Annual 9/11 Post. An Ex-Pat New Yorker looks at the Tragedy

Written originally on 9/15/2006


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Was going to write a blog on 911 about my feelings, fears, and thoughts on the 5th anniversary of the tragedy.
Instead, I found myself profoundly saddened and depressed watching all of the coverage and those horrific pieces of film once again. My head spins from knowing that 5 years later the site of the WTC is still a gaping hole in the ground, with no memorial, conspiracy nuts abounding, a country divided in bi-partisan fashion yet again, and no idea where Osama is located. Betraying our trust the government lied to us and managed to convince enough citizens and law-makers that there was a connection to Iraq and the WTC bombings.
So, we still fight a war in Iraq seemingly learning nothing from the pain inflicted on individual people by an enemy they do not recognize.
An invisible ‘enemy’ for virtually all of them.

These things kept me from writing until today. Apologies for the tardy musings.

I lived in NYC all through the 1980s and still have in-laws and close friends there. I have taken my visiting California family to the top of the WTC, and loved having dinner at Windows on the World.
I was so lucky on 9/11 and not one of my circle was injured or incinerated. We had one ironic tragedy so I shall pass this along instead of becoming fucking morose again.

My Father-in-Law Joe was working in WTC Tower Two for a German company on February 26, 1993 and managed to escape unscathed after that first terrorist bombing killed six Americans and injured 1000.
Joe was able to get out of his office and walk all the way home to Brooklyn. We had lived in the Sheepshead Bay area, where the rest of the family still lives. That is a long-ass walk from lower Manhattan.
On September 11 Joe was still working for that firm. 30th Floor. While we were in California watching the Towers get hit, and then collapse, I called my (by then) ex-husband to see if he had heard from his mom and Joe.
Naturally no one could get through on the phones. I still corresponded with that side of the family. After all, they are the grandparents of my daughter.
72 hours after the Towers came down I spoke with Joe on the phone. He had gotten out before the collapse, walked downstairs from his 30th Floor Office, and then once again made his way on foot over the bridge to
Brooklyn and home.
I asked him if he considered transferring to another company since it seemed that Sales were down. He laughed.

Two years ago Joe died of cancer. So while I was spared telling my daughter that her Grandfather died on 9/11 it still fell to her father and I to inform her of his untimely death. Did the ash, asbestos, and visible debris have anything to do with his cancer?
We will never know.

I DO know this: The aforementioned series of incidents presents one of the greatest ironies I have ever witnessed.
A miraculous escape on two occasions. Only to be felled in the end by an invisible enemy after all.
Take care of each other, life is fleeting and ephemeral. Give your family and friends an extra hug and kiss and be grateful for each day that you have with them.

~Miss R

Currently listening:
Lyle Lovett and His Large Band
By: Lyle Lovett
Release date: 25 October, 1990

Stop Cispa

This was posted by my dear friend Max Adams She is founder of the the Academy of film Writing in Los Angeles, award winning screenwriter, activist, sought after lecturer and amazing, intelligent and insightful woman. She is also one of the funniest and most caring people I’ve ever met.
If YOU are an artist of any integrity -or a concerned citizen in regards to censorship on the Net, illegal monitoring, or government intrusion into our writing, take a look at this clip.
Max has previously posted several insightful pieces on SOPA. Check out her blog ‘Celluloid Blonde.’
~Miss R

celluloid blonde

 

 

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D is for Dammit!

D is for Dammit

Dammit! While not as functional a word as another favorite of mine (rhymes with muck- and oh Dammit I just gave away the post for F) comes in handy.

On a daily, ofttimes hourly basis.

Da Beemer, my car of choice, causes the verbal spewing of the D word at least once a week. Which is how often I Drive the Damned thing.

Two Days ago I found out the power steering pump is leaking like a sieve. Which while better than the U-Joint going, which was my guess based on the replacement of said piece three times in the four years I’ve had Da car, is still out of my budget.

Muck that! Said I. Followed by Dammit. Followed by my driving the beast to Autozone and purchasing several bottles of power steering fluid.

Dammit was also a fabulous word to use today while standing in a snow storm and putting $20.00 worth of gas in Da car. Gas needle went from empty to half full; giving me the general idea that there may, in fact, be a problem.

Could be the 1986 technology (read gauges, parts, windows not rolling up or down, U-Joints, power steering pump, etc.) but really, I Doubt it. Clearly the tank only holds 10 gallons of gas.

It’s a popular car! Well, in 1986.

So I say Dammit to my friends who point out that mine is the only such model in Reno still on the road.

Wanted to post a picture of Elwood (Da Beemer’s proper name) here. Unfortunately the borrowed digital camera that is currently charging is still not charged. So I had to create a sub-par graphic using PhotoShop.

 DAMMIT!

 ~Miss R

Deranged Writers Enjoying Righteous Posts

As the President -and thus far only member of – Deranged Writers Enjoying Righteous Posts
(DWERP) it is time for our first announcement.

bloggers

Due to this Deranged Writer being out of town for three days, secluded in the boonies of an un-named Nevada town, the Inbox count climbed from 250+ to 782 unopened emails. Had a great time on the ranch raking and hauling sagebrush and oh those tumbling tumble weeds…. Lots of time with the horses and seeing friends.

National Security forbids the naming of this locality so it can only be revealed that there is limited cell service and no Internet hook-ups. Said town is  famous for being very close to the site of major nuclear testing in the 1950’s, resulting in the death of every single member of a Hollywood blockbuster to drop dead of cancer within 20 years of said production. Favorite cocktail at the local watering hole? A ‘Big-Ass Tumor on the Rocks.’ I had a double. Thought the sign read ‘Tuber’ and figured it was a local vodka.

So, besides spending time near this friendly, albeit somewhat barren city, your DWERP President was not only devoid of contact to the Interwebs, but also busy avoiding tap water contaminated with arsenic. Seriously. Just in case you’re wondering a river does run through it and many large and tasty ranch and farm vegetables are grown in the region.

Let’s  face it, if you were going to pick a place for nuclear testing Nevada is the place. Really, the drive from Reno to Las Vegas appears as though the entire state has been nuked anyway.

But I digress.

It’s the damned Inbox thing. I cannot keep up. The stress in simply SEEING all of that unopened email (98% of which are new Blog posts and Comments on Blog posts) is cause to reach for the Xanax AND Dalmane. It also keeps me from even attempting to write. Just knowing that there are so many other wonderful writers out there, that I cannot keep up with, dulls my creativity and fills me with guilt. It’s just impossible .

In an effort to keep DWERP alive, and yours truly out of  The Reno Home for The Cognitively Impaired I am deleting every post. A few will be kept to read. Miss R has enough addictions and does not need to add benzodiazepines to the list.

Apologies to all of you wonderful bloggers who have posted over the last 4 or 5 days. Will do my best to catch up.

Until then… DWERP ON!

~Miss R

I’ve Been Missing You

Apologies to the great bloggers that I follow. It’s been difficult to keep up with you all, due to the long, painful and mind-numbing recovery from the spinal surgery.  The mind-numbing part is physical; a result of the damned pain and pain medications keep me from concentrating too long.  Reading has been the worst. And it’s one of my greatest loves. Along with music and sex of course. Hey I’m in physical and psychological pain here, not fucking retarded.

Am pretty sure that this situation will never end. I’ll be the one at Burning Man in the faux-fur covered, LED lit, Diet Coke and Menthos powered pimped-out wheelchair handing out Tasty Beverages to the masses. Plan on finding a way to attach a buggy or large cooler on wheels to said wheelchair. Feel free to send blueprints.

In the meantime I’ve got a lot of catching up to do on reading. And at least I’ve written something, even if it isn’t amusing.

Welllll maybe a teeny tiny bit. Like my attention span. The cat and I have been spending more and more time together watching shiny objects.

~Miss R 

Broken Engine

Well it does has something to do with a motor, Okay, motor skills actually.

The whole  ‘engine’ thing was  more  than a Silly Putty stretch and more like a Stretch Armstrong  kind of stretch.

If you don’  recognize the two items that I’m referring to above  then you’ll just have  fuck  yourself and do some Googling.

And get off my lawn you kids.

There have been very few posts the last three weeks.  The surgery was long and arduous.

Am still using walker, taking opiates (which I a am weaning  myself off of )  feeling  intense pain

Right now the engine is broken and the Motor Skills are irregular and slow. My cognitive abilities appear to be  normal as well.

What’s worrying me is that it seems I’ve forgotten how to type.  Now what kind if weird side effect is this?!

Called doc yesterday to ask some questions.

Forgot to ask about this little tidbit.

Will let you know as soon as I can. This blog has taken over two hours to write.  It should have 15 or 20 minutes. The spelling is so bad, because I’ve forgotten where the keys are, that spellcheck doesn’t recognize th,yjindu.gyuiod!

~Way fucked up in Reno

Gimp-o-Rama

stephen hawking that dumbass

Nice try Stephen. I’ll still kick your ass.

Sorry that the posts have been sparse. The surgery was far more intense (read: fucking painful as hell) than I’d imagined.

Sitting here with a cup of coffee and my medication is about all I can accomplish before getting my aching back and body into bed and the oh so lovely surgical corset. Gotta say, this corset is a sex magnet for every paraplegic for miles. Given the two large general hospitals and VA hospital close to the house, leaving the confines of the porch would be dangerous.

This post is really is a note to let you kids know the surgery went well. Also a note to all of you wanna-be writers and the hurdles you think are facing you.

This blog is brought to you by a  two-hour spinal surgery, two hung-over surgeons, a six-inch incision  across/through the abdomen, two walkers (one of which I’ve painted black with flames and skulls and shit (that slacker Hawking has GOT to agree to that race now. Yellow bastard)  two types of Oxycontin 3x a day, 10 mg of Valium 2x a day and of course my morning nurse…Ms. Espresso Double-Shot (she hyphenates her last name).

More later. Assuming I can find the laptop again. Where’s that bell? Hey Double-Shot it’s time for my sponge bath!

~Miss R