The "Twin Towers" of the World Trade Center. The North Tower is on the left, the South Tower on the right.
1 World Trade Center North Tower (with the antenna), not long after being struck by American Airlines Flight 11.
Struck at 8:46 a.m., it took almost two hours, or 102 minutes, for the North Tower to burn and then collapse. The impact zone was between floors 93 and 99. One of the most memorable shots from 9/11, is the famous 'Waving Woman of the World Trade Center.'
As for the 'Waving Woman's' identity, people have suggested that she may have been Edna Cintron:
Edna Cintron was a 46-year-old administrative assistant for Marsh & McLennan brokerage firm.
Another of the famous 9/11 shots of the North Tower shows people- most likely employees from the investment banking/financial services company Cantor Fitzgerald, who lost 658 people- leaning out the windows of the building, trying desperately to get air.
It's impossible to imagine being surrounded by smoke filtering into the offices above the impact zone, and the only way to get even a breath of fresh air, is to press against the windows of the office, eventually becoming stacked like sardines in the windows. Now imagine doing that in the windows of the 106th or 110th floor...
"You're able to see more and more people assembling at the windows as time is passing, not only assembled but they're stacked up against each other. Imagine leaning out of the hundredth and ninth floor of the World Trade Center, no rational person would do that."
- Eric Lipton, New York Times reporter
The first official victim of the September 11th attacks, was Father Mychal Judge, chaplain of the New York City Fire Department. While giving last rites to another victim, Father Judge was killed by falling debris, and later carried out by firefighters of the department he was chaplain of.
Father Mychal Judge
(May 11, 1933 - September 11, 2001)
Photograph by Shannon Stapleton.
As the tower became engulfed in flame and smoke, people on the floors above the impact zone- 91 to 110- began moving to the windows. It's not impossible to imagine what the choices were to the ones trapped on the floors above the impact zone: suffocate and burn up, or jump. It's no surprise that those that chose to jump- "jumpers" as firefighters working that day catagorized them- in a most likely desperate, final attempt to take back some control of their lives, and choose how they would die.
One of the most haunting images of "jumpers" is perhaps that of the 'Falling Man' by photographer Richard Drew:
The man appears symmetrical; he divides the towers, the North on the left, the South on the right. He appears so calm, so accepting of his fate, that it's scary.
"I just remember looking up, thinking, how bad is it up there that the better option is to jump?” -Joe Casaliggi, NYFD, Engine 7, 9/11 documentary
Those that jumped fell in 10 seconds, and hit the ground at 150 miles an hour- a fall that doesn't cause instant unconsiousness, but does kill quickly and instantly on impact with the pavement or whatever they landed on. The majority were from Cantor Fitzgerald (floors 101 to 105), Marsh & McLennon (93 to 100) and the Windows of the World restaurant (floors 106 and 107).
Everyone from the 90th floor up to 110th floor perished when the North Tower collapsed- either by jumping or suffocating or being crushed as the towers fell.
The collapse of the North Tower at 10:28 a.m. 1 World Trade Center was the second to fall, despite being the first hit. After 102 minutes, the tower fell, taking hundreds of lives with it.
It's a sight we- as a nation, a world, a generation- will never forget.
On September 11, 2001, American Airlines Flight 11 from Boston was hijacked in midair and flown into 1 World Trade Center North Tower at 8:46 a.m. It impacted between the 93rd and 99th floors of the North Tower, killing everyone onboard the plane instantly.
The impact of Flight 11 into the North Tower, with the silhouette of the plane clearly visible.
All 87 victims, flight crew and passengers- minus the hijackers- boarded Flight 11 with no idea that they would later crash into the North Tower not long after take off.
Included among the victims:
"I see water. I see buildings. I see buildings! We are flying low. We are flying very, very low. We are flying way too low. Oh my God we are flying way too low. Oh my God!"
- Amy Sweeney's last words to Michael Woodward, American Airlines Manager
Amy Sweeney wasn't supposed to work on September 11, 2001. She took an extra shift for an ill co-worker.
1960s actress Berry Berenson died on September 11, 2001. Her ex-husband, Anthony Perkins of Psycho fame, died on September 12, 1992. It's interesting that the actor and actress died one day and nine years apart.
Sara Low, a 28-year-old flight attendant, was no scheduled to work that fateful day.
The producer of Fraiser, Cheers and Wings, David Angell, was also killed on Flight 11, along with his wife. In a creepy twist, on an episode of Fraiser, filmed four years before 9/11, one of the characters arrives in Seattle on American Airlines Flight 11.
A screenshot of the impact of Flight 11 imploding as it hits the North Tower from the documentary 9/11.
The plane's impact into the North Tower killed all 92 on board, and several in the impact zone of floors 93 and 99.
Landing gear from American Airlines Flight 11 that landed at West and Rector Street.
Of all the images of September 11, 2001, this, is perhaps the image we remember most:
The already-smouldering 1 World Trade Center North Tower, spewing black smoke from the imploding impact of American Airlines Flight 11 into the air, as United Airlines Flight 175 implodes after impact into 2 World Trade Center South Tower, looking like a modern day image of Pearl Harbor.
And for my generation and younger, 9/11 is our Pearl Harbor.
American Airlines Flight 11 impacted between the 93rd and 99th floors of the North Tower, killing all 92 on impact at 8:46 a.m. People from floors 90 down were able to escape; everyone from 91 up to 110 perished in the later collapse of 1 WTC, including Frank De Martini and Pablo Ortiz, two Port Authority workers who helped 77 people escape from floors 89 to 90 after the inital impact of Flight 11.
Meanwhile, United Airlines Flight 175 impacted between floors 77 and 85, killing all 65 passengers and crew instantly at 9:02 a.m. Everyone from floors 77 down, including 18 from the impact zone and the floors above the impact, managed to escape. Those 18 only did so by way of Stairwell A; miraculously, it had remained intact after Flight 175's impact.
It was the greatest terrorist disaster in the state of New York and America, since the Oklahoma Bombing. Over 3,000 were killed; the world over sat in stunned silence as the planes hit the WTC and the towers fell.
I was in sixth grade when the towers fell. I remember getting to school early and watching the news on the TV in one of my teacher's classrooms, as the towers burned and later fell. I remember when they shut the TV off and then started class; refusing to tell us what had happened or explain what was going on. We didn't find out until later what had happened.
My friends and I grew up in the last ten years, watching the horror unfold on TV, listening to politicians use 9/11 and the over 3,000 deaths on that day as fuel to invade a country that had nothing to do with the WTC, and watching friends and loved ones go over seas to fight for a noble cause. We lived the eight years after under a president who launched the biggest witch hunt since the McCarthy era. We lived in a nation where, if you were unpatriotic, or disagreed with what the president was doing, you were labeled unpatriotic, or if your thinking was to extremes- a terrorist or a traitor.
This image- of three NY firefighters raising the flag at the wreckage of the Towers- is a modern day exact replica of the raising of the flag at Iwo Jima.
When I was back east in 2008- my mom, grandma and I were going on a cruise- we watched that morning as we were getting ready and packing up to go to the harbor, the news coverage as they- NY firefighters, police officers, and others- made the same run they and other colleagues took that fated day in September.
I could go on and on in this entry, but I think I'll just do a series of articles over the course of today.
Because this day, like Pearl Harbor, is worth remembering.
I've noticed a pattern- ever since my audition in L.A., things have been going downhill. I try- I strive to be the best possible that I can be, and it never seems to add up. I'm always doing something wrong. Or saying something wrong.
Somehow, I always end up the one getting hurt, even at my own expense. Even when I hurt others. Even though I try not to show it. I guess that's why I'm a performer. Fake smiles and chitchat come naturally to me. I can hide the tears in my eyes while I'm doing tour en lairs and singing Gershwin.
You know what I mean.
I'm an actress.
It's my profession.
It's natural.
And I don't mean it to be, I just....
I don't know how else to react. I cry when I get home, ball into my coffee, and take to the dance floor or the computer to fill the void of whatever I've lost.
I try to be strong; I put on a good front, when I want to rip my hair out and scream at the top of my lungs. I tell everyone that I'm okay, when all I really want to do is curl up in a ball and sob until I can't breathe. And when I do let go, I lose my temper and go after everyone in my path until there's nothing left but blood and carnage.
And I'm sorry.
I'm truly sorry.
Everyone thinks I'm wonderful, that I'm such a good girl, that I do what I'm told and I don't talk back to people, that I don't have an evil or bad thought in my head. If you really knew me, you'd see sides of me that you wouldn't like. You'd see sides of me that scare me; and that I wish I could get rid of.
I hate myself. I hate that I fool everyone, that I can't be honest with myself. I hate that I don't see what they see when they look at me. I hate that I have such a negative image of myself, but I don't know how to change it. I hate that I spend the majority of my time apologizing for things I didn't even do.
They had every right to lay me off. A friend of mine said that if they don't pay me for the four days I work after payday, that that's a crime of some sort or other; that they owe me for the four days I work after payday and until my last day. It doesn't matter whether I get paid for the four days I work after payday or not.
They don't owe me anything other than my paycheck on the 16th. That's all they owe me. Nothing more, nothing less.
I will miss the people though. I love working at the store, and the people are wonderful and they've become good friends, and I'll miss them come my last work day.
But as for the store, they don't owe me anything. Nothing. And I don't want anything.
No, that's not true.
I do want something, but not from the store.
I want....
I just want....
I just want someone to tell me that everything's going to be okay.
That I'm going to be okay.
Made a wrong turn
Once or twice
Dug my way out
Blood and fire
Bad decisions
That's alright
Welcome to my silly life
Mistreated
Misplaced
Misunderstood
Miss knowing it's all good
It didnt slow me down.
Mistaking
Always second guessing
Underestimating
Look I'm still around
Pretty, pretty please
Dont you ever, ever feel
Like you're less than
Fucking perfect
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you're nothing
You're fucking perfect to me
You're so mean
When you talk
About yourself, you were wrong
Change the voices in your head
Make them like you instead
So complicated
Look how we all make it
Filled with so much hatred
Such a tired game
It's enough
I've done all I can think of
Chased down all my demons
I've seen you do the same
Oh
Pretty, pretty please
Dont you ever, ever feel
Like you're less than
Fucking perfect
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you're nothing
You're fucking perfect to me
The whole worlds scared
So I swallow the fear
The only thing I should be drinking
Is an ice cold beer
So cool in line
And we try, try, try
But we try too hard
And it's a waste of my time
Done looking for the critics
Cause they're everywhere
They don't like my jeans
They don't get my hair
Exchange ourselves
And we do it all the time
Why do we do that?
Why do I do that?
Why do I do that?
Yeeeeaaaahhh
Oooooooh
Oh baby pretty please
Pretty, pretty please
Dont you ever feel
Like you're less than
Fucking perfect
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you're nothing
You're fucking perfect to me
You're perfect, you're perfect
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you're nothing
You're fucking perfect to me
Karma karma karma karma karma chameleon,
you come and go, you come and go.
Loving would be easy if your colours were like my dream,
red gold and green, red gold and green.
- Karma Chameleon, Culture Club, 1983
First thing's first- I didn't get into the school. After I got the letter, I got drunk on white zinfandel wine, to the point that I blacked out and woke up the next morning feeling like I'd been shoved through a meat grinder.
And then, to make matters worse, I destroyed one of the best friendships I've ever had, not to mention the closest thing to a relationship I'm ever going to experience with an old friend from school. And to put the icing on the cake, I ran out of my Prozac about two weeks ago, and.... well, things have gone downhill from there.
I don't focus well when I'm not on my Prozac- in fact, focusing is nonexistant when I'm off my meds- and when I've been off of it for as long as I have- almost two weeks- then I have trouble functioning with basic everyday things like shelving books or doing math. My appetite- or loss of- is also affected by my not being on my Prozac. I focus or try to on something so much, I go without stopping, and I over think continuously when I'm off my meds, that food or the act of eating slips my mind completely, and I go all day without injesting anything other than coffee.
When I'm off my meds- even for a day- I turn to music more than ever. My mp3 player is constantly on, I've always got my headphones in my ears, and I'm hitting the replay button every two minutes. When I get home from work, I'm pulling up either Youtube to play music videos, or www.playlist.com to play the music I've added to my playlist there. I play music until I could sing it in my sleep, until I'm mouthing the words to myself on the bus on my way to work, until I get so sick of the song that I decide to play something else.
Tonight, it's Karma Chameleon by Culture Club.
If you couldn't already tell.
Another thing I do, is pick apart the lyrics and figure out what they're referencing or what the meaning behind them is. Or what I think the meaning is.
So here goes; I've picked apart the first verse of the song with what I think the meaning behind it is:
Desert loving in your eyes all the way.
If I listen to your lies would you say
I'm a man without conviction,
I'm a man who doesn't know
how to sell a contradiction.
You come and go, you come and go.
'Desert loving in your eyes all the way'- I don't know about this first line 'If I listen to your lies would you say'- If he were to actually listen to what the person had to say 'I'm a man without conviction'- He has no strong beliefs to hold the relationship together 'I'm a man who doesn't know how to sell a contradiction'- He doesn't know how/want to deal w/inconsistencies in the relationship 'You come and go, you come and go'- The subject is unable to make up their mind about what they want/or even if they want the relationship at all; they constantly leave and come back to him
That's basically what I do when I'm listening to music on nights when I can't focus on one thing or grow bored with trying to focus on something- but more often when I'm off my Prozac or adjusting to being back on it after a period of time without.
Basically, this is what my mind does when it's in overdrive.
Pretty scary, huh?
'Desert loving in your eyes all the way.' - I'm not sure about this first line 'If I listen to your lies would you say' - If he were to actually listen to what the person had to say 'I'm a man without conviction,'- She believes he has no strong beliefs to hold the relationship together 'I'm a man who doesn't know How to sell a contradiction.' - He doesn't know how/want to deal w/inconsistencies in the relationship 'You come and go, you come and go.'- The subject is unable to make up their mind about the relationship; they constantly leave and then come back to him
'Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon,'- Fate or destiny constantly changes 'You come and go, you come and go.'- The person he's involved with is flightly with the relationship 'Loving would be easy'- The relationship would go much better 'If your colours were like my dream,'- If the person showed their true colors 'Red, gold and green, red, gold and green.'- I haven't figured out this one yet
'Didn't hear your wicked words every day'- The relationship works really well some days 'And you used to be so sweet, I heard you say'- The person could be really sweet and caring 'That my love was an addiction.'- He loves them deeply; to the point that he's addicted 'When we cling, our love is strong.'- When they are together, their relationship works 'When you go, you're gone forever.'- When the person leaves, they are away for days 'You string along, you string along.'- All they do is string him along
'Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon,'- Fate or destiny constantly changes 'You come and go, you come and go.'- The person he's involved with is flightly with the relationship 'Loving would be easy'- The relationship would go much better 'If your colours were like my dream,'- If the person showed their true colors 'Red, gold and green, red, gold and green.'- I haven't figured out this one yet
'Every day is like survival,'- They try to make the relationship work, even on the hardest days 'You're my lover, not my rival.'- Indecision could be ruining the relationship 'Every day is like survival,'- They really try to make the relationship work 'You're my lover, not my rival.'- He's trying to get them to see that the relationship could work
'I'm a man without conviction,'- She believes he has no strong beliefs to hold the relationship together 'I'm a man who doesn't know How to sell a contradiction.'- He doesn't know how/want to deal w/inconsistencies in the relationship 'You come and go, you come and go.'- Unable to make up their mind about the relationship, the subject constantly leaves and then comes back to him
'Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon,'- Fate or destiny constantly changes 'You come and go, you come and go.'- The person he's involved with is flightly 'Loving would be easy'- The relationship would- and could- go much better 'If your colours were like my dream,'- If the person showed their true colors 'Red, gold and green, red, gold and green.'- I still haven't figured this one out yet
'Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon,'- Fate or destiny constantly changes 'You come and go, you come and go.'- The person he's involved with is flightly 'Loving would be easy'- The relationship would- and could- go much better 'If your colours were like my dream,'- If the person showed their true colors 'Red, gold and green, red, gold and green.'- I don't think I'll figure this one out
'Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon,'- Fate or destiny constantly changes 'You come and go, you come and go.'- The person he's involved with is flightly 'Loving would be easy'- The relationship would- and could- go much better 'If your colours were like my dream,'- If the person showed their true colors 'Red, gold and green, red, gold and green.'- I give up on this one
Karma = Fate or destiny. Chameleon = Changeable or inconstant, usually referring to a person.
Karma Chameleon = People are inconstant or changeable. Fate/destiny is inconstant or changeable.
Wild Child: NOUN: reckless person: a reckless, impulsive, and undisciplined person, usually a young adult ( informal )
I'm a late bloomer. I've always been a late bloomer.
I didn't have a boyfriend until I was fourteen, I had my heart broken at sixteen, I got kissed at seventeen (I broke up with him that same year), I'm still a virgin, I don't smoke, the only drugs I do are prescribed to me, and I don't drink that much- only when I deem alcohol necessary. I don't drive, and I'm a coffee addict; I'm street smart, naive, and too ignorant for my own damn good.
I've never been wild; I never went out on school nights and partied until dawn, I never snuck out of the house and went joy riding with friends, I've never stolen anything. I grew up surrounded by kids that vandalized and stole, snuck out and partied. I was never like that.
Instead, I put all my energy into the performing arts: dance, acting, singing, and even writing. I'm friends with an ex-classmate that does my headshots for the small fee of a cup of coffee and lunch out. I went out Wednesday night with a guy from my Literature class and walked along the river with him, and when we finally got to the park, I kissed him in between star gazing and laying on his chest in the wet grass.
I'm the normal girl in every way but one. I've never been reckless. Getting drunk last night on white zinfandel wine was the most reckless I've ever been. But lately, I've considered sneaking out of the house and getting drunk with a few friends at a dance club, and since Wednesday night, every time I look at a guy, I want to do a strip tease and French him.
Maybe it's just my hormones going haywire, or maybe I'm finally coming into my own, I don't know, but it scares me half to death. I've never been like this, nor have I ever wanted to. I'm not a wild child...
It's been almost three months since I last updated. My last post was officially April 23rd. In that time, I've:
Finished and passed all my classes at the community college
Finished and edited twenty-five chapters of my novel-in-progress
Mentored six Young Chautauquans- four as their official group leader, and two as just a mentor
Have now worked at the bookstore for almost two months
Finished my physical therapy and can now start Pointe
Scheduled an auditon for a school back east, and my audition comes up in a day's time.
I've dreamed about going back east for so long, planned for almost four years, and now that it could be a very real possibility-
I'm terrified.
I've never been so terrified of anything in my entire life. The fact that this- New York, school, Broadway- could actually happen.....
But let me start at the beginning of this little soiriee into Los Angeles.
I got off work at about 4:30 yesterday, and my godparents dropped my mom and I off at the airport. We got there two hours early, checked our bags in, and then we got something to eat before sitting and relaxing. I, naturally, bought a cup of coffee, and then sat fiddling with my phone as we sat and caught our breath. Not long after, however, I began to feel sick to my stomach- whether from going for almost six hours without eating and then having lunch, or from the reality that at 7:20 I'd be on a plane to the city that would play a major part in deciding my future, or perhaps it was a combination of both- but whatever the reason, I slipped off to the bathroom and spent several minutes at the sink, splashing my face with water and taking several deep breaths.
When we finally decided to go up and go through checkout, did what any person going through checkout does- has our passes signed, and then put our things in the bins to be sent through the scanner. I went through the walk-through first, it went off, and when I went to remove what was possibly setting it off- my belt with the metal accents, my bangles, earrings and necklace- the security guard pulled me aside. Mom, by that time had managed to pass through without incident and was getting her things.
While I'm taking my jewelry off, the security guard asks me- out of the blue:
"What's your nationality?"
Now, to any nonstressed person, this would be a perfectly rational question to answer. But to me- who had just got off a stressful day at work, been going through free therapy with a friend, and has been pinching every penny to pay for this trip, on top of memorizing two monologues, sending FASFA papers to the school, scheduling the audition and passing my finals- this was the straw that broke the camel's back.
So imagine the look of surprise on my face at the gall of this security guard asking me what my nationality was.
My response?
"You have got to be kidding me."
"No. I want to know what your nationality is."
So I told him. My nationality and a few other things that were on my already frazzled mind.
"Look, I have had a really stressful day at work, my mom's back went out a week ago, and I've been saving as much of my paychecks as I can to pay for this trip. I have an audition on Monday at 12:30 in Los Angeles that decides whether or not I go back to this school in New York this coming fall. And you're asking me what my nationality is?"
"While I wish you the best of luck with the audition, I still need to know your nationality."
At that point, I was so frazzled, I gave in.
"Fine. Fine. Here's my nationality. And if you don't believe me, ask my mom. And my mom is the woman on the other side of the security scanner waiting for me. So here's my nationality: Scottish, Irish, English, Dutch, Swedish, German, Welsh, and Mexican. You hear me? MEXICAN. Not Iraqi, not Irani, not any other -ani, MEXICAN."
He just stared at me like I'd lost my mind. And at that point, I wanted to scream.
"Okay. That's nice. Try it again." Didn't even bat an eyelash.
So I went through the scanner, and- luckily- passed through without it going off. When I finally collected my things, I shot the guard a dirty look, and he glanced from my mom to me and back. Knowing him, he probably thought I'd kidnapped her or something, because anyone that knows me, and has seen my mom....
Well, let's just say, there's contrasting skin tones.
And when we finally got in line to board the plane, the security- once again, for some ungodly known reason- picked me. They pulled Mom and I aside and checked my carryon- again. And then- here's the irony of the situation-
The security guard who checked my bag put a cookie into my carryon, saying that I was a good girl and deserved a treat. I felt like a dog that had been told to roll over and once I'd done the trick, was given a belly rub and a dog buscuit.
If the situation wasn't already so stressful, it would have been almost funny.
Once we were seated on the plane- well, let me put it this way-
More than anything, what I'm terrified of, is not the actual flying itself, but the take off. Not the descent, not the flying, the take off. Something about something so big leaving the ground and being able to stay up scares me half to death. So I did what I normally do- hold onto the seat until my knuckles turned white, and started hyperventilating. The entire time we're moving down the runway, I'm freaking out. I don't know why it terrifies me, it just does.
Well, with everything that's gone on in the last few days, something has to go right.
