September 23, 2001
Yesterday, hot but beautiful, found me eating Mexican food at a sidewalk table on 8th street, thinking that I really might be in Los Angeles. A glass of beer lulls me into survivor’s gloat; here we are again, alive, enjoying the day. Again it is remarkable to be alive. The people at the tables around me seem oblivious to the light, the trees, the birds. A niece is being irritated by her aunt who is critical of her eyebrow do: “too fluffy...too bleached...I used to shave mine off...do you wax or pluck?” A foursome of tourists is being bullied by the alpha male of the expedition who has apparently lived, albeit briefly, in the city and insists on guiding them to Midtown on the subway for their Broadway musical. The other male of the foursome makes a dive for a cab as they leave the restaurant. Alpha Male explains the “off duty” sign to Nervous Male and they head for the subway at Astor Place, their wives uninvolved in the primordial struggle. The women discuss how age has sapped their faces, particularly the lips, of all color. They apply red lipstick, a little too orange in hue, and submit to their guide. Nervous Male follows a few paces behind the trio.
That brief moment of community that appeared after the disaster seems diminished, replaced by irritation. My own irritation seems to have gone. I feel a strange calm and a renewed vigor for life. I meet Gabrielle, the chef of Prune, at the Farmer’s Market. She is eating a raw green bean: “These are really over.” She says that the days following the disaster, before 14th street was re-opened, were glorious days. The customers delighted and delightful. By Friday they were saying: “I don’t like any of these white wines.” She had resolved to work less.
and patriotism has become commerialism all over the city, the deli owner downstairs had a new stock of tee shirts where newspapers were, and all day he was waving a flag outside, "flags one dollar", strange seen
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Yesterday, hot but beautiful, found me eating Mexican food at a sidewalk table on 8th street, thinking that I really might be in Los Angeles. A glass of beer lulls me into survivor’s gloat; here we are again, alive, enjoying the day. Again it is remarkable to be alive. The people at the tables around me seem oblivious to the light, the trees, the birds. A niece is being irritated by her aunt who is critical of her eyebrow do: “too fluffy...too bleached...I used to shave mine off...do you wax or pluck?” A foursome of tourists is being bullied by the alpha male of the expedition who has apparently lived, albeit briefly, in the city and insists on guiding them to Midtown on the subway for their Broadway musical. The other male of the foursome makes a dive for a cab as they leave the restaurant. Alpha Male explains the “off duty” sign to Nervous Male and they head for the subway at Astor Place, their wives uninvolved in the primordial struggle. The women discuss how age has sapped their faces, particularly the lips, of all color. They apply red lipstick, a little too orange in hue, and submit to their guide. Nervous Male follows a few paces behind the trio.
That brief moment of community that appeared after the disaster seems diminished, replaced by irritation. My own irritation seems to have gone. I feel a strange calm and a renewed vigor for life. I meet Gabrielle, the chef of Prune, at the Farmer’s Market. She is eating a raw green bean: “These are really over.” She says that the days following the disaster, before 14th street was re-opened, were glorious days. The customers delighted and delightful. By Friday they were saying: “I don’t like any of these white wines.” She had resolved to work less.
- rachael 9-23-2001 3:16 pm
and patriotism has become commerialism all over the city, the deli owner downstairs had a new stock of tee shirts where newspapers were, and all day he was waving a flag outside, "flags one dollar", strange seen
- Skinny 9-23-2001 3:39 pm [add a comment]
In a Greenpoint restaurant, a young couple of indeterminate melting pot heritage. She complains "stupid terrorists blacked out all my channels".
The things we miss.
- alex 9-23-2001 7:24 pm [add a comment]