping the door open just long enough for me to catch it and get inside behind her.
"Mikey, holy shit, look at this shit Mikey. We're under fucking attack Mikey", Scotty said to me as he jumped off the couch and came to me, pointing at the TV and making me look as well. Scotty was always fidgety, ever since I've known him, like a kid who can't sit still in a classroom. Now, he was at his most agitated state. " I can't fucking believe this shit, thousands of people gotta be dead, how many people do you think Mary, how many fucking people are dead?" I stood there staring at the replay of the planes hitting, fireballs and debris floating into the skyline below. I lit a cigarette I had in my hand the entire drive over. I had been too focused on driving to get the lighter from out of my pocket. I began furiously puffing away, Scotty joined me.
"I can't believe I've been asleep for all this", I said, feeling weird as I said it, as though I was missing out on something everyone would be talking about. Those who were awake when it all went down would be in the know and I'd be out of the loop, an hour and change behind. I immediately shook that sensation off and asked Mary if she'd heard from anyone else. She jumped off of the couch and went to the phone, "I've been trying to call my mom but nothing is going through." She tried again, "still busy". I asked her if I could make a call to my home in Queens. I tried over and over and I couldn't get through.
I hung up the phone and focused again on the TV, the three of us ensnared in the events and I don't remember who was saying what but I had only been in Mary's place for a total of 5 or so minutes when the first tower began to collapse.
Mary started screaming, Scotty as well. A barrage of cussing and "Oh My God's" filled the room. I added a few myself as I went down to my knees and watched the Tower crumble onto itself.
I covered my mouth with both hands and just went silent. The island of Manhattan started to disappear into a cloud of smoke.
"Oh man, no fucking way, no fucking way," Scotty stood there, finally still, for a moment, as the scene on the screen was played over and over from several different angles. The voices of the newscasters mirroring our own disbelief. Then Scotty began to bounce up and down in place, saying over and over again "no fucking way, no fucking way."
"30,000, maybe 50,000 people. Oh my god, holy shit..." Scotty began calculating death tolls and freaking out. Mary remained silent and her eyes left the screen just long enough to catch my gaze. We stared at each other, quietly, without anything to say, as though someone just punched the wind out of both of us.
10:00 a.m. --"Everyone is dead, holy shit", I said to myself, "everyone is dead"
I don't remember what was said in the next 28 minutes, much of the same from before. Multiple attempts to call our families. A variety of theories, mostly coming from Scotty, about who could have been responsible for this. "We're going to war now, we're definitely going to war over this", said Scotty every few minutes.
Then some guy who lived next door to Mary and Scotty came over, Ed I think his name was. That douchebag ended up owing me 90 bucks later on in the winter he never paid me back. I still might pop him one if I see him again, crack head that he became. He seemed far calmer then we were. We asked him if he was watching the TV and he said he had been and stated how fucked up he thought it all was.
He bummed a cigarette and asked if Mary had any coffee going. I don't remember if she did or not. I was a little bit annoyed at his nonchalance about the situation. He was the first person that day that i bumped into who didn't seem at all frazzled by the events of that morning at either the Pentagon, Pennsylvania or New York City. I'll relay some of those reactions which fueled a strong anger in me, most of which I contained but some of which I let out in the form of vehement commentary to the peoples who I thought needed to be shaken from their ambivalence toward the situation.
10:25: I remember those few minutes before the second tower fell talking about what they were going to do if the second tower fell. we were all in awe at the manner in which the first tower fell. It didn't do it like the movies say it would. it just fell upon itself. Why hadn't it 'timberrrrreeeddd' like trees do in the woods. Scotty kept bringing up his estimated death tolls and in moments, bang 10:28.
The second tower started to crumble and as I watched I began to sway a bit like a palm tree to an evening tropical breeze. I leaned against the arm of the couch and repeated as its destruction came closer to completion, "There it goes, there is goes, oh wow. There it goes". What else was there to say. Everyone was stunned. My eyes tired, my shoulders slumped, my breathing became stressed again and I sat down. Mary sat down. Scotty sat down. Even Ed, suddenly became overwhelmed by the site of the missing towers through the growing cloud of dust.
I don't remember much more after that. I did get in contact with my father around 11:00 or 11:30 a.m and he told me that he had spoken to my brother who had gotten back to Brooklyn but who was still out of contact with his wife Anna. My older brother had went to my mother's work in Greenwich village and the two of them were at the moment safe.
Everyone, so far, was alright. Of course, my biggest fears were tamed, but were more attacks imminent? Was NYC going to burn or was it stricken with chemical agents? I knew where my family was, Anna aside, but was the danger over? My father was calm with me, but I felt that he was being extra calm to not get me any more excited than I was. His reserve and strength kept me from utterly flipping out and getting into my car to begin driving down to NYC, regardless of roadblocks and traffic. "Stay where you are, eh. Don't come here. I'll have your mother call you when she gets home. Stay calm, go to your classes," my father told me. He didn't need to tell me twice. I listened and obeyed out of reverence and respect, not out of fear or of some selfish intention. My family, at the moment, was safe and if anything were to happen to everyone, I'm sure my parents would be happy to know I was far enough away from it all to be safe and alive.
I can't remember if or when Mary got a hold of her mom who lived in Maspeth but I think she got in contact with her father who lived in Nyack, NY and possibly her brother in the Air Force over in Idaho or Montana or somewhere in the west. I called my friend Loot and eh told me so far, everyone in his family was okay.. That was a quick phone call since i think he was retreating further into Queens to avoid the pending traffic mayhem that the events would produce.
The day started to go on, noon came and we were getting tired of watching the devastation on the TV screen. We were all hungry and decided to go into town and get some bagels and sandwiches at this little deli that Mary's friend owned. The town seemed calm, no different than any other day. We were far from calm. Scotty was rambling more than usual while Mary and I were a bit more reflective about the situation. I was watching the people we were passing intheir cars to see if I could notice anything different about them. Honestly I don't remember really seeing anyone who seemed visually disturbed at all.
We parked and walked to the deli on Main Street. It was beautiful out. That same blue sky that got violently interrupted over the New York City skyline was quiet and stainless over The Leather Stocking District in upstate New York.
In the deli, I think that I ordered an everything bagel with cream cheese and chives. I grabbed a juice and went outside to where Mary and Scotty were chatting with some Oneonta folks they knew. I sat on a cobblestone plant holder across the sidewalk as they sat a few feet away at the tables set out in front of the deli. There was brief mention about the attacks, but it seemed quite tamed. Scotty started off strong about it but even he became a bit subdued by the calmness of the reactions of others. I remember him walking away from their tables, lighting a cigarette and running his hands through his hair with a mixed sense of frustration and bewilderment.
These other people just didn't seem to get it. Mary was trying to have a conversation with another friend of hers, something about the woman's young daughter I think. She seemed to really be stressing a sense of normalcy. People stopped by, Oneonta hippies that were friends with my room mate Dan and knew Mary as well, but I didn't really ever make any connections with them. We nodded at each other and they began at first to talk about the attacks and then quickly started talking about some concert or other they had went to recently. they were always talking about concerts. it was very annoying.
I became increasingly displeased with every bite of my bagel. I finished my food, tossed out the garbage and crossed the street to the coffee shop for a cup. In there, the same indifference seemed to permeate the air. I don't know, maybe it was me. Maybe I was expecting everyone to be up in arms, running around with their heads cut off. I mean, everyone was all smiles and business as usual, not even with the least bit of worry on their faces.
I got tired of the scene and went back to Mary and Scotty to tell them I planned on leaving. Dan was there now. He had walked back from campus. Classes were canceled for the rest of the day, which was no big surprise. Dan too, at first pissed me off at how off hand and dismissive he had been about the situation. We spoke about what we had seen on televeision, briefly. He seem unaffected by it. I was completely irked, especially after Dan's reaction. He was my friend. My family lived down there. Mary's family lived down there. How could he seem so disinterested in it all.
Mary and Scotty left with me. We went back to their house. I aired my frustration and they had noticed it as well. They aren't New Yorkers i thought, they can't relate. It has to be that I thought. Scotty wasn't from NYC but he had lived in the Village for a while before the millennium and still had numerous friends down there so he was very concerned for the state of things down there. I was beginning to get pissed about the situation and began to formulate a plan to drive down to NYC regardless of my fathers advice. I was going to get my car checked up and my brakes replaced that day anyway, after classes, so I dropped Mary and Scotty off at their house and went a few blocks away to Mary's mechanic and asked him to get to fixing' my 93 Ford Taurus.
The mechanic checked out my car and gave me an estimate. I told him I needed it as soon as possible because I planned on going down to NYC right away. "Whats in NYC that you need to get there in a hurry? You live down there or something", the guy said to me.
Now, at this point, its about 2:00 or 2:30 pm. I couldn't believe how he was asking me this question; that was the last straw. "My family lives down there, the city was attacked today. Manhattan is under a cloud of smoke, thats why I need to get down there. Haven't you heard about what happened?" My voice was trembling but t was fierce as well.
"Yeah, yeah sure, heard it , saw some of it too, on TV. What happened, some planes crashing into a building or something," he said, oblivious, as he was wrenching something into place underneath my car that had been raised in the garage. I bit my tongue, "yeah, thats it, planes hit a building." I was seconds from snapping, so I went outside to smoke a cigarette. The images kept going through my mind, some planes crashing into buildings, buildings crumbling, people dying, a city, my city, dissolving into possible chaos, possibly beyond repair. Rocky Votolato says "sometimes an on/off switch would sure come in handy...", sometimes, because those memories, those sights, those feeling, they don't fade easily. I guess if they did, I'd be unhappy in the forgetting as well as in the remembering. Could you turn that sword around, no, no, this way, no, no, maybe that way, oh, shit, stabbed!
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
The Final Countdown
So, I have two weeks to go before I return to NYC to begin my 'adult' life. That sounds ridiculous, but at 30, its way over due. I say that but I don't mean it, as far as I haven't lived as an adult and surely in the last 2 and half Texan years I have done just that, just minus the cushy situation of a 'career' and/or sufficient moneys in the bank. Calma, calma as Papa would say, it'll come.
So I graduated from College a bit on the late side, but since 2002, its been a whirlwind of experiences slapped and over lapped onto my pysche like a cigarette encrusted Pollack painting. Some splashes of experience were smoothly applied through revelatory poetry and minor epiphanies(can epiphanies be minor) in plazas cafes and many more even via my usual modus operandi, the 'turn around and assume the position for a good ole fashioned kick in the arse', which jolts my brain and hurts my heart and yet it rigorously makes me realize that I have got to stop turning my ass into the world's general 'boot-happy' direction.
Once again I'm at this at the end of my shift and the time has come to sleep sleep sleep until I clock in again tonight. I will not miss these night shifts, hopefully I won't have to succumb to any night shift work back in the NYC; I want to be people again. Tonight, I will write my account of the 9/11 'The Original' experience. Internet was out all shift last night; good for nothing Apogee!
Drowsy and content,
The Mallet
So I graduated from College a bit on the late side, but since 2002, its been a whirlwind of experiences slapped and over lapped onto my pysche like a cigarette encrusted Pollack painting. Some splashes of experience were smoothly applied through revelatory poetry and minor epiphanies(can epiphanies be minor) in plazas cafes and many more even via my usual modus operandi, the 'turn around and assume the position for a good ole fashioned kick in the arse', which jolts my brain and hurts my heart and yet it rigorously makes me realize that I have got to stop turning my ass into the world's general 'boot-happy' direction.
Once again I'm at this at the end of my shift and the time has come to sleep sleep sleep until I clock in again tonight. I will not miss these night shifts, hopefully I won't have to succumb to any night shift work back in the NYC; I want to be people again. Tonight, I will write my account of the 9/11 'The Original' experience. Internet was out all shift last night; good for nothing Apogee!
Drowsy and content,
The Mallet
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
September 11, 2007
I am moved, in the dwindling moments of my shift to collect my memories of 9/11, 'The Original'. I read sevenred's account of that day, sevenred of course was as close to the belly of the madness as anyone I know, still living, and I was some 3 and a half hours north of NYC in a small college town called Oneonta. Since my time is at this very moment over, I'll have to get back to this tonight when I come back into work. Fortunately, it'll still be 9/11 'The 6th' and I'll be still on time to possibly patch together my memories of that life altering moment.
Grand Opening, Grand Closing
I have been inspired to this by the reading of sevenred.net 's blog postings.
I have only been posting my poems and such from time to time on my space.
Besides that, it takes me quite some time to come up with something that has enough thought put into it as to seem worthy of anyone's trouble to follow me to this my new blog-home.
I have several places where I already post my poetry. For all the effort, I consider that to be mostly a waste of time. Its only been beneficial to me as far as there is a place in cyber-world where my poetry floats and I can hopefully retrieve it, say, god forbid, my complete works are somehow lost to a freak fire.
The Mallet
I have only been posting my poems and such from time to time on my space.
Besides that, it takes me quite some time to come up with something that has enough thought put into it as to seem worthy of anyone's trouble to follow me to this my new blog-home.
I have several places where I already post my poetry. For all the effort, I consider that to be mostly a waste of time. Its only been beneficial to me as far as there is a place in cyber-world where my poetry floats and I can hopefully retrieve it, say, god forbid, my complete works are somehow lost to a freak fire.
The Mallet
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