Stories

Writing my post on September 11 the other day, How I have responded to September 11: Service, prompted me to look up the 9/11 Museum. I've walked past the two pools/fountains and looked into them since they're not far from my home and sometimes life brings me past them, but I haven't visited the museum. The site said it was free for NYPD and figured my auxiliary badge would qualify. I understood that the whole area was closed to everyone but families and politicians on 9/11 itself, but I also figured it would be crowded the next day. That day was a Saturday so I had time and went. I hadn't planned ahead or thought of what to expect. Indeed, showing my badge got me…

I was in Philadelphia yesterday, passed an important part of my childhood, and posted a picture of One of the spots where I was mugged for a bike when I was a kid. If you weren't raised in a place where you were targeted for violence and theft, it might seem unusual for someone to have had been mugged and multiple bikes stolen, among other violent crimes. Actually people ask me what I did to get mugged so many times---often people who would recoil or attack in anger if someone with a different identity were asked what they did to be victimized. Obviously, I didn't choose to victimized, so you'll have to find and ask my assailants why they attacked me. In any case, today…

I've posted about the times I was mugged growing up. I also did a TEDx talk about the sledding hill near where I grew up. I think a lot of people see a white guy talking about growing up by a sledding hill at the end of the block and think, how privileged. For me, the parks and being mugged went together because I was mugged in the park near the sledding hill. Well, a bit of a walk from it, but on a bike path we went to as a family. I was visiting Philadelphia and went by the spot for the first time in a long time. The experience was more emotionally intense than I expected. Here's the spot: I think the wall…

Coming home this evening, I noticed a window of the apartment a few floors directly below mine was open, I estimated by 8 to 10 inches. The light was on and someone was home. The temperature outdoors was about 30 F (-1 C). I presume the person wasn't freezing, which meant they probably blasted the heat. (EDIT: I later learned from my doorman that that neighbor smokes and may have opened the window for fresh air from cigarette smoke.) Tomorrow, when it's brighter, I'll take and post pictures of how I tape my windows. All the windows in the building are double pane, but they're old and many have lost the seal around the groove where they slide, so air leaks through. Since I don't…

Last night I dreamed people actually wanted to act, themselves, personally, not just talk. Memories of dreams fade fast, so I don't remember the details, but I remember people asking, "What should I do?" with interest and curiosity instead of, with cynicism and incredulity, "What should I do?", as if there was no answer. I dreamed that people realized they had to change their lives and wanted to. I woke up realizing that most people's talk about sustainability is why they shouldn't change from behavior that they know hurts others without their consent, to excuse not changing, to blame others, to say what others should do, or some combination. I live in a world where people spend their words and activity opposing sustainability---that is, opposing…

I don't usually remember dreams, but I half woke up before the alarm this morning. I was half in the dream and half awake. In the dream I was playing with a dog like in this picture. I've never owned a brown lab, but that's the dog in my dream. I remember being about the size of the dog in the dream and the dog wasn't particularly big, so I must have been small. I was young again, pre-teen. I started petting the dog. The dog liked being petted so rubbed against me. I petted it more. It started rolling on top of me, wanting to be petted and played with. The dog and I rolled around, roughhoused, and had fun. That was the dream.…

In the late 1990s and early 2000s, a friend invited himself into a social group of mine. He was a good friend, as were the people in the other group, but at the time I wanted to keep them separate. As it turned out, my initial impulse to keep them separate was baseless. He fit in the group and everyone got along. Except for one thing. At some of the early times he joined the group, I don't know how to put it: I resented what I saw as him intruding. Whereas normally when we hung out, I'd speak openly, we'd joke around, and enjoy each other's company, while out with the other group, I'd communicate less and more perfunctorily. For a while I looked…