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Sept 11, 2011

The other night Shauna and I watched a multi-hour NBC special about September 11 because it has been hot lately, and watching TV in the basement is generally the most appropriate activity to engage in at night when we're waiting for the house to cool down enough to go to sleep. It was something that we watched after an episode of Without a Trace*, and something that was like getting slapped in the face over and over again. And then we would see a commercial for Dairy Queen that was so, so odd, where a man waters a flowerbox and a 20 something male pops his head out of the ground. I felt so compelled to watch the Tom Brokaw special, because I think that despite the overall message to NEVER FORGET, I had forgotten, mostly because of the Bush administration ('murca, Mission Accomplished, systematic racism... etc.).

Here is my September 11th story: I was 19, I was in college, and I was taking a spanish class. I remember that classes at my college started at 8.30, 9.50, 11.10, etc. This class was at 9.50, which at that time I remember was pushing my limits for waking up [cue sighing, eyes looking up, and subtle head shaking]. It was Tuesday morning at 9.50, and our textbook was called ¡ESO ES!, and we were also following the story of Como Agua Para Chocolate (That's Like Water For Chocolate for those in the know). I do not remember the name of my teacher, but I do know he was handsome and well dressed. I took my seat, and he came in, and he said "Buenos días... although it is not a very good day." And then I whispered to my neighbor, who I believe was named Marylee, and said, "What's going on?" And she said, "There was a plane crash." And I thought to myself that it was sad, although other planes had crashed before, and it was not especially out of the ordinary. And then this man poked his head into the classroom and announced that classes were cancelled for the day. Which definitely was out of the ordinary at my school. They would have classes in the middle of intense snow storms where they put out announcements that your eyeballs would freeze if you went outside - but to cancel a whole day in the middle of the second week of school was WILD. I remember going into the common area of this recently renovated academic building where there was a TV and seeing the news coverage, and seeing the towers on fire, and seeing all these people around me on cell phones, trying to call people they knew. And in 2001, it was still a time when having a cell phone was less common than it is now. Then, I must have traveled at some point to this dorm called Shafer, because they also had a TV, and I stood there in their basement on the black and white checkered tile floor watching the towers collapse, surrounded by others and probably turning to a friend and saying "I can't believe this." We found out that the people who had hijacked the planes had stayed in a motel 15 minutes down Route 16 from us. Then later, I remember talking to my dad on the phone. He said he watched the news coverage with my brother (who was 16 at the time and really punky and was punching holes in his bedroom walls and then covering the holes with posters that my mom would discover... four years later!) and that Ben was affected by it all, especially when people started jumping from the towers because it was so horrible inside.

I think about how sad it is to hear the stories of people who had to say goodbye to their partners on the phone, knowing they would die. And I think about the children who have grown up without a parent because they went down in a plane crash. And I wonder if anyone else thought it was weird that of all the songs to request of a chorus of beautiful voices at today's memorial service, "I Will Remember You" by Sarah McLoughlin was the choice. I heard it on the radio this morning - I was like "Didn't they play this at high school graduation? Every single high school graduation, ever?" It makes me think of being trapped in a hot car in traffic trying to find a radio station that is not playing advertisements or Prairie Home Companion and finally getting to the soft-rock/adult contemporary station, and being like "Alright Sarah. You've got me this time."

I am glad I am far away from the east coast now, that I am now in Portland, even though I feel like this city is at times a simulacrum of itself. What I mean to say is, even though Portlandia exists. For my birthday Liz got us tickets to go to a fundraiser for In Other Words, the feminist bookstore that the Feminist Bookstore skits parody. Little did we know it would actually be a TOTAL PORTLANDIA NAVELGAZE PARTY. I was glad that Liz and I are good enough friends that she and I could look at each other and say "This is really weird, right?" Thankfully, there were good sandwiches from Brass Tacks. But I'm trying to think of the part that made me stare at the vaginal themed artwork on the wall and take a deep breath of 95 degree box-fanned air. Oh yes, it was when they had the question and answer section. The first question was, "What is your favorite bar in Portland?" To which, I can tell you, the answers were Valentine's and the Aalto Lounge, but they're not really big drinkers. And tickets to this cost actual money??? NO WAIT. THERE'S MORE. "How did you come up with 'Put A Bird On It'?" HOW DID YOU COME UP WITH IT???

This particular aspect of the show has bothered me since it came out. It doesn't really bother me that people think it's funny. It doesn't really bother me that public officials and summer camp staff and members of quilting guilds all love to blurt it out when there's nothing else to say in an attempt to show that they, too, have a sense of humor, and are culturally competant. What does bother me is that Carrie Brownstein, who I have loved, is like, "I made this up, because when you go on etsy and search for "birds," you get half a million responses. So if you put a bird on it, it's art." Here's why this bothers me.



This entry is from 2005! It's so old that I'm still using the word "lame" as a pejorative! And the point is not that I made it up - because I didn't - but that it's been obvious for years. IT'S NOT FUNNY BECAUSE IT'S OLD. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN FUNNY IN 2003. IT IS TOO LATE. It is like making a joke about Roseanne and Tom Arnold being crass, or how Rosie O'Donnell could be gay. Anyway, Liz and I left. But not before I saw a lady in a PT Cruiser flip out about how the alley behind In Other Words was blocked by two cars and she COULD NOT get through. She yelled at the event volunteers until someone found out whose cars were in the way. A few minutes later I watched Fred Armisen drive a Prius with Washington plates out of the alley and around the block, and I was like "Liz I wish they would put THAT on TV."

*On Friday I went to Namaste Indian Buffet with Kristen, and recounted for her my only viewing of the show Without a Trace, which I also watched because it was hot upstairs. Kristen informed me that although she has seen every criminal procedural TV drama ever created, and she loves nearly all of them, she does not love Without a Trace. I cannot remember why it is anymore. Maybe it's because people vanish on screen. My reply to this is WHAT IF I DO LOVE IT. WHAT. IF. Anthony LaPaglia! He was in Empire Records AND So I Married An Axe Murderer. Now he bullies suspects in the bathroom with swirlies until they tell him what he wants to know! I might go watch more basement TV right... now.