Short Takes

SHORT TAKES After posting only pictures on 9/11/02, a few have asked why there were no words from a most usually loquacious blogger. The answer is simple: it was too dark, too sad, too overwhelming. The milestone of a year gone by, a marker of sorts, seems to do little more than fix it permanently as an event for permanent memory. The hatreds that initiated the attack, and the losses, wounds, shattered lives, and scars remain as grave an issue today as they were on Black Tuesday, and in the immediate aftermath. Frankly, the proceedings on September 11th this year were a sharp reminder of how those of us not personally, immediately connected to the event, are a year removed from that day. But those caught in it, either as victims or those who suffered losses, are still every bit as impacted by it in every part of their lives. The most upsetting and moving detail from last Wednesday was seeing ñagainósomething that had become a common sight in New York immediately after the attack. People walking, somewhat dazed, deeply saddened, with a fury in their eyes somehow clouded over by despair and fearÖcarrying pictures of their missing loved ones. Hope against hope had people searching, praying, grasping at the chance that their loved one might be yet found. In a hospital, in an amnesiac state, in shock, in some way or another. The posters and the placards had slipped out of public view over time, as the Ground Zero project moved from rescue to removal. It was a sharp and acutely painful reminder of the emotional scarring that had fallen out of everyday view. Also very difficult to see were the channels carrying the names, ages, occupations and hometowns of the victims. I know most of those towns in the NY Metropolitan area. There are friends, acquaintances, relatives, places to visit, shop, go to for various reasons, or other connections. In some cases it is just knowing that someone long since out of touch had come from there. All of this brings back the day, the event and the subsequent goings-on.

The pain has not yet subsided

So for me, words could not do it. The pictures seemed to say it all, and so, I thought, so be it. Even this is more than I had anticipated writing, at this juncture.


is the name of Jeneane Sessum's blog.  Read it!

Allied Jeneane Sessumís blog is a canít miss daily read. As a writer, expresser, communicator, there are few in her league. And when I whined and moaned that sheíd left me out of a certain list of ëguys who blogî she left me the sweetest reply. Where is all this? In the nicely add-a-window comments area in Jeneaneís blog. Oh, Cannabis The Canadian Senate, it was reported to me by Neighbors to the North, is a plum pork-barrel patronage affair. Appointed, not elected. Serve (?) until they reach age 75. Then they are granted a pension, for their rest of their years. The senators, though, are not just an arrived group of insiders taking advantage of connections and position. Despite what might seem an appearance of posh, aristocratic, in-group clubbiness, the Senate does take on some tasks. Studies, investigations, recommendations to the more legislative and judicial branches, et al. They made headlines with their report and a discussion of Cannabis Regulation. An abridged quote: In our opinion, Canadian society is ready for a responsible policy of cannabis regulation Oh, Canada! Canada actually has a Marijuana Party among the various political parties. That marijuana graphic is their logo! Needless to say,the headquarters are in Quebec. Some political parties meet in a club. Do these guys meet in a "joint?" Brings a possible new meaning to political decisions being made behind closed doors, in smoke-filled rooms, eh?C'est vrai!  Il y a une parti pour legalization de Marijuana!  Alors! Makes one, er, ponderous, eh? Will April 20th be a holiday in Canada if this party prevails? Will there be new aisles in Canadian convenience and grocery stores, known as the Munchies section? Will no Canadian ever again suffer the ill effects of Glaucoma? Eh? Will the Canadian National Anthem change from, "Oh, Canada" to "Oh, Cannabis?" Or maybe, "Oh, wow, man, Canada."


Call me Fozzie On this quiz I scored a 52. Thatís the year I was born. Does this mean something? For the record, with my kids being teen-agers, long past the Muppet stage, I donít even know who or what is this Fozzie. What the hell is this thing? Thatís Fozzie, not Fonzie. Ehh, <b />YO!  Heeeeeeyyyy! Speaking to my daughter, we determine that, if she remembers correctly, Fozzie is a Muppet pianist. Given the rarity with which my fingers hit the ivories, this quiz may actually be on the mark! BELATED HB2S Susan's birthday came and went without mention in the blog. Allow me to correct that shameful oversight. We went to brunch and a Broadway play with my parents, then headed downtown to a Lower East Side restaurant. We met our visiting friends from Germany, and had a gala party at the relatively unknown and excellent Frank's on Second Avenue (not to be confused with Frank's on Tenth Avenue, a Meat Market area steakhouse of great and deserved reknown).

Wearing our matching Monterey Bay Aquarium T-Shirts

Susan and I had just returned from our vacation, and were wearing our matching Monterey Bay Aquarium T-Shirts. Those dots on Susan's shirt are raindrops; sheíd just put a few more quarters in the parking meter before the picture was taken. Nice, these digital cameras.