...9/11 last night but it had been a busy day (and I was able to vacuum for the first time in three and a half months!) and I fell asleep before I could prop myself before my laptop. Mostly, I think of my compadres who were there (I have scads of friends and family in NYC and D.C.) and/or who lost loved ones and how the anniversary will always be harder for them than it is for the rest of us. Not that we will forget, but unquestionably, we are scarred differently. And I ate a nice quiet dinner at Thomas Street Park near my home and read the latest issue of New York Magazine and that seemed as fitting tribute as any.
Then, after having been up a good portion of last night sick, I discovered at 7:00 a.m. this morning that my building had been broken into. As condo secretary, this has caused an enormous headache for me (calling the police, doing the walk-around w/ the officer, filing the police report, alerting the neighbors, et al) and I am reminded of something Wanda Sykes told me when I interviewed her for The Believer, "Unwanted children grow into the biggest assholes." While there is a good chance the person who decided to smash the doorknob to fucking hell is an alcoholic or addict and therefore wrestling with a real illness and desperate for money and a fix, at the moment, I'm feeling spectacularly uncompassionate and really want the perpetrator's wang dipped in honey and waved in front of hungry fire ants. And, underscoring Wanda's point, odds are pretty good the parents of said individual did not do a real bang up job with the love and nuturing or any of that and I kind of want to pelt them with flaming garbage.
Humanity: so brilliant, so glorious, so transcendent, but (and this hardly a revelation) so much douchebaggery, too.
I give mad props to the California omelette I had for lunch, though. That held its own.
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