http://crookedtimber.org/2004/09/11/memories-of-my-dissertation/ Out of the crooked timber of humanity, no straight thing was ever made Mon, 13 Feb 2012 07:58:07 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.3.1 http://crookedtimber.org/2004/09/11/memories-of-my-dissertation/comment-page-1/#comment-42242 Katherine Sat, 11 Sep 2004 22:10:50 +0000 http://crookedtimber.org/wp/?p=2166#comment-42242 <b>Interesting Times</b> The stewardesses scream. The co-pilot opens the cockpit to see what's wrong. The jet makes a sudden turn and plows into the North Tower. The other plane is going so fast it almost disintegrates before it hits. The evacuation order comes over the loudspeaker. The stairwells fill too quickly. The people on the upper floors call their wives. The ash rains over the coffee and donut trucks on Wall Street. The refugees stream over the Brooklyn Bridge. The emergency rooms are prepared, the young residents' faces set. The ambulances do not arrive. The blood donations replenish supplies at midwestern hospitals. The posters--it feels wrong to avoid them, but they are too hard to look at. The Hart Senate Office building is evacuated, then the National Enquirer office, then Rockefeller Plaza. The plane crash in Rockaway turns out to be a mechanical failure. The mail is irradiated and opened with rubber gloves. The doctors reassure their patients. The doctors write Cipro prescriptions for their families. The flags are everywhere on your street. The seventh inning stretch now features a bald eagle named Challenger. The mayor has become an honest-to-God national hero, the same ornery man hated by half the city a few months ago. The crowds outside the embassy in Tehran are all Americans. The crowds outside the Atlanta state house are all New Yorkers. The normal rhythm of days returns slowly. The New York Times editorial page criticizes Giuliani. The late night talk show host cracks a joke and smiles nervously. The Red Sox fans, after much soul searching, decide the Yankees still <i>do</i> suck. The southern politicians remember the northeastern cities are dens of iniquity. The homeland security budget is adjusted accordingly. The newspapers mourn the loss of national unity, but honestly it's a relief. The sense of living in history fades. The law school applications and wedding plans take precedence. The subway riders feel safe enough to get bored again, stare blankly again at the podiatrists' ads--which are now apparently required to salute New Yorkers' strength and courage. The hollow in the skyline is harder to find every time you drive over the bridge. (I wrote this a few months back....originally continued up through the Iraq invasion towards the present, but the last two stanzas are overly partisan and bitter and generally lousy and I can't seem to fix them. Which may be an appropriate metaphor or allegory or what have you for the place the country's in right now, but it seemed better to just delete them). Interesting Times The stewardesses scream. The co-pilot opens the cockpit to see what’s wrong. The jet makes a sudden turn and plows into the North Tower. The other plane is going so fast it almost disintegrates before it hits. The evacuation order comes over the loudspeaker. The stairwells fill too quickly. The people on the upper floors call their wives. The ash rains over the coffee and donut trucks on Wall Street. The refugees stream over the Brooklyn Bridge. The emergency rooms are prepared, the young residents’ faces set. The ambulances do not arrive. The blood donations replenish supplies at midwestern hospitals. The posters—it feels wrong to avoid them, but they are too hard to look at. The Hart Senate Office building is evacuated, then the National Enquirer office, then Rockefeller Plaza. The plane crash in Rockaway turns out to be a mechanical failure. The mail is irradiated and opened with rubber gloves. The doctors reassure their patients. The doctors write Cipro prescriptions for their families. The flags are everywhere on your street. The seventh inning stretch now features a bald eagle named Challenger. The mayor has become an honest-to-God national hero, the same ornery man hated by half the city a few months ago. The crowds outside the embassy in Tehran are all Americans. The crowds outside the Atlanta state house are all New Yorkers. The normal rhythm of days returns slowly. The New York Times editorial page criticizes Giuliani. The late night talk show host cracks a joke and smiles nervously. The Red Sox fans, after much soul searching, decide the Yankees still do suck. The southern politicians remember the northeastern cities are dens of iniquity. The homeland security budget is adjusted accordingly. The newspapers mourn the loss of national unity, but honestly it’s a relief. The sense of living in history fades. The law school applications and wedding plans take precedence. The subway riders feel safe enough to get bored again, stare blankly again at the podiatrists’ ads—which are now apparently required to salute New Yorkers’ strength and courage. The hollow in the skyline is harder to find every time you drive over the bridge. (I wrote this a few months back….originally continued up through the Iraq invasion towards the present, but the last two stanzas are overly partisan and bitter and generally lousy and I can’t seem to fix them. Which may be an appropriate metaphor or allegory or what have you for the place the country’s in right now, but it seemed better to just delete them).

]]> http://crookedtimber.org/2004/09/11/memories-of-my-dissertation/comment-page-1/#comment-42241 LiL Sat, 11 Sep 2004 16:35:31 +0000 http://crookedtimber.org/wp/?p=2166#comment-42241 Thank you for posting this. Thank you for posting this.

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