Hubble Space Telescope desktop wallpaper images

The Wesley Clark issue of Newsweek came in the mail today. Before our copy had even been delivered, The Weekly Standard had debunked Clark’s claim that he’d called the Karl Rove at the White House after September 11th. The media hasn’t pounced like this since Martha Stewart was accused of insider trading. Probably an apt analogy since Clark seems to have burned a lot of bridges on his way up.

I need to post more stuff. Maybe I’ll dig though the 16,000 words of not-posted blog notes I’ve got laying around and post something tonight.

I’ve been pushing FXScript pretty far lately but also pushing myself past the edge of what I know how to do. And finding bugs. Really strange and annoying bugs that took way too many days to isolate and work around. Good progress lately on things I didn’t think were possible.

No. I haven’t forgotten. It’s something that’s been with me every day for the past two years, except the day my daughter was born. That day in March 2002, the rest of the world ceased to matter. I think about it constantly. Every time a plane flies low over Manhattan. Every time there are a few more sirens than normal. Every time there is an unusually loud noise outside, pausing, waiting for the sirens to follow. Everytime I walk by a fire station. They’ve all got plaques now.

Like last year, I took Lila to the Tompkin’s Square playground. Children are clarity. They’re continuation, hope, sanity. Almost all of our regular morning group were born into the world of September 12th. The planes flew over their mothers and fathers while they were still in the womb.

Lila was puzzled by the church bells. Flight 11, 8:45am. Flight 175, 9:03am. WTC south tower collapses, 10:05am. WTC north tower collapses, 10:28am. News helicopters were buzzing around to the south. Bells change the air.

I walked by the fire station for Ladder 11 and Engine 28 on Second Street again this year. The half-burnt sign from the old truck is now inside and there are six new memorial plaques on the wall outside. Again, there were firefighters in dress blues gathered inside with family. Again I couldn’t say anything to them.

This year I’m not filled with grief. If anything I feel resolute. I understand a lot more. I get the flags, they make me feel proud of being here, proud of my great grandparents for getting on boats and crossing the Atlantic on the rumor things could be better. Here. It took me a long time to come around.

Recently I re-read an article by a professor at the US Naval War College. He was replying to a critical letter about an article he’d written for Esquire. The sentiment has stuck with me.

“I believe life consistently improves for humanity over time, but is does so only because individuals, communities, and even entire countries take it upon themselves not only to imagine a future worth creating but actually to try to build it. I work for the finest government in history, in the greatest country in the world. I am proud to be associated with the best military on the planet. I get up every morning convinced that my job is to change the world, and I remain wholly optimistic that it can be done.”

–Dr. Thomas P.M. Barnett

Two years ago I would have bristled at that. Two years ago I was a very different person.

It’s starting again. Today I started receiving notices of messages sent containing the SOBIG.F worm. (Of course I don’t have it and I didn’t send them, these worms spoof return email addresses.) The first batch I got were all sent from French servers.

We got power back at around 7:30pm, people cheered. Water pressure is coming back. The south side of East 14th Street still seem dark.

Update: The East Village and apparently the rest of New York City got power back shortly after 9pm. Walking around I couldn’t stop smiling, appreciating things like streetlights and neon signs and catching bits of stoopside conversations. The guy who runs the pizza place next door has been making pizzas as fast as his oven can handle, and people are lined up out into the street waiting for pies and slices.

If I said, “it’s always something,” would you believe me?