A Personal Narrative of Drugs and Youth and 9/11

I guess the events of 9/11 will always be fuzzy in my mind. Not fuzzy because of confusion or disillusionment, but fuzzy because I have never had a clear idea of what happened there. I visited the site a week ago and took a walking audio tour of the surrounding areas, a program run by the Tribute WTC Visitor Center, to get a better idea of the tragedy.

On September 11, 2001, two hijacked planes hurtled into the two World Trade Center towers in downtown Manhattan. It was an apparently coordinated suicide attack by al-Qaeda. An estimated 2,749 people were murdered that day.

All that is clear to me. They are the basic facts. But, when this happened, I was all the way in Los Angeles, just waking up to a normal school day. I was in the eighth grade.

Anything that happens when you’re 13 is less important than you are. And years later, even the most vivid memories always seem to glaze over with uncertain details and missing bits. The only memories I have from that day are as follows:

My parents called to wake me up for school. Our family had just added a second phone line to our house, one for the kids, one for the adults. A ringing phone was my alarm clock.

One parent (I can’t even remember which) said: “Good morning, it’s time to get up for school. Oh, and a plane just hit the World Trade Center.”

Fuzzy from sleep, that meant nothing to me. Even passing by the television to the kitchen for breakfast didn’t thrill me; I was 13. And I had never even known what those two towers were. I had only seen them in pictures.

After that, things blur again. I remember that our teachers weren’t allowed to show the news to us during school hours, and I remember the image of the smoking towers and the scrolling news lines. But that’s about it. The rest is lost in my 13-year-old mind.

Last week, when I went to the WTC site, I was drugged up, and not on purpose. I had been really sick during the previous days and was trying to clear my lungs by using Mucinex. But, of course, I’m one of those rare cases that experiences stronger-than-normal side effects with this particular drug and I was actually high. Lightheaded. Confused. Blurry eyed. And fuzzy.


So, even though I had an emotive voice narrating the whole event from start to finish, I could hardly concentrate. The $10 tour seems obscure and distant to me now. My notes from the day are scribbles of quotes and random details. I was tipsy! I could hardly walk straight! How was I supposed to take in the enormity of the tales and tragedies displayed before me?

All I know for sure is what anyone can see there right now: that the remains of 9/11 are a sad and unfortunate shadow of what used to tower triumphantly into the sky.

But I look at it another way. The remains are beautiful. And on a sunny day, you can see the beautiful reflection of the sun bouncing off the glass buildings surrounding the site, while cranes and rusty metal arch in front of them, indicating the rebuilding of a new monument, a new downtown, a new America and (we hope) a new world.

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Julie Doiron – Will You Still Love Me In . . .

Book Review: Pete Hamill's "Downtown: My Manhattan"

Pete Hamill knows New York. There’s no arguing that. His book Downtown: My Manhattan, first published in 2004, is a crash-course in New York history and culture, both for natives and outsiders. He skillfully blends nostalgia with New York now, giving readers history while making his present-day activities somehow relevant.


The son of Irish immigrants, Hamill incorporates his own Brooklyn-born past with the immigrant tale. He takes readers on a walking tour of his downtown, pulling us from Battery Park to Times Square (and beyond!). He weaves through history, narrating the Knickerbocker tale, revealing Herman Melville’s Pearl Street birthplace, reporting the mysterious appearance of the angry bull in front of the Stock Exchange and telling about the founding of the Village Voice. There’s just so much to take in!

Nostalgia is key, mostly because of the constant loss – and acceptance of loss – that New Yorkers face every day. Hell, I become nostalgic for New York’s past, and I have only lived here a few years.

His style is conversational, but still eloquent. His stories are informed and sentimental, and they add context to a city that over eight million people call home – eight million people who probably know little about its amazing story.

The only drawback of the book is that the reading can sometimes become tiresome or heavy. This is not because of Hamill himself, mind you, but because of constant facts and historical details that weigh down the narrative at times. Well, sometimes it's Hamill's fault. He gets a bit too sentimental every once in a while, which might distract readers (like me). But it isn’t long before he makes his next reference to the film Black Orpheus or to playwright Harold Pinter or some other fascinating detail, pulling readers back into the glorious past of New York.

It’s a good read, definitely. Still, not as good as Miroslav Sasek’s children’s book, This Is New York.

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Telepathe – So Fine

"Orpheus and Eurydice" by the Brooklyn Repertory Opera + special depression ticket prices!

You may have just lost your job — but the last thing you want to sacrifice is your opera tickets.

But next week, thanks to the Brooklyn Repertory Opera, you won’t have to, as the mostly volunteer-run company offers the unemployed a $5 ticket to “Orpheus and Eurydice.”

Read the rest of my story at The Brooklyn Paper site here.

(Yeah, it's not in Williamsburg, but hey – that's pretty cool. I am definitely going to try to check it out, if only because the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice is one of my favourites!)

And, speaking of Orpheus and Eurydice, here's a clip from one of my favourite films, based off that tale. It's a Brazilian film: Black Orpheus.

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Asobi Seksu – Nefi and Girly

Self-Guided Graffiti Tour in the Burg

Who doesn't love vandalism? Last month, I took a self-guided tour of graffiti in the Burg.

The great thing about graffiti in Williamsburg is that it adds so much to the environment. Banksy-esque stencils of giraffes and old radio sets, little and big, can be found emerging in between cafés and vintage stores. Bedford's bricks are decoratively painted, but the most interesting pieces are beyond that main street.

Far from Bedford, there is a clump of works by a group called Mötug (Monsters of the Undaground). This area is a bit less welcoming, probably because it has less life to its streets and a few huge warehouses. One warehouse, on the corner of Keap and Hope streets, is full to the brim with graffiti. The colors are brilliant and blended so artistically – blue splattered on a red base with a yellow band across the top.

And imperfections are not bad. With posters, excess glue comes out of the sides. Painted graffiti sometimes has chips in the paint revealing an under layer of slightly faded, older graffiti. Pictures of geishas, subway trains, angels, break-dancers and more cover the walls in an artistic way. It's much different than when a kid with a can of spray paint just scribbles his name.

It's not so much a feeling of vandalism; it's more about art and community. Graffiti in Williamsburg lies interspersed with local gems – restaurants, bars, shops and cafes – and adds flavor rather than "vandalism" to the area.

Posters splattered with paint. (A secondary thought?)

My friend Anita in front of the Keap/Hope warehouse.


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Appaloosa – The Day (We Fell In Love)

Review: Tapes 'n Tapes at Music Hall of Williamsburg

Tapes 'n Tapes played to a full and energetic crowd at the Music Hall of Williamsburg on Feb. 26. I was lucky enough to be there to photograph the show.

See my review on the Washington Square News blog here. (Right now, there is a grammatical error that wasn't my fault. I emailed my editor, so he should fix it soon.)

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Love Is All – Last Choice

Event: Handmade Music Night at 3rd Ward

When things are “handmade,” they tend to be overpriced, underappreciated and largely unknown. The Handmade Music Night, held on the third Thursday of every month at Brooklyn artist facility 3rd Ward, fits two of those designations – and overpriced is certainly not one of them. The event is not only free, but the organizers also hand out free Pabst Blue Ribbon all night!

According to the 3rd Ward Web site and fliers, the event is “part party, part mixer, part Science Fair, and part performance,” and it is “an informal chance for geeksters and the geek-curious to come together, relax, and discover new sounds.”

Eric Beug and Peter Kirn, of handmade product market site Etsy and www.createdigitalmusic.com, respectively, were there to run the show. The event began when the companies combined the idea of handmade items with new musical possibilities, and opened up a forum for others who had done the same to showcase their work.

“Whether it’s flower pots or computer software, it’s important for the musicians to shape what music they’re making,” Kirn said. “This is just kind of a sharing space for anyone interested in making their own music.”

And for this monthly night of handicraft harmonies, Kirn and Beug have seen just about every kind of instrument you can imagine, from a musical ironing board to mannequins, from a giant wall of light switches to a man with musical crutches, which he made the day of the event.

“People just come out of the woodwork with this amazing stuff,” Beug said.

On Feb. 19, a band called Electric Junkyard Gamelan performed its Indonesian-inspired “new Gamelan” music. (Gamelan music is traditionally an ensemble of musicians where the instruments take more focus than the performers.) Terry Dame is one of the leading members (as singer, organizer, and multi-strange-instrument builder and player), and she said playing the show was worth it.

“New York is tough,” she said. “I’ve lived here so long and it’s always hard to draw a crowd. It’s nice to play events with a built-in crowd [such as Handmade Music].”

Though the band doesn’t get paid, Dame said that the group sold some CDs and filled their email list, which is all they could ask for.

And her display of instruments are, indeed, fascinating, from a drum set made of pots, pans and other metal objects to a xylophone-like set-up created entirely from flower pots.

Two musicians from Electric Junkyard Gamelan playing clay pots.

“I find rusty metal things beautiful,” she said. “I just have things lying around that I turn into instruments.”

She even told a story between songs about somebody once emailing her saying that she was “the Pete Townshend of clay pots.”

Dame has gadgets that looked so refined and professional, like her sitello, a string instrument based off of a plank of wood that lies in the musician’s lap. Knobs jut out from on top, balancing delicate strings that play sound at even the slightest touch. And the band members play each tune with delicacy and precision.

Made-up instruments galore for Electric Junkyard Gamelan.

The wondrous appearance and sound of these tools fascinated the audience members, including Simo Vassinen, a native of Finland living in New York for a few months. The handcrafted contraptions were interesting, Vassinen said, but he was really captivated by the band’s talent and knowledge.

“You could tell that they were pro musicians as opposed to random hipsters picking up shit and playing around, making goofy sounds,” he said. “I was surprised by how melodic it was, instead of just being noise.”

And how did Vassinen find out about it? Through a friend.

So let’s get the motors to your mouths running, because this homemade event deserves to be known, shared and appreciated – just like the musicians it exhibits.


Video of Electric Junkyard Gamelan playing:

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Ninjasonik – Art School Girls

MANHATTAN STORY: Brothers at Bowery

There are lessons to be learned at The Bowery Mission, a homeless shelter located at 227 Bowery in Manhattan. Whether feigned or factual, the stories I heard when I visited last week were the kind that stick with a person, and they keep ringing in your ears days later.

There was Alexander Romero, a clean looking guy wearing jeans, a jean jacket and a nice blue sweater vest – who used to do crack, weed and cocaine. And then there’s Steve Zakrzewski, a man who looks like anybody’s father in his checkered blue collared shirt (with a tie) and glasses – and he took the long route south with alcoholism. Or even the Bowery’s Director of Outreach, James Macklin, who was once a participant in the Bowery’s program because he lost a business to cocaine and found himself sleeping on the A subway train.

“I was a taker and not a giver,” Macklin said. “Cars, clothes, women and song. Now, I’m a giver instead of a taker.”

The people who come through The Bowery Mission, which was established in 1879, go through a program that involves learning about the Bible and taking classes to better situate themselves for the job market. The Bowery Mission even houses and feeds its members while helping them find jobs when they graduate from the program. The meals are open to the homeless, too, not just those who found their way to the homey institution.

Religion plays a major role in their rehabilitation. Each person there had a story of, not exactly rags to riches, but rags to Jesus. They all shared stories of how they got caught up in bad things – drugs or otherwise – and told us students that we should never let anything control our lives, except for faith in God.

The organ pipes in the chapel at The Bowery Mission.

Zakrzewski said that accepting Jesus Christ as his personal savior was what helped him most.

“I never had that motivation, that comfort, that peace of mind before,” he said. “And there’s a lot of counseling between brothers.”

Those involved with The Bowery Mission really become a family – a pack of brothers, lost and found.

That’s the thing that stuck out to me most: the brothers. In the living quarters, which looked like a mixture between an army bunker and a college dorm with its rows and rows of bunk beds and closets, I found a sign: a sign that reminded the brothers to turn out the lights when not in the room.

It addressed them as “Brothers.” Next to that, it said “& Bro’s,” which was scribbled out, and “Brethern” [sic] was written above that. The misspelling was charming rather than annoying (which is saying a lot for me, a spelling and grammar nut), and its sentiment was as endearing as it was welcoming.

Take notes, Beau!


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Animal Collective – My Girls