War

Like most everybody else on the planet, I was taken aback when the attack on Iraq began on Wednesday night. I left the television on all day yesterday like a good journalism student should and found little to interest me except for testing my meager Arabic skills on the live feeds from Al-Jazeera television. It was one of the few times that the local news was more enlightening on world affairs than the networks, because they were able to highlight the main points of what was going on rather than featuring a flummoxed reporter in the studio cutting back and forth to reporters in the field who can't tell us anything due to classified information or technical difficulties. It's a bit sad that you find yourself watching hours of television waiting for something to blow up. It's pretty morbid.

But today, when things were indeed blowing up with authority, I felt pretty awful watching it. I don't think it's a terrible thing that we're able to see war unfold live on television, because it does bring the immediacy of the events to you without any opportunity for sugar-coating them, but it's no fun. The danger is that people might get de-sensitized watching Baghdad get the snot bombed out of it. I was strangely grateful that the ABC News correspondent sounded like he was going to have a nervous breakdown any second. At least it keeps the perspective in place.

This hasn't been a wildly original update, and I'm sorry. I just felt like my humble update page would be lacking if I let the start of a major war go by without mention. Although I'm extremely unhappy that my government feels that we had to resort to these measures, I just hope that it will be over soon and with as few casualties on both sides as possible. And if past experience has taught me anything, it's good to stay informed, but not good to spend all day watching things blow up on TV. Not good for the nerves.

Robyn

WTC Plans

It looks as though they've decided on the design for what is to be built at Ground Zero. Of the two that were being considered, I suppose I like the chosen one better.

The trouble is that anything they put there is going to look wrong to me, just as people hated the Towers when they first went up. But I never knew New York to look otherwise. It looks strange now, and it will look strange with the new tower. It will never look right. It's very odd to me that my children will have a very different picture of New York than I have, because I can't picture it any other way.

I am glad they didn't go with those two skeletal towers. They just looked like bombed-out buildings to me.

In happier news, "Angel of Harlem" is playing on Virgin Radio. Joy.

But then, people hated the Eiffel Tower when that went up. Maybe I'll warm up to it.

Robyn

Fear and Loathing in DC

I'm angry at the news and at my goverment. It's not a happy feeling. I'm angry that I'm angry.

The news has been broadcasting semi-hysterical reports on what you should stock up on in the event of a terrorist attack. These lists are presented in the same over-hyped manner in which they tell you what you should buy in the event of an expected snowstorm. They're not quite sure what kind of attack we're in for, or who will execute it, or where it will strike, but by golly, the government says that three days worth of water and a couple of rolls of duct tape will save your sorry ass from this undefined, but profoundly nasty, thing that may or may not go down IN YOUR OWN BACKYARD.

I don't really want to be a cynic. I don't really want to mistrust the government. But these reports are extremely frustrating and more than a little insulting.

The list of things to buy are a lot like the "Duck and Cover" drills of the 50s and 60s, in which the American public was led to believe that putting your hands above your head or ducking under a picnic blanket will save you from nuclear fallout. Will these things really protect your family?
How can you protect them if you have no idea what it is you're afraid of?

I understand that the failure of the government and the armed forces to forsee (or at least prevent) the events of September 11 needed serious rectifying. But creating a society based on fear and paranoia is not the way to do that. It's not a society worth fighting for. It's not a society I want to live in. Whatever happened to "we have nothing to fear but fear itself"? This is a society in which fear is marketed by the news for ratings and promoted by politicians who are desperate to push their agendas on a doubtful public. This is a society where fear is color-coded and categorized as though it were the weekly weather forecast:

"We're in for a few more days of orange, which will give way to yellow, which is characterized by a more general degree of fear than we're used to seeing in this area. The DC area can expect 4-6 inches of fear overnight, while Baltimore can expect a light dusting. You might want to take your umbrella and duct tape in the morning."

If the definition of terrorism is "the systematic use of terror especially as a means of coercion," then just who are the real terrorists anyway?

Robyn

A Spot of Pessimism Before Bedtime

I just read a passage stating that the twentieth century went off-track in 1914 with the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand in Sarajevo. This, of course, is no big news. Anyone with a high school diploma knows the awful repercussions of that act, and the world war that followed it, and the atrocities that were to come. But then the book, which was written in 1994, went on to say that the events of the 1990s were somehow un-doing all of the nastiness of the previous decades: bringing down the Berlin Wall, ending apartheid, dissolving the Soviet Union, etc., so that the coming century would have a fresh new start.

It would be terrible to think that it all got screwed up before the first year of the new century was over, wouldn't it?

Of course, you'd have to agree with the idea that the 90s were a shiny, happy decade that did more good than bad for world history, and I think that remains to be seen. And you'd have to be mighty superstitious to believe that one event can set the tone for a whole century anyway.

Or would you?

It's just an idea. But if September 11 becomes the turning point for this century the same way that World War I was for the last, I quit. I quit, or move to Anarctica to live happily among the penguins.

Sorry.

A little pessimism never hurt anyone, right?

I've been watching too much TV.

Robyn

Sad Day, Not a Bad Day

I confess that I was a bit anxious as to how the anniversary of 9/11 was going to be commemorated. I was afraid it would be a very heavy-handed, depressing day.

Of course it was sad. I knew that the same thing was going through everyone's minds as I walked through SoHo, Greenwich Village, and Union Square. But people were going about their business just the same. And it was a lovely day. A gusty day, but a welcome change from the ickiness of the past week. Lots of people were outside, stopping by the parks on their lunch breaks. During my particular lunch break I went to Union Square, where there were stations at which you could create a drawing or a message and have it put up on a wall. I sat down and made a contribution, and then took my lunch next to a very nice Jack Russell terrier named Spot. I followed up lunch with a visit to Petco, because no matter how sad I get, watching small furry animals will always make me happy.

Tonight Christine and I went to a candlelight vigil in Washington Square Park. Although it was very nice to see the NYU community gather together for something (anything), I have to say that the event didn't go off as planned. For one thing, the wind, which was beyond anyone's control, made the science of candlelighting considerably difficult. For another, the orchestra (which was supposed to be the centerpiece) was barely audible, so no one really knew when to start being reverent and carried on talking and laughing and trying to keep the candles lit. I guess there was something redeeming in that, but it wasn't the solemn occasion I thought it would be. Real reflection occurred on the walk home south on LaGuardia Place, where there was nothing but pitch black where the towers once sparkled.

But all in all, New York didn't seem to be a depressed city today. Last year, it was a place drained of its energy and spirit. Today people were solemn, but not somber. It was a day to honor the people that died, and celebrate the city that went through a crushing blow, but somehow got its rhythm back nonetheless. It will never be the same, but it's still very much alive .

So September 11, 2002 was a reflective day, but reflective in a positive manner. Not a bad day at all, on the whole.

Robyn

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome (A work in progress)

I didn't cry on September 11.

At least, I don't remember doing so. I don't remember crying the day after. Nor the week after. I'm sure that I cried at least twice since it happened, but despite being constantly exposed to the aftermath of that day (the Missing posters, the flowers, the foul air, etc.), I don't think I was overtly emotional much of the time.

I have now become somewhat unglued twice this week. But I'm not so sure that's a bad thing.

As you probably know by now, HBO ran a fairly gritty documentary on 9/11 in New York this week. This first day that it aired I resolved not to watch it. I told myself that it was exploitative, disgusting, and all in all unhealthy to watch so soon after it happened.

Naturally, I watched it tonight. About two minutes into it I had serious thoughts about turning it off -- and all they had showed at that point is the well-known footage of the initial impact. And there were some points where I clicked it over to VH1 for a minute or two until I felt sure that the troublesome part in question had passed. It was very difficult to watch, because it basically forced me to see everything I saw that day all over again. Surprisingly, I found I was glad that I did.

I remember very clearly the things that I saw when it happened. It's not like it was a blur or that I blocked it out. But I remember regarding it all with a sense of detachment, even bemusement. Well, this is certainly odd. Which sounds terrible. I knew I was supposed to be sad, but I couldn't force myself. When I went to Ground Zero two months later, I felt sick, but not sad. But seeing those images on TV tonight-- seeing the park outside my dorm covered with memorials, the viewpoints from my neighborhood of the Towers -- let me feel what I think I wanted to feel that day, just eight months later.

Like I said, the documentary is extremely difficult to watch no matter where you were on September 11. I wouldn't blame anybody for refusing to watch it, or turning it off in the middle. There's a couple moments that are, in my opinion, pretty gratuitous. But you may try looking at it, even if it's five years down the road. I was sure that if I watched it, I would be blubbering, spouting obscenities, screaming at the wall, or engaging in some other similar anti-social behavior by the end of it. But I'm not. I'm typing this instead, and reading the Onion. Dare I say it, I actually feel a little better. I'm sure I'm not "over it." I don't really think I will be, but I think that's okay. It's part of who I am now, and I can live with that.

Thanks for listening. I promise next time I'll write about puffins or cheesy poofs or Care Bears or sumpin' like that.

Robyn

Jeffrey's Visit and British PSAs

I think this may be the longest I've gone without a web update. So for the three of you who follow this semi-regularly, I apologize.

If it makes you feel any better, the last time I wrote in my personal, handwritten journal was January 28. You, dear reader, are my number one priority...after boyfriend, schoolwork, job searches, feeding myself, bathing, friends, the Onion, bunnies, U2, Virgin radio, the Winged Nike of Samothrace, baked beans, and dictionary.com. But you're right up there.

But I feel I have a valid excuse for my negligence. Jeffrey and I have been exploring London. We've done neat-o things such as Westminster Abbey, the Wallace Collection, the National Gallery, the Tower of London, and the British Museum. As an added bonus, John Ciocci was in town as well, and we spent Wednesday night taking strange pictures with Roman stautes at the aforementioned British Museum. Is it wrong that my favorite part of the British Museum is the corpses? I'm utterly fascinated with them -- how old they are, how well preserved, how they were found, and what was found with them in their tombs (if they had tombs, unlike the poor neolithic schmuck who was bashed in the head). I even bought a book about what preserved remains tell us about history. Understand please that I abhor violence and destruction, but once it's established, I love watching forensic science shows about how they solve the mystery. I think it's neat.

Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this.

I also truly loved the National Gallery. Art museums are such geeky fun. Going to a major art museum for the first time is great, especially if you just go without a guide and set off to conquer as many rooms as you can until you get too tired to continue and need to sit down and eat Indian food. Every corner is a new surprise. Ooh! The Supper at Emmaus! Ah! Jan Van Eyck's Arnolfini Wedding! Golly! The Wilton Diptych! Neat! Some painting I don't know with some dude's severed head!

There I go again. All apologies.

Speaking of gruesome, the public service announcements here are way brutal to the point of being traumatizing. I remember when I was four years old and having to run out of the room when some of the drinking and driving PSAs in the eighties came on, and having watched British TV for a week in the hotel, I'm having severe flashbacks. One features a family of cartoon zebras who are about to have a baby, and the baby dies because YOU didn't give enough to the Baby Fund, or whatever it is. I was too horrified to catch the name of the charity. My favorite features a live action dad inflicting all manner of abuse on his cartoon son, who bounces off walls with little damage to his person -- until real dad throws cartoon son downstairs, who turns into a real kid lying unconscious at the bottom. Message: "Real kids don't bounce back." Robyn's reaction: "Good God, Jeffrey change the channel." There's a billboard of this ad campaign outside my dorm now. I'm thrilled.

Also, the ravens at the Tower of London are super neat.

And to think I thought I wouldn't have enough to write about.

Robyn

E.B. White

"The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges...The intimation of mortality is part of New York now: in the sound of jets overhead, the black headlines of the latest edition...In the mind of whatever perverted dreamer who might loose the lightning, New York must hold a steady, irresistible charm."

-- E.B. White, Here Is New York, 1949

Ground Zero

So I finally went to Ground Zero this weekend. I had thought that I had let a sufficient amount of time pass since September 11 to mitigate the awfulness of that visit. It didn't work as well as I hoped.

I was surprised how close we could get to the wreckage. At some points we were only about two blocks away. I was also surprised at how it just, well, sneaks up on you. We got out of the Wall Street 4/5 subway stop near Trinity Church, and could see crowds of people along Broadway gathered at each intersection. So it wasn't so much a surprise in that you knew you were about to see something when you got close to the crowds.

I think I was at Liberty Street when I first saw the wreckage up close. I believe it was what was left of 4 WTC, but it could have been the South Tower. What I do know was that it was a brown, twisted, burned out, massive piece of destruction. It was the visual manifestation of Violence, if that makes any sense at all. You look at it, and that's the only word that comes to mind, repeating itself over and over. Violence, Violence, Violence. It's breathtaking. Jeffrey said I had a visible physical reaction, that I recoiled upon first seeing it. It was one of the few times during this whole thing that I wanted to cry. I guess my Shepherdian revulsion of crying in public won out, because I didn't.

We also saw 5 WTC, where my roommate Christine worked until September 10. It's still standing, but it's not worth much as a building now. It too is burned out and devoid of most of its exterior. They'll have to tear it down. The sign from the Borders bookstore is still in the blown-out window.

We got ourselves good and lost while down there, as any sense of geography that Jeffrey and I had of the area isn't worth much of anything now. So we spent two hours or so there. If you're planning a trip there, I wouldn't recommend staying that long. You don't need to. Walk down Broadway, maybe down Rector. Maybe take a picture or two (yes, it feels morbid and tasteless to snap photos, but I figured that 20 years down the line, I'll have something poignant and real to show the progeny). Then go home.

It occurs to me that anyone reading these Updates would think I'm completely obsessed with death and destruction. I do think about other things. Today I spent a lovely sick day reading for class, watching Jeopardy! and perusing silly rock-band websites.

Of course, the book I was reading was Hiroshima, but I suppose that can't be helped.

Robyn

If the economy of New York City is flagging, it sure as hay ain't my fault.

Today was a bona fide tourist day. It's good to have such a day once in a while, because it reminds me what a neato place I live in. But it's tough on the wallet.

First, it was off to the Met for my Painting and Sculpture in New York class. Today was 19th Century European Paintings Day, which in art-nerd-speak translates to Super Fun Happy Good Day. After viewing many a Degas and Monet, I was delighted to discover that my professor and I share the same favorite painting -- Jules Bastien-LePage's Joan of Arc. We both agreed that it was one of the most overlooked, underrated, and downright purtiest things in that wonderful building, and then we giggled, because that's what art nerds do.

Jeffrey's mom is in town, and they explored the American wing while my professor and I were giggling over French impressionists. Then we dined on overpriced Indian food that did ridiculous things to my stomach.

I went to the top of the Empire State Building tonight, which is something that I haven't done since junior high. I had tried a couple of times over the summer, but wasn't too keen on waiting in line for an hour.

But tonight, after going through the newly-installed metal detectors, we saw that there was NOBODY there. Deserted. We went right up to the window, right to the elevator, and right up to the observation deck, where we finally found other people, although not much. Prior to September 11, a nice Friday night like this would have found the place thronged with people.

And the southern view...

I read a lot of magazines after The Thing That Was Bad, and I remember one quote by a little boy who said that it looked like New York had lost it's two front teeth. I haven't had many opportunities since then to see the skyline from afar. Sure enough, there's a gaping hole in the southern skyline. In the dark, the space is filled with an ethereal glow from the lights at Ground Zero. It's a sad, sad sight.

But the rest of the city looks fabulous. I was very happy to see that the northern view is dominated by my favorite building, 30 Rockefeller Plaza (or the Big Pretty Building). Big, white pretty building with millions of orange lights as a backdrop, blue bridges, light vestiges of clouds beneath you. It's a lovely place. I'll miss it a lot come spring.

Time to write a paper and play with my new, pretty, overpriced snowglobe.

It's fun to be a tourist sometimes.

Robyn

Caution: Quasi-Self-Righteous Tirade

New York smelled like burning building again today. It hasn't done so in awhile, but I think that the warmer weather today had something to do with it. It's not a good smell. It's an odd smell. It's definitely a burning smell of some kind, but acrid. Sort of like burning rubber, but not quite. I doubt it's going away any time soon. It will probably smell like that when I get back from London in May.

Too many sad days in New York. Too many hysterical newscasts. The poor news stations seem so disappointed at the prospect that Flight 587 wasn't blown up by terrorists.

It's a very interesting -- and at times, disheartening -- time to be a journalism student. On Monday we had a guest speaker from Newsweek come into one of my classes. He expressed his disappointment with his publication for propagating a vapid sense of jingoism. And I'm inclined to agree with him.

Don't get me wrong. I love my country. I love this city. Osama Bin Laden is a bad, bad person. And I'm happy that the Taliban seems to be out of business.

I'm just not entirely convinced that the ends justify the means. Should we have been over there for the reasons we were? Should we have gone in a long time ago to help the people in Afghanistan? Will abolishing the Taliban help us find out who crashed those planes? Is the Northern Alliance much better than the Taliban? They've been known to execute dissenters as well. It's just that we're more inclined to agree with the Northern Alliance's political views, so Peter Jennings glosses over the fact that they killed 100 Taliban sympathizers yesterday (not necessarily soldiers mind you, just sympathizers).

It's all very confusing.

I'll get off my soapbox now. Anyone else want a go?

Robyn

"The Thing That Was Bad"

Everything's back on track again. The lovely phone people hooked the phone back up, and my computer decided to function normally again, so I can re-join the 21st century.

Otherwise, situation normal -- or as normal as one can ask for given the shenanigans and goings-on. Roommate Christine and I are tired of the euphemisms for September 11 ("the events," "the tragedy," "the bombing," when it wasn't really a bombing to begin with). We prefer to call it The Thing That Was Bad, and leave it at that.

Of course, we're both not sure that we've fully dealt with it yet. Our semi-flippant attitude may be an indication of some greater distress, which will probably rear its ugly head a few months from now in the form of a meltdown in the produce section of a British supermarket, causing much embarrassment to ourselves and many peas to be thrown about. Maybe all we need is to distance ourselves from it.

I have not yet been to Ground Zero (two miles south), and I'm not entirely sure whether it will help or hurt. It's not like I need to go see "proof" to assure myself of the reality of the situation. I saw (and smelled, and inhaled, and choked on) enough for that. But I do need to cross 3rd Street sometime before I leave. Bobby's coming up Thanksgiving weekend, so we'll try then.

On the upside of things, it looks like the country's returning to "normalcy" (a wonderful buzzword, might I add). Rather than jeopardize their "Survivor" and "Friends" ratings, CBS and NBC did not air Bush's comments to the CDC. Bless them for reminding us of what's really important. Or something.

Robyn