"In the world which is upside down, the true is a moment of the false."
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| rock and roll means fuck "In the world which is upside down, the true is a moment of the false." |
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Friday, April 04, 2003 two very odd and fateful days, two years and change apart, in new york city freaky day #1: scene: the laundry room of my apartment building, lexington and 101st st., east harlem. second week or so of november 2000. so, in my rather small building (only 6 apts on three floors) we have a laundry room in the basement. we have a tv down there as well. the laundry room is the social center of the building. we hang out, do laundry, drink and, as almost all of my neighbors are swiss (don't ask. i'm still trying to figure out how all these swiss hipsters ended up in a building in a working class, predominantly mexican neighborhood), smoke pot and discuss news of the world there. we were just kooky like that. anyhoo, the election, as i'm sure (i hope) you all remember was a total fiasco. i had moved to nyc from my home state of florida, something all my swingin' swiss neighbors were well aware of. i was also known as the resident news/politics junkie in the building. i have no idea why. so, i am sitting there one evening watching the news as per usual when one of the aforementioned swiss hipsters comes down to see if i want to smoke some dope and enlighten her as to what the hell is going on in her adopted country. it is soon decided that we should do both. i had been thinking about the (s)election all day and had actually begun to worry just a bit. me, being the geek that i am, had actually voted twice. yep, two times. i voted for al absentee in fla where i was still registered and for nader in ny. i never thought it would be that big of a deal. by day 8 or so of the election that would not fucking die i was beginning to get nervous. there were pictures of fat party flacks from both sides examing every ballot in the damned state (those not arbitrarily discarded for one reason or another), looking for things like "pregnant chads" or "hanging chads". remember this shit now? i was starting to sweat it a bit about what could happen if my electoral shenanigans were to be discovered. (hey, ashcroft or any other NSA type web trolling fucking homeland security types, fuck off. i did it and i'd do it again. you'll never take me alive, ya fucking bastards.) but, anyway, returning to the story i wish to tell, after the smoking of.. ..ya know, pot and stuff, she asks, "so, do we have president yet?". I had to inform her that, no, we didn't have a president yet. then i launched in to what i now believe to be one of the absolutely stupidest diatribes ever to escape my lips (and, let's face it, folks, there have been plenty o' those). me: fuck it. the bushies are bringing in all the old-school bush acolytes, james baker III, etc. they're gonna make it ugly and they've got the governor and the bucks. ( i should mention here that i was never a huge fan of gore. i think both parties in 2000 nominated the wrong guys. i believe that a matchup of bradley and mccain would have been not only more interesting, but also more representative of the two parties core beliefs. but that's just me) i so clearly remeber uttering the words, "fuck it. let him (w) have it. i mean he's gonna get it anyway. he lost the popular vote. he has no mandate. the economy is going in the toilet. and, best of all, he's an idiot. he is not a smart man. the rest of the world knows this. (though i didn't know this at the time, i found out later that mr shrubya, a man of means, a man descended from new england aristocracy, no matter what his "down home" texas-isms would lead you to believe, had never been abroad. never. not one fucking time. he is a rich as fucking hell guy who had never been to europe. his first visit was the president of the united states. really. i'm not making this shit up. i thought that young wealthy northeastern republicans were required by law to go abroad and drink too much, be rude and fuck cute french girls silly so they could come home and marry the "right" girl. i was under the impression that these were exactly the kind of folks that made travelling abroad as an american occassionally difficult for people that aren't so damned sucky. i mean my family has never been what could be described as "poor". we never really had "money" either. i have been fortunate enough to be all over europe. something about this man's lack of curiosity scares me and, at the same time, i understand his distrust of europeans. he doesn't know any. he had never been. i really believe that he only went because he had to.) he'll fuck up. sooner or later the man will say or do something so amazingly stupid that the rest of the world and many of those in the "red" states will have to step back and say to themselves, 'shit. this guy's an idiot.' he's a one term guy like his daddy. what's the worst that could happen?" fuck me. i never really imagined that it could get as bad as it has. the first sign, i have to admit was when he nominated a man who had just lost his re-election bid in his home state of missouri to a dead man to be attorney general. umm wha? then the "compassionate conservative" began shoving a straight, hardline right wing agenda down the throats of the american public. christ.. i was wrong, kiddos. the "worst that could happen" has happened and is happening . i really do feel that this whole thing is gonna get a lot worse before it gets better. sucks out loud to say but, i believe that is what is gonna happen. stupid words crossed these lips in november of 2000, i am sure it won't be the last time that happens. freaky day #2: scene: the streets of manhattan and brooklyn on st. patrick's day, march 17, 2003. i knew when i woke up that it was gonna be a strange day. that morning was just rife with all the makings of odd fucking happenings. so, i awoke, relatively un-hungover (i had been partying like a madman since my arrival on friday and this day, st. patty's day, had been at least a nominal reason for my visit after a year and a half.) in the chelsea apartment of the (mentioned in earlier posts) major chicana celebrity at 23rd and 9th. after a shower i hiked downtown to katz's in the lower east side (not a trivial hike, mind you.). i was there to have some corned beef shipped to my corned beef deprived family (they tell me that the only corned beef in the UK comes in a can marked "hormel") shipped to them where they live on the jaw-droppingly beautiful island of sark . i love the lower east side. i love the history, the architecture, the vibe. i picked up a copy of the new york timeson orchard street and proceeded to my mid-morning lunch destination, the incomparable new york noodletown i sat in noodletown awaiting my roasted duck in noodle soup while reading this rather lengthy and comprehensive analysis of the "diplomacy" that had brought us to this day. all the faults, foibles, etc. that had led us to the "day where it all goes to shit". new york is new york and most folks i could spy on the street couldn't be discerened to give a flying fuck. fuck you, move, i gotta get to work. but there were cops everywhere. i lived in nyc for almost 2 years. i hadn't been back in almost 2 years (way too long and after way too much emotional trauma.) i never even heard of the nyc sherrif's office. but, they were there. i saw three nyc sherrif cars in about 20 minutes that day. they were there along with the ever present NYPD, the transit cops, the state police, port authority cops and many, many national guard guys in fatigues and boots carrying loaded m-16s and looking edgy. it was creepy as hell. after lunch in chinatown i took the 6 train (my old train) from canal uptown to my old neighborhood. i hadn't been north of the flatiron district except once when i realized too late that the c train wasn't making an uptown stop at 23rd and 8th due to work on the station and i had to ride to 42nd st and catch a e train back down. the one thing that one can't fail to notice south of 14th street is all the empty space. there are storefronts, restaurants, etc. that are empty and waiting. i'm not talking about crappy space on sidestreets either. there is a lot of prime retail/rest. space that is just.... ...fallow. empty. it is a great difference from the winter/spring of 2000-2001. the city in lower manhattan has changed dramatically. i got off the 6 at my old stop at 103rd and lexington. took a look around. walked throught the old hood, past my old building. nothing. nada. zero had changed. i take that back. someone drew a happy face on the Zapata mural at 101st street. other than that. nuthin'. evn the big, orange tabby alley cat, the cat that i had witnessed march through 8 inches of fresh snow, a bad ass among felines, who used to hold court at my corner bodega, was asleep in the unusually warm sunlight of the doorway of that bodega. he lokked at me as i passed as if to say "que pasa, fool?" as i passed by. the same dominican salsa music was blaring from the door as well. nothing about my 'hood had changed. not a damned thing. i continued south to 96th street and cut across west to the park. i went south on 5th to the guggenheim to see the matthew barney "cremaster" series exhibit. two words: way rad. after leaving the guggenheim, i walked south on 5th until i unexpectedly came upon the end of the st. patrick's day parade. i arrived just in time to see about 3 or 4 thousand NYFD guys who aren't used to such a hike end their parade whilst wearing dresses (kilts) the irish connection is lost on me. they were sweaty (it was way un seasonably warm that day) and they were ready to drink. "hey! hogs and heifers!", i heard more than one say. rock on, dude. from there i walked south to 47th st and west to times square. the ticker informed me of many things: 1. that the cabinet ministers who had threatened to resign in blair's government in the event of a non-UN sanctioned war had done so. then minutes later i read that the US had withdrawn its "second resolution" before the security council. i think anyone with half a cat's brain knew that the jig was up right about then. i made one last times square stop to the hello kitty store on 42nd st. and when i emerged i was greeted with the headline on the ticker that "pres bush to address the nation at 8pm EST". guess what, kiddos, this means war. i was feeling angsty and apprehensive when i enetered the 42nd st. subway station and walked past the NYPD cop station that has always been there. nuthin' new. it's always been there. but, as i walked past it, the door opened and about a dozen national guard guys came out with rifles "locked and loaded" as i heard someone in the room say. wow. i took the a train to 14 th street and took the l to brooklyn. when i got out of the train at the bedford ave. stop, as i walked out of the station, i noticed that someone had written in chalk, "if the war starts... go to times square... for a march to... washington square... 5pm." the new york kids had their shit together in a way that i just can't imagine the drum circle-hippie fuckheads of ventura ever being able to do. a big march was planned for march 22nd and one couldn't go more than a block in the city without seeing a poster, flyer, sticker, graffitti (especially in the subways) or have someone hand you a flyer on the street corner. it was everywhere. those kids had it goin' on . after strolling williamsburg for a bit, i retired to the blu lounge where i had my first two pints of obligatory st. paddy's guinness. i really like that place. it was small, dark, quiet and had an obsecenely beautiful bartender that indulged me in about an hour of trivail pursuit (where i kicked her ass). groovy joint. after a pint ar a few, i decided that it was time to head back to the island. calls were made and a group decided to meet in the bar at north square inside the washington square hotel. (actually, this is where i met friends on friday evening, the night of my semi-triumphant return to gotham-city) i was early and i got to hear some drunk guy and his semi-moronic girlfriend, who had obviously been partaking in st.patty's festivities all fucking day go on about the iraqis who should die and the fact that in a couple of weeks time they shan't be able to smoke in nyc bars anymore. they left to to go fuck right before my friends arrived and apparently stole a bottle chardonnay on the way out. nice. anyway, drinking ensues. discussion as well. after a round or two we move to a place in the village that is famous for it's alley. it apparently was a favorite haunt of thomas paine. when kicked out the back door, at 86 something or other, you could be said to have been 86'ed. yee haw. as the (r)esident's "speech" approached, we decided to go somewhere where there was a television. we ended up in a place that had many tv's on 4th st. but was showing the rangers game. they mercifully paused for the "talk". we watched. i was horrified. everything that i had ever feared about this semi-literate, silver spoon chickenhawk muthafucker was realized. it made me feel ill. after the speech. we decided to abandon all crazy, gaelic-themed shenanigans we had planned and return to amy's pad on washington square where we could drink cheap and sing songs we may never have the chance to sing again. in all actuality, it was a grand old time. even the cats were impressed. then came the realization that i had to fly all the way back across the country on Ghetto Air the day after the p(r)es decided to essentially declare war. cool. fuck. it was just such an odd day. one that i hope people will remember, maybe someday tell their children about. it weren't real fun. yet, it was definately a day that had a feel of importance and gloom. fear and such. anger. you could feel it coming from all over. from the television, from the other patrons in the bar, folks on the street. creepy. i did make it home to the shithole i call home though. these are the strangest days i have ever known. posted by downtown | 1:20 AM |
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Cost of the War in Iraq
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