#ROW 80 3RD QTR 2013 WEDNESDAY CHECK-IN – REQUIEM IN TIMES OF WAR

This being the 12th year since the horrific events of September 11, 2001, I thought I would take a moment and write about things that have changed personally, rather than globally. This is actually the 3rd year I have posted the main body of this post describing the events from my perspective. But since so very much has changed in ways I never expected, I thought it might be interesting (well, to me at any rate) to go over some of the particulars.

On the day of September 11, 2001, I was married, to He Who Shall Not BeNamed. I was also still sighted and able to drive. I worked at Verizon but played viola and violin and traveled all over the Southeast of Florida. We had just bought 2 acres of prime land and were putting a house on that land. My mother was still alive. I still had all of my pets; Trotsky, Boots, Rusty and Eric. There was no reason to believe that anything would change.

Then, in May of 2002, my mother died. I had noticed shortly before her death, that I was having a bit of a problem with swelling feet and although I could see, my brain was registering 2 of everything, but in typical Mary fashion, I ignored all of that. I settled her affairs and came back to Tampa and thought that things would go as they always had, but my husband had other ideas. He decided that he wanted to “save” the world, I guess, so he quit his high-dollar job and got a Bachelor of Science in Social Work and went back to working at 9.00 an hour jobs. Meanwhile, I noticed I was having trouble with my breathing and I was going blind. The rest, they say is history.

I cannot say if I had not gone through all of that if I would be the person I am today. I know I am compassionate. I am also brave, and tough as hell and honest. I had to go through all of that shit to get here. Is it fair? Most certainly not; something I helped obtain is not being shared with me, but it's only things we're talking about, not values. I can say, that there is limitless love and compassion in dealing with those less fortunate than I and that is beyond price. I've also learned that we cannot allow ourselves to get caught up into “situational ethics.” That is pure, unmitigated horseshit. It's either right, or it's wrong.

“Requiem in Time of War” by Ärvo Part is actually a very personal piece of music, and was written in honor of Benjamin Britten. I've cited it many times, but will set it aside for now. Although, the section I cite is so powerful, it is deeply personal, and the tragedy that occurred on 9/11, was felt globally. I have many Muslim friends who mourn this. What human would not? Any faith is based on principles of doing right, and in any cosmology, it is generally a given that the universe is infinite, therefore, we can allow for infinite faiths, as long as we're not bashing each other over the head about God.

Samuel Barber, who was an American composer originally wrote a string quartet, that contains the famous “Adagio for Strings.” It is used in time of mourning, and for music nerds, has a most interesting notation, not 4/4, but 8/8. It is heart-breaking and I have played it many, many times. It never fails to move me, but it is tragedy on a larger scale than that of Part's. The quartet itself was written in 1936, but the Adagio is the most frequently played movement, and generally with huge string orchestras.

Leonard Bernstein conducting; this is probably the best rendition and one of the finest performances I have ever heard. Naturally, I've played it countless times and adore this piece.

When I first started this, I wasn’t sure I would post it, it seemed too personal and maybe banal, but it is heartfelt and events of this scope can make us remember again why we cherish life, love and each other, even after all these years. Also, it had nothing to do with homelessness. Well, maybe figuratively; if you think about it long enough, maybe we are all rootless. I still feel the dystonia of that event and as if I’ve lost my already somewhat tenuous anchor as a citizen to this country. Maybe with all the events from September 11, 2001 until now, I just feel betrayed.

In a way, this is a sort of re-post. I’ve left some of the original material from last year’s post, “Untitled,” including some of the events that occurred on September 11,2001, but have included some new; too much has happened since then, in my life and in the world around us. My writing style has changed somewhat as well, which is to be expected, I guess.

“On Tuesday, September 11, 2001 I was working at Verizon, in the Southeast Region Tech Center, up around North Tampa. I worked in the complex that houses the CERT (Computer Emergency Response Team) for the entire southeast region. I was also just home from a quick junket to teach a software application class developed in-house by Verizon and our fabulous in-house Software Development department, or whatever we called ourselves back in the day.

“By 2001, I had worn many hats at Verizon; platform support/network support specialist (fancy babble for “reset idiots’ Unix, IBM 5250 and Win passwords,”) Lotus Notes support (which should have been run on an OS/2 platform, hence the constant garble of WinNotes Email, and effed up Data Bases) and managed to supervise 95 floor technicians, who on any given day, were “hosting” giant “parties” of “Doom” and hoping I wouldn’t hear/see their multi-player raids. I caught them occasionally, but far be it from me to bitch and report. They got a lash with a wet noodle, unless I was in-game on my work computer, then they got ignored. Just kidding, but I am a Clan Elder in Runescape. . . never mind.

“I had kicked around in PC Support and Mainframe Support at Verizon and IBM and was driving around the Southeast, playing gigs and fixing customer’s computer bullshit from my hotel rooms at night. No wonder my marriage collapsed. I had gotten bored and stale with Tech Support and was offered a position in Development/Implementation. Much more fun was to be had installing and teaching classes in our software at various Verizon-type places for about a year before the Trade Center attack.

“On the Wednesday before the planes hit the World Trade Center, I had flown over them at sunset, courtesy of Delta Airlines and Verizon. I had just finished a 3 day teaching gig at the old Bell Labs up just north of Boston, Massachusetts. I remember the Towers; clear, lambent and vivid still. They were molten gold and bronze. Coppers and greens glinted off the glass surfaces. The argent light made them appear almost live and to move as we flew over them.  They looked to be so permanent and so monumental. I thought they would be there always. I was given a gift from God that day. Beautiful and breathtaking they were and of course later, heart-breaking. I was flying home to Verizon to the Tech Data Center where I was based.

“The following Tuesday, September 11, 2001, I was on driving to our Tech Data Center to teach a teleconference via Communications Bridge. You know, the “conference” call where twenty-five people all get on a phone call and holler at one another for four-hour stints at once to “learn” the newest, hottest application of bug patches from Development. Some are playing rap in the background, some are eating their lunches. Most are anywhere on their PCs but where I have asked them to be, so they can “follow along” with the gibberish I’m trying to impart.

“I left my house in Central Tampa at about 20 minutes to 9 that morning. It’s about 20 to 25 minutes from the Verizon Tech Center. As I was motoring up Nebraska Avenue, I turned on 970 WFLA. I tended to listen to talk radio when I drove, because I play so much music. The morning show is good; local personalities. I avoid Rush, Glenn (shame on Tampa for giving him a boost) but I love the morning folks.

“I tuned in on the middle of an interview with some guy who was living less than six blocks from the WTC. I just caught the end about the plane hitting one tower. I thought, “Geeze, those poor towers. Flown into again? Bad luck, yadda-yadda.” In truth, I can’t remember specifics, but that was my general feeling. Then I heard this huge roar and people screaming. The radio interviewer lost his composure and the guy being interviewed was completely hysterical. Then, the radio feed was lost. I knew we were under attack.

“My speed went from 30 to 90 in less than two minutes. I ran red lights. There were sirens, but I never saw police, never saw fire trucks. I dodged other motorists, missing them I’m sure, by inches. I had to get to Verizon and in my Center before they shut it down. I parked in Visitor Parking and grabbed Wolf out of my back seat. It had taken me about seven minutes from the time I heard the second tower impact while on Nebraska Avenue to get to work in North Tampa. Wolf, or rather his case, weighs a ton. I schlepped viola and self up the drive and got to the walkway. The damn doors were closing. I took off my heels and sprinted. Squeaked just into the main area and ran up to the third floor, my lair. My cubby hole sat above all the Mainframes and Communications hardware for the Southeast, that were housed on the first and second floors. Wondered if we were a target.

“We had huge plasma monitors covering two walls in a room that houses about 150 people. This place was never quiet. I could always hear the phones, people talking on Bridge calls, technicians asking questions, laughing and brainstorming. The hardware guys would be lugging stuff around, installing and un-installing stuff and adding to the din. This center is a hub for all sorts of telecommunications support, not just in the Continental U.S., but in Europe, Central America and parts of the Pacific.

“It was always a noisy mess, but I loved the noisy mess part of it, as much as anything else in the job. The Center was funereal on that day. No phones ringing, no conversations, no hardware being shunted around. There were probably 80 or 90 people just standing, watching the monitors. The Towers were still standing. No one spoke. No one moved. I stood beside my boss, Kat Torres. An aside; Kat was the first person I met at IBM. I went to Verizon about two years after she left IBM for Verizon to work. Kat is my dear, dear friend. I am god-mother to her daughter. She and I stood there silent, crying. I have no idea how many hours we stood side by side. We left only to try and contact our loved ones.

“The class was never officially canceled. I rescheduled a new time for the following Tuesday, but it would be almost a month before I gathered my people for another one. There were seven people from Verizon on the roof or roofs that day. I do not know the specifics, but I do know that some of the lines and routers continued to emit “handshakes” for a long time after that day. We could trace their IP signatures via the mainframes. I am not a hardware person. My expertise lies in software and networking, so I am unfamiliar with why this would be so. I used to monitor the transmittals regularly until they ceased. Why, I don’t know, but I felt compelled to see them, to make sure they were there. Maybe I hoped that against all reason, the people were still there. Most certainly I was mourning; for all of us and dreading what I knew we were going to become.

For us to go from that time to this and look back is probably no more compelling than looking back at any great national tragedy. There are still things that beg the question “why?” Since then and now, our new marches into Folly, Iraq, and Afghanistan, that Graveyard of Empires and countless other Geo-political messes, we’ve had the so-called small disasters, the Aurora shootings, American Nazis killing Sikhs and countless other hatreds. The casual and not so casual cruelties, the fanatical hatred, vitriol, spite and venom that we spew and use to cause destruction just baffles me. I can think of no reason to justify any of this. Not political ideology, religion, patrimony; none of it is justified.

This is one of those days when I feel unable to state or sum up with any clarity how it can be overcome. The only thing I can do, as my own small confuse-a-what self, is to do what I’ve been doing. Go on my way. Doing what I do. Sow my confusion, along with my bit of hope, love, inspiration, caring and laughter.

#ROW80 – WEDNESDAY CHECK IN - POST 16 – TECHNOLOGY SURPASSES MORALITY AND PRINCIPLES

One of the things I did in college was write a bit. Not a whole lot, because I was either studying the viola like mad and then some 20 years later boning up (boning up, hell, I was learning it for the first time; I slept through it in high school) on mathematics and computer science. But, I did some dabbling in writing. Enough to win awards for my rhetorical writing; fiction was never really my bag and if I ever tried to express anything that required imagination, it would be stupid, to say the least.

I'm not naive when I say THIS is the America I believe in. The one where I am free to dissent. The one where I am free to worship as I choose. The one I am so proud to be a part of. The one that holds it's hands out to new immigrants and that cares for all.

The kinds of things I wrote about and the articles with which I had my biggest successes were based on intangibles, if you will, although there is nothing tangential or intangible about them. We certainly should, if we are adults, or not, as this is not magically awarded to anyone at the age of 18, but is built over a lifetime I guess, possess good character. Character or morality of a sort that bestows upon us the ability to choose right from wrong and adhere to principles, that we, as a society have agreed upon to be fair, just and own some measure of equality.

To be honest, these are not principles we ourselves chose and wrote into a charter, but they are ideas that set the framework of the Constitution of the United States and the Bill of Rights. The Constitution itself cannot be changed, but the Bill of Rights can be amended and it's framework, like that of the Constitution, is deliberately porous, so as to meet any contingency that would follow after its passage and after the deaths of the authors and signers.

We, as Americans, must take the time and care to understand what this all means. It means that we must understand how government works and what these documents mean and what they can and cannot do. It takes time to read and study all of that, but we must, if we are to remain free. We must also understand something else. There are people in our government who are foursquare for us. I know of many Senators who guard their constituencies and truly care about them. Iowa, and Senator Robert Krause. I've been amazed; well, lurking in his wake, watching how he drums up support for various fund raisers; very much a grass roots leader. I really admire that. I am going to follow his run for the Governorship. I plan on learning plenty; I started reading his charts on the economy and the reasons why it hasn't bounced back.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, we have the Governor of my state of Florida, who the less said about, the better. Senator Bill Nelson is around, and is right now trying to get catastrophic aid for Hurricane victims passed; always a tough battle. If I drop him a line, he answers. Senator Krause answers me too. The fact that these busy people have time for people who are or aren't their constituents amazes me.

These are the people who get things done, and we need our Senators and Congressmen and women. They are earnestly holding up the principles outlined by the Constitution and Bill of Rights.

But, right now, we have this whole other thing going on and this is not a good thing. I mentioned the Patriot Act yesterday. Back in 2001, six months before planes hit the WTC (which I had actually flown over the previous Wednesday, out of Logan, at sunset, after teaching a software class at Bell Labs, on September 6, 2001) a TV show called “The Lone Gunmen” aired a pilot that hinged upon a thwarting of a plot to fly a passenger jet into one of the towers. It aired March, 2001.

I am not going into conspiracy mode; I mention it as a casual aside. I am in civil liberties mode. How much of our information is controlled? Not only how much is taken from us, but how much is let out? After the trauma of 9/11, people were willing to sign anything. We were also willing to go haring off to Iraq, when there really was no evidence of WMD, or that the Iraqis were involved. It was found out rather early on that the hijackers were Saudis, yet they were already hand in glove with the Bush family. All air traffic had been halted, yet a plane filled with members of the bin Laden family were let out secretly.

The Patriot Act was signed and there were loopholes and codicils all over the place. Homeland Security with Tom Ridge was pretty much a non-starter. He disappeared into thin air, but the Patriot Act lived on and with that, dragon's teeth were sown. Now, we have the NSA actively seeking “information” via phone records from Verizon, and At&T. They've been trying to get in through back doors at Twitter and Facebook. I would be willing to bet the FBI has already done so.

Martin Niemöller was a prominent Protestant pastor during the 3rd Reich. Quote from him upon his release from one of several concentration camps: "First they came for the Socialists and I did not speak out --- because I was not a Socialist.  Then they came for the Trade Unionists and I did not speak out --- because I was not a Trade Unionist. Then they came for the Jews and I did not speak out --- because I am not a Jew. Then they came for me --- and there was no one left to speak for me.

The trip I was coming home from? Bell Labs? I worked for Verizon. We had 7 people on the roof of WTC1 that day. I worked in the Mainframe and PC deployment/training group, going after rogue servers at the time, I did catchall stuff. I didn't have a formal job title. Those people's computers continued to transmit “handshake” codes for weeks after the towers fell, until their batteries finally died.

Understand, the NSA or whoever, are going through formalities. They're already watching and listening. They have been for years. Being caught with their hands in the cookie jar is only making them go through the sham of begging permission. We gave up that right to privacy when the original act was signed in 2001. “Patriotism is the last refuge of scoundrels,” and “Any society who gives up its freedom for security is neither free nor secure.” Neither of those are mine, but they both apply here. We should have raised holy Hell years ago; it's too late now. 

#ROW80 1ST QTR POST 13 – WEDNESDAY CHECKIN, FUN IN THE PSYCHIATRIST WAITING ROOM

In what is become an unfortunate habit of late, I seem to churn out a batch of words around check in time and then go merrily off about my business. Lately, this has consisted of baiting idiots in the psychiatrist’s waiting room, going to the ER and playing a whole lotta Runescape. When I got sick, ambition was probably the first fatality. The house looks as though it were a bear den. That speaks more to my level of domesticity than any lack of ambition, although I believe the two are related.

My new pet, Sparky, in Runescape

Actually, a quick side note. I was at the ER on Sunday, and although I have Congestive Heart Failure, it is minimal. I also have COPD and emphysema. This flu or streptococcus of the bunghole or whatever this shit is has exacerbated all 3. My pulse is running 112 to 120 and I'm short of breath. More annoying? My essential tremors are horrible. I'd like to take my fists and stuff them up that neurologist's ass and let them churn around and see if "we're still not convinced you have PD." Well, you can tell I'm feeling better! But, I digress.

One of my stupider husbands had the temerity to complain about my domestic skills to my mother after we married. She looked at him, like he had just grown a 3^rd eye, and said, “What are you bitching about? You lived with her before you married her. You knew she was as domestic as a bobcat. What do you want me to do, take her out to the wood shed? She'll eat me alive!”

He had at least one more brain cell than Hubby number 2, who I met on a gig. Playing the viola. At the time, I was laboring under some dumb-ass delusion that anyone who makes art must be a beautiful person. If this isn’t one of the more deranged notions in the history of forever, I’d like to hear the winner. I cringe just writing this. Anyway, Phil played viola, ergo, he must be just an awesome guy. Plus, he was single, which was a big asset. With no other inner savvy than that to go on, you can see how we were a match made in oh, I don’t know, Planet Bizarro?

After a whirl-wind 3 week engagement, we got married. After the honeymoon, I did not turn into the Piccolo player, or the String Bass player, or any thing OTHER than the Viola player that Phil had married. Plus, he drank, but went to AA and made a big deal about what a great AA-er he was. He stopped going to AA, but made a sudden decision to go back, the night he put his hands on me. That resulted in a right upper-cut and a left-cross. I let him explain that to all of our orchestra colleagues. I took the week off and gardened, registered for school and got the hell out of Dodge City, the following year.

Yer can keep yer Gah-damn Viola!

So, I have no brain cells or luck when it comes to men. JC was sent to me by God. I am absolutely certain of it. We all lived in those 2 houses side by side. 80 of us, most of us with some kind of physical disability, or down on our luck, or fresh out of prison. 80 people in 2 houses meant to hold 12 tops. There is every kind of chicanery, con, drug deal, bad thing going down there. The ex-felon mentality is strong. Some people never lose it, and sadly, they stay in their bars. Jurisprudence and penal systems in this country are flawed, deeply flawed. People are walking around who should be behind bars for the wrongs they’ve committed. Extrapolate on that for a minute. Homeless person; person released from the can. How's it working? Fucking Awesomely beautiful!!! Bar none, the best thing that has ever happened! Happy? Ecstatic! Oh, by the way? This is our little secret. It wasn't a choice. It was meant to happen.

Other people have made mistakes, been in the wrong place in the wrong time, and with no malice aforethought and no evil intent and have been railroaded by the system and had years stolen from them. They are then further stigmatized with labels and made to pay money for “therapy” that is more akin to show-and-tell.

Yet, there’s one guy here on Nebraska, 33605, Ray-Ray who’s a psychopath. A TRUE psychopath. Read about him here. He’s an habitual offender and he’s out for the 4^th time. He and I have a serious mutual hate and that’s fine. He thinks he’s entitled to everyone’s everything. He does some low-level informant work for the Federales and he sucks, because if I know this and I’m hooked into absolutely NO-ONE’S gang, how clandestine is this asshole? He’s been locked up for drug possession, grand theft, domestic abuse, running from the police, failing to register; just unreal. Yet, he’s out here running around, free as a bird.

Ray-Ray is like Prison Break, only there's just one guy, no smarts, no driven FBI guy like Mahone, no Sucre, no C-Note. Ray-Ray isn't even a T-Bag. Although he COULD be, that's why he's so goddamned scary. He's lost all access to easy money.

In a culture where everyone gets a second, third, fourth, fifth, etc. chance, just because a person doesn’t have money, they are slapped with a label and stuck in a pigeon-hole. I have my own labels. “Bipolar” “Asperger” “Baker-Acted” “Crazy” I play to it; happily. I admit it and I revel in it. “Homeless” has no sting anymore, because what came after was so much worse. So, yeah, I tell the world proudly.

Like I said to “50 Shades of Douchebag” who was hating on Indians in Dr. V’s waiting room, because Dr. V, the head doctor wouldn’t right his buzzed ass a script for a bunch of pills; after his fucked-up tirade “You wanna schoolyard it? Let’s go! Outside! I’ve been Baker-Acted. I can go again. I used to have to wear dresses and bows 'n shit. My ma thought I wouldn’t fight. My dad called it camouflage. C’mon, Rambo…” Sometimes, labels are an advantage. Rambo left in a huff. I thought of the old Groucho Marx joke, "Don't leave in a huff, you can leave in a minute-and-a-huff."

Anyway, when it came my turn to see Dr. V, I felt it important to apologize on behalf of America, because “we’re not all like that.” He seemed to appreciate that. Afterward, I went out and sat at my bus stop and waited for my bus. The day was warm and the sun felt good. There was a girl who was just getting off of her day-labor job. She was funny and affable and we sat there and chatted. I was glad to get home. JC told me the story about Mr. Cantrell's hunter that he spent a mint on. Apparently, that dog is still running.