September 11, 2001

There are some people alive still who can say what it was they were doing or thinking or how they felt when they heard about President Kennedy being shot or the attack on Pearl Harbor or Roosevelt dying, Franklin that is not Teddy. Even though if you are one of the ones who can remember when Teddy Roosevelt died then God bless you and I hope you have many more years. I however, will be one of those who will always remember 911, although perhaps not with the same intensity that I thought I would have. 

I remember that Tuesday being one of those ordinary days where the sky was clear and blue with small puffy white clouds. The  air was clean and the temperature pleasant. It was the kind of day that you wish you always had but take for granted when you do by just going about your business. I had dropped off the Ex at the bus station in Mount laurel to catch the 7 o’clock to New York. He was working a show in New York and had to get back to do that week’s performances.  I went on to Philadelphia and work and what was to be a missed afternoon dental appointment and perhaps not such an ordinary day.

It was shortly after 9am when my sister called me from my parent’s home in Tampa and told me that one of the towers at the World Trade Center had been struck by a jet plane.” Tragic” I thought and I was sure that a lot of people would have been hurt but I had work to do and why was she calling me? She called me again about 15 minutes later and told me that the second tower had been hit. “Terrorism” I thought to myself. Yeah there’s a stroke of genius, but I didn’t say anything to her other than to thank her and then hang up.

Getting up from my desk, I walked over to windows by my supervisor’s desk to see if she was listening to her radio. From the 15^th floor if you look towards Jersey you can see the Federal court buildings as they sit on Independence Mall. If you look south, you can see Philadelphia International Airport about 4 or 5 miles away and see the planes take off and land. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for my supervisor who was running about with a frazzled look with hands waving in the air asking, “Is this End of Days?”  I hoped it wasn’t since knowing that she was a Christian there would probably be a special place in Hell reserved for her and with my luck I’d be sitting right beside her.

I went back to my desk and there was a voicemail from the Ex. He said that something was going on and that he might need my help. I called his cell phone back, several times, but the lines were busy or down or something. I couldn’t reach him. “How do I fix this?” I thought.

Minutes passed and my sister called me again and said that the one of the towers had collapsed. “You’re insane!” I almost screamed. It was getting to me. Everyone knew that the World Trade Center and many other buildings were built to withstand plane crashes. My God, I knew the World Trade Center; I had worked for Spear Leeds across the street from it. Each tower was almost as wide as a city block. But she said that she had seen it on the TV. How could I really argue with her? She could either believe me or her lying eyes. I really didn’t have anything to stand on.

I got up again and walked over to the windows and stared out. Everything still looked clear and beautiful, but people started to talk about the Pentagon being hit behind me. The pentagon? Don’t they have tanks or anti-aircraft artillery defending that place? My brain was being torn apart. I went back to my desk. There was another voicemail from the Ex. His bus had been turned around prevented from entering Manhattan and he needed me to pick him up. Pick him up from where Hoboken, Mount Laurel or was he coming into Philly? Why couldn’t he call me on my cell? Why couldn’t he leave a message that was worth a damn?  I called him again, but I still couldn’t get through. I called mutual friends of ours in Philly but no one had heard from him. I knew he was safe, just as I knew I was safe and would continue to be so. But I was starting to worry.

My sister called again and said that the second tower had fallen and that was all the news she could give me since she was getting ready to catch her flight to Philly. “I don’t know where you think you’re flying to but it won’t be Philadelphia. The airport has been shut down. ” I said. She said she would call the airlines and see what was up. After the nationwide shutdown of all aviation she was able to get a flight booked on the upcoming Saturday which of course was cancelled due Hurricane Gabrielle landing in Florida. I don’t think she was able to get back north until the following Wednesday.

At about 11:00, 11:30, the directors and the assistant vice-presidents started to run around our floor. The buzz now was that some place in the middle of Pennsylvania that no one had ever heard of before had been attacked and the question was when were they going to strike Philadelphia and which buildings? “What were they going to do?” someone asked, maybe it was me maybe it wasn’t. “Hem,” and then a little bit of, “Haw,” was the answer. Just then someone from security came up and said that the Mayor’s Office had declared that the city was being closed and that the building management had decided to evacuate the all 31 floors of the building. I didn’t have to hear that twice or listen for confirmation from the bosses. I think I was down on the street in less than 3 minutes. “Where to now?” I thought.

I crossed the street turned the block and went to the Greyhound station to see if the Ex was there, but all I saw was a crowded mass of faceless people acting frustrated and scared. He wasn’t there. Maybe he was at the store of a friend of ours over on Sansome Street I thought and started to walk over in that direction. “This is silly…think clearly!” I thought after getting half way there. I turned around walked to the train station through streets that seemed to be eerily void of traffic for that time of day.

At the station no one slid their tickets through the turnstiles as police ushered everyone freely through the gates in an orderly manner. And once I found a seat on the train I noticed a man pointing out from the news paper that it was World Peace Day or something. Funny, in a kind of a French existentialist way.

Suffice it to say, I got back to Jersey and drove to Mount Laurel and picked up the Ex. He had been waiting there about an hour he said. We didn’t hug or kiss or thank God because… that’s just not my way. Like the old Sure commercial says, “Never let them see you sweat,” has always been motto. Instead we just drove to my house watched the news together for a bit and then I went to sleep by myself. I always go to sleep when something troubles me. I suppose my body must assume that when I wake up everything will be alright.

It’s strange how I don’t really remember how I spent my birthday less than 2 weeks ago, but I do remember almost every detail of that day in September 10 years ago, except for the fear and the confusion and the uncertainty that I kept to myself that I thought that I would never lose. However, I did lose them, just like I lost the Ex and the other people in my life and the other things that I came to know.

I guess Forrest's momma was right, “Life is like a box of chocolates...”

*For more accounts of this day and its consequences, please visit The Neon Lounge for a list of bloggers who have dedicated their time and efforts in recounting their stories.

Hallowed Ground in New York

World Trade Center

It seems that a building, abandoned for the last eight years on Park Place in New York City, has been purchased for the purpose of tearing it down and building an Islamic community center and people are up in arms. There is a tremendous uproar from people saying that would be disrespectful to the memories of the victims of 911 and signal a triumph of terrorism over good. And more than that, to tell you the truth, I don’t really care.

I could bring up the fact that not all of the people who were killed during the attacks were Americans or even Christian or that the largest amount of Muslims in the U.S. happen to be African Americans. I could also bring up the First Amendment Rights here, “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof,” but I think that’s a no brainer. If the question was ever taken to court, no court in the land would ever think about denying people the right to worship whoever and wherever they want on the basis of it being unpopular. No, what really gets to me is the idea of calling not only the space where the Twin Towers but the surrounding territory, “hallowed ground.”

Years ago when I used to work for a brokerage house right opposite the World Trade center, I remember there used to be an Off Track Betting shop on Church St. I think. Not far from that, there was the Pussycat Lounge which I think was a stripper bar which I think still exists and is even closer to Ground Zero than the proposed community center. I don’t even want to bring up the only time that I stayed at the Marriott Hotel in the World Trade center was because it was only 2 blocks from where Afrodisiak was being held on Fulton St. Afrodisiak was a competitor of the Blatino parties where black and Latino men got together to do their thing. It was the first sex club that I had ever been to.

After the Ex and I found the location of the party, we had to walk up 12 fights of stairs because the elevator was out. Reaching the 12th floor I remember in between my heart trying to explode from my chest and being oxygen deprived, there was sign that said you had to be over 21 and no older than 35 to get in. I think that I had just had my 36th birthday and I thought if anyone said anything to me, anything, I would call the police and, “shut this illegal mutha fucka down.” Suffice it to say, they just took my money and handed me a garbage bag for the clothes and a small towel to cover the essentials.

There isn’t much else that I remember about that evening other than it being really dark. I turned at one point to the Ex while I was being sucked off and wondered out loud how, if I could talk to him face to face then whose chin was I banging my nuts against. I might have thought and said something differently if I had known that it would be considered sacred land in such a short while.

Anyway, in all deference to all those that were victimized during the 911 attacks and all those who have suffered since, that’s why I cannot go easily from sinner to saint and consider all of lower Manhattan as hallowed ground.

And that’s my piece.

Folsom Street East 2010

So I was at the Folsom Street East street festival in New York this weekend where I took a whole bunch of pictures. I realized two things, one of which was that I think that I have grown out of my camera. Sure some of the pictures are okay but I think I could do better with a better camera that shoots and focuses faster and captures the images with more pixel information in them that I want to see and not just the ones that I'm left with.

The other thing that I realized was that I wondered when was or is the appropriate age to hang all of this fetish thing up. Apparently for some like my friend below, not too soon. I wonder if I'll ever be that way?

Maybe, I'll post more pictures later.

Must See TV

This was to be my homage to the final episode of Battlestar Galactica. This was to be about the episode that I have been waiting for over 6 or 7 years to see and will be airing this Friday. But it's not.

Most people will think that Battlestar Galactica is just about cowboys in space, a remake of the old TV series with 2 dimensional characters and even weaker plot lines. The rest of us, the ones who have tried to understand the show, will see it as a microcosm of life and religion where there are no easy answers and nothing is ever as good or as evil as you think it is or as black or as white as you would want to believe it to be. Everything and everyone will have their various shades of gray and the trick is finding out if there are really any differences between them.


I’ve gone through strikes, single seasons spread over years, threat of cancellation, lack of production funds, and the lack of viewers all in hopes of finding the answer to my questions about the show. And maybe I won’t get them. It would be the irony of ironies if I should drop dead before Friday and never see the thing, but it would be sweet justice if I did see the show only to come out with even more questions than I had before I started to watch the show. But like I said Galactica was what I wanted to right about, but I won’t. Instead.

People said that I was cruel when I said that the people who were snaking outside of the building I worked and around the block to the Pennsylvania Convention Center a few years ago were the biggest losers as they waited for an audition in the rain for a chance to be on the reality show, The Biggest Loser a few years ago. Now it seems that I was wrong.

I’m sure by now everyone has seen the video of the thousands of people lining up in New York City trying to audition for America’s Top model when panic and pandemonium broke out. I haven’t seen the show since they had that former model, Janice I think her name was, on the show as a judge. You know whom I’m talking about, the one that looked like she was stuck somewhere between a transvestite with a really botched change operation and a hooker who had come across some extremely hard times. Anyway, even though I work with a few women who live and die by the show, I have never really understood their interest in it. A few skinny girls and the occasional normal looking one without a chance, vying for a one year contract for a cover girl position at a magazine that I’ve never heard of.

But then I must be only one not to understand it, because as far as I know the show is still going strong and there are people, thousands of them apparently, who are willing to risk life and limb for a miniscule chance to cry and show how awkward they are in life. Apparently there are thousands of girls willing to be insulted by Jay and Miss Jay in front of the nation and maybe the world, or just trying be America’s Top Model.

Let Them Eat Cake

Generally I try to stay away from other peoples ideas for the posts that I do. It's kind of a professional courtesy. I believe that bloggers should be allowed to write and develop their stories or work without having to worry about someone else trying to beat them to the punch, ride their coattails or steal their thunder. But this time I'm saying "Hell with that." I can be just as gossipy as the next person and when it comes to food and silly stuff, I'm there; especially if it's bakery goods. Even more than the cigarettes and the drinking, cookies and cakes are my by biggest addictions, so I'm there.

I read a post called White Folks Who Still Don't Get It Chronicles by Professor Tracey at Aunt Jemima's Revenge. In it professor Tracy says there is a bakery, Lafayette French Pastry Bakery near St. Vincents in the Village that is selling cookies called Drunken Negro Face Cookies. Apparently the bakery was so proud of its product, it even went out of its way to dedicate and rename the cookies as Obama Heads on the day of the Inauguration.

Now the professor and many others have found the whole idea of these cookies as offensive and racist and there is even talk of boycotting the bakery and possible protests to show how upset they are. Since I go to the bakery on Bleeker St. whenever I'm in New York, I know this really would not affect me, but I have to think that even if I did go there I still wouldn't protest the bakery. I just wouldn't go there any more.



I think people can be too thin skinned about certain things. I would much rather have someone call me nigger or faggot and host of other things to my face than smile, take my money and wait until I had walked out of the door before they showed how they really feel about me. The baker may not like me or my kind but I have to respect the fact that he's telling me what he feels up front. Besides he'll get his.

After all I think it was during the French Revolution when both the baker and his wife lost their heads when she told her subjects to eat cake when they were starving. The same thing will happen to this baker when his business has been closed down by spring and he's looking for work serving at Denny's.

Gift giving at Christmas

My first name is Ian and my middle name is Kevin and I remember when one Christmas my father gave me a small Totes umbrella and a box of handkerchiefs from Pierre Cardin, a French designer who was old and out of style at the time. The handkerchiefs were embroidered with the single initial “K” and I was furious. That cheap bastard, I swore if I didn’t look like him I would have sworn that my mother must have cheated on him before I was born because we couldn’t possibly be related.

I told someone about it later on, a friend, family member or girl-friend I don’t remember, but they said that he probably couldn’t find something with the initial “I” on it. And I said or thought, couldn’t he have dug deeper in the bargain bin at Woolworth’s or whatever cheap hell hole he dragged it from. I was upset, I was disappointed.

If I were to tell this story to my mother now, she would say that I was ungrateful and perhaps that I was the bastard instead of my father, but she would also say that I was someone who is always difficult to buy gifts for. She would say that I was too fussy and that whatever I got, it would never be good enough, and that is why she always sends me a check to go out and have a meal somewhere or get something else that I want. But I think she would be wrong, at least partially.

There was another time when I was involved with someone and he asked me what I wanted, my first pair of leather pants, after he told me what he wanted, a leather messenger bag by some designer in SoHo that no one has ever heard of since. For one reason or another he was unable to come with me to find the pants so he gave me the cash and I went to the leather store on Christopher Street in the Village; the one where they make them so tight that they tell you to take off your underwear so that you can fit into them. So after I sported my semi as the salesman felt and rubbed my thigh up while he told me it was a good fit, after all of that was done and my thrill was over, I felt kind of jilted. There would be no unwrapping of Christmas packages, no hidden treasure trove, no junk and no need for me to say “this is nice” between clenched teeth and a fake smile. All of that was taken away from me and I didn’t like it.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to think about the things that I want. I want to be surprised by the thoughts and care that people have about me. I want to know that someone has taken the time and effort to think about what it is they can do for me and not what’s most convenient for them. I really don’t care if someone gives me a bag of shit or a Maserati, well that might be a little extreme, but as long as there is some thought behind it I’ll be a friend for life.

Oh and by the way, yes I still have the handkerchiefs. I've had them about 20 years now and it's been about 5 years that he's been dead and they are still in the damn box, but what are you going to do, it’s from my father.

Merry Christmas everyone.

New York's Village Halloween Parade 2008

Forgive me if you’ve read this before, but I remember when I went to see the Mona Lisa at the Louvre in Paris. Even though the former palace is about 3 to 5 city blocks it took about 5 minutes to find the gallery that I was looking for. I’m pretty good when it comes to following maps or finding places by instinct. So I get to the room the portrait is hanging in and it’s facing me but it’s lot smaller than I thought it would be and also, there is about 200 people between me and it. How was I supposed to get close enough so that I could see what all the fuss was about? I just walked forward.

You see I had realized that the gallery was full of Japanese or Chinese people and none of them were much taller than elbows. I figured there would be nothing that they could do to me unless they jumped up and bit me on the nipples, which might have been interesting but it was that kind of party. Anyway within seconds I was right up front where I needed to be. Success. It’s all about location. So why does it seem that I am unable to do this now?

After deciding that the Phillies World Series Championship celebrations and the Halloween festivities all clinging together in same confined area would have been too much for me, I decided to do the Halloween parade in New York. I arrived at 6. That left me an hour before which the parade would begin. What to do? Line up at barricades and ensure myself a good view? No that would have been too sensible. Instead, for the strangest reason I heard my name being called and I guessed that it must have been coming from the Paul Smith store on 5th Avenue and 16th. Without hesitation I headed there and spent a pleasant 30 minutes there and came out a few dollars shorter.

Anyway, so I’m back of 6th Ave and I realize all the good spots have been taken and in some places the crowd is 6 to 10 people deep. What should I do? I walked down to 8th St and the crowd just seemed to grow exponentially. I knew that if I went any further south, I would be even able to move let alone see anything over their heads. So I walked back up to 11th St and crossed over by the police street crossing that they’d set up and headed south again. I had noticed that there really wasn’t a crowd by the library on the other side of 8th St. But the police wouldn’t let me in. No press credentials, no entrance. Hmm, there’s an idea for a post. What constitutes a member of the press and do you have to work for a corporation in order for you to be one.

So I walked back north and settled for a spot behind some bald headed bitch who when he wasn’t sticking his tongue down his girl friend’s throat, would keep bobbing his head up and down in front of my camera when I took a picture, and the little Japanese girls who must have escaped from some Japanese Club where all the girls are hostesses if you know what I mean, because they seemed to fart every time someone came by and they became excited. But I realized that lighting was good because they had TV and movie cameras there and like I said before, it’s all about location.

Random Thoughts

Nothing is going on and I am not sure what I am going to for the next few days. I suppose I shall do the usual, which means just going through the motions. Doing what I have to do and not because I want to do it. But I’m sure I have options.

It’s Halloween and there is the old silent German vampire movie, Nosferatu, which they are going to play at the Unitarian church in Philly for a charity event accompanied by live organ music as it must have been done when the movie first came out. That might be nice. But I’ve seen it before and after seeing Freddie Kruger and other countless slasher movies, I’m not sure that overacting and bad lighting will do it for me this weekend. Plus I’m not sure that I could get anyone to go with me for that one, although that’s never stopped me before. And also, I can see it for free down below.

There are of course a large number of different parties going on, both privately and publically. Maybe I’ll do one of those. However since no one has invited me out a party, I invariably never show up even when I am invited, I may head to a bar or club. That means that I will end up regretting it on Saturday thinking that I spent way too much money on some rat hole for very little entertainment and watered down drinks. Well I guess that means Bill Maher on HBO, oh how I hate that show, or New York City for the parade.

I haven’t done the New York's Village Halloween Parade since the 80’s. I wonder if it’s changed much. I can try out the camera I got last month and see how it works at night. For that, I know I will have to be by myself. I can’t run as much as I have to or circle round as many times as I can when there are people with me. This is becoming a diary entry; the one thing that I said I would never do. Oh hell, there are so many “nevers” in my life that I wonder why I bother saying it.

I heard today that John McCain was in Defiance Ohio trying to rally the troops. He was probably giving the “Never give up, never surrender” speech where he calls his opposition everything short of Osama Bin-Laden Incarnate and gives no real or meaningful alternative answer to the majority of the country. Defiance OH; you have to hand it to his campaign, they may be going down in flames but they seem to bring a certain flare to it.

Defiance OH, that reminds me of when Obama and Hillary went to Unity NH just before the DNC Convention. Who thinks of these things? That’s the job I want. “Now Sen. McCain, if you can do a stimulating and exciting stump speech in Slim Chance NJ, I’m sure we will be able to rouse all the supporters, all 3 of them and not look like complete idiots on Election Day.”

Speaking of which, my friend Patrick told me that he would be at the Obama election head quarters in Philly on Tuesday to await the results. I asked why he didn’t think staying at home and watching George Stephanopoulos like the rest of the nation wasn’t good enough for him. Now that I think about it, I think I have found something on Tuesday to do now as well.

NYC Waterfalls

I missed the exhibit in Central Park a few years ago when they put up hundreds of red or orange banners over the pathways. From what I understand, many people would walk through them and experience some sort cathartic response. So I figured that I would not miss the waterfalls that were constructed temporarily on the banks of the East River this year and so I went to New York City on Saturday.

Actually I thought, just to go to the city and see the waterfalls and come straight back to Jersey would have been a waste of time. So I decided to take advantage of the last days of summer and do Fire Island again but without the large party crowd. I had read on someones blog where they referred to a large group of black people on Fire Island as urban sprawl. I might have thought that as funny except that I realized they were speaking of me and my people. But I've never been one to be frightened of going anywhere because of mere speech, so I went.

I think I love Fire Island. There is something to be said about being being able to walk stark naked on a public beach, dick swinging left and right as you move and not be harassed by police or onlookers. There is a sense of freedom that is hard to describe. I would have taken pictures, but this ain't that kind of party.

Anyway, so I headed back into the city at the end of the day and arrived north of the Manhattan Bridge sometime after 8:30pm where I could see 3 of the man-made waterfalls. I walked down South St to the Brooklyn Bridge taking pictures for the next hour. I was impressed by the sight, as I'm sure everyone is just by being in Lower Manhattan. But I found after 47 pictures only 3 of those of the Brooklyn Bridge that came out with any real focus. Just 3 pictures after walking in and among the brothers drinking and dodging in between the Asian men fishing. Can you believe people fish from that river? Who knows, maybe one day they will pull up Jimmy Hoffa. I'm sorry, I forgot he's supposed to be buried in Giants Stadium.

Well I need to get a real camera, an SLR and not this point and shoot that I use. It should be called point and throw, especially for night shots. I was too far from the subject and it was too late for the pictures not to come out grainy.

After a while I gave up trying to get a good shot, so I used the video function of the camera to see what I could capture but even that came out wrong. But I guess that if you've read this far, you will still need some sort of payoff so don't say I didn't warn you.

Change You Can Believe In

I have a question.

When Ronald Reagan ran for President against Jimmy Carter, I remember the Carter campaign came out and said that when Reagan was Governor of California, he had closed all the state mental institutions and that there were now hundreds if not thousands of crazy people roaming the streets with no where to live bothering ordinary people. How low can this man go to show his ineptitude, I thought about the former President from Georgia?

Sure enough less than 4 years later, I was entering the World Trade Center from the south side at night to catch the Path train to Jersey where before it was always clean and empty, I noticed there were men lying on the ground stretched out and getting comfortable from the revolving doors through the lobby and all the way to the escalators that lead you down to the lower levels. Once again, my assumptions had been proven wrong.

Well many years later, after Senior’s, “1000 Points of Light,” Clintons “I feel your pain,” and Junior’s,” mission accomplished,” people are still sleeping in the street and begging for change at an ever increasing rate it seems.

Apparently, there are said to be 3 types of homeless person. The 1st one is one who dresses neatly, cleanly and you could never tell that they were homeless unless someone told you. You’ll probably find them sitting at the library during the day or the train station reading and or trying to figure out a way to make some change. The 2nd is the type is the one who will wear an overcoat in the summer and six layers underneath that. Or they will walk about not realizing that their privates are being exposed and being aired out so that you can smell them from about a half a block away. They will scream at you unintelligently making noises and guttural utterances no one can recognize. And the 3rd, will fall somewhere in between the other 2, the type who will ask you for change.


The 3rd type was the one that approached me the other night outside of Rita’s Water Ice. In the above picture, he was the one in the yellow asking everyone for change. The picture doesn’t really show the dirt that he was covered in or the pathetic way that he held himself as he went from person to person begging. I didn’t want to take advantage of his situation especially since I only gave him 50 cents and then only after seeing him for a second time that evening and asking him a silly question.

Close up, I noticed how young he was and how reasonably good looking he was and I wondered how he could have gotten himself into this mess. I could have thought the “there but for the grace of God,” line, but that’s something that anyone would have to worry about in my case. Yes I appreciate life but not that much. I’m the type who you would find floating down the river or lying splat on the side of the sidewalk next to a 10 storey building before I could accept that way of life. I’m not that strong. I’m not built that way.

Anyway, I wondered why the taxes I pay, or anybody pays can buy bullets and bombs and salaries for Halliburton, but not cover the costs for the homeless. Also, why after all these years, the sight of people sleeping in the streets or having them ask for your change has become acceptable and even normal in our major cities. When will all of this change?

That is my question.

And I bet you thought this was going to be about Obama.