In Harvard square.

Go Portland!

Patrick.

We’ve been drinking and listening to Jefferson Airplane since he arrived.

Joe in my living room.

One pill makes you larger

Jacob and Kerri.

And one pill makes you small

And the white knight is talking backwards

Man, that is one scary image.

Mine don’t.

Today is my 7th consecutive day without a cigarette. This morning, it just doesn’t feel worthwhile.

In a restaurant in Manhattan.

Don’t worry folks; General Cinema has everything under control.

999×720

You know who you are.

So, I got one of those US Robotics wireless audio transmitters. Don’t go there; it’s a total piece of shit. The signal is very messy, full of clicks and pops, and no amount of tuning and fiddling will improve it.

Near our old office in Cambridge.

Taxi map, with towers intact.

I think what struck me most about the whole experience is how fresh and raw and real the attacks still are in New York, nearly two months later. In Boston, and, I imagine, in other cities, the events of September 11th still loom heart-wrenching and terrible and very very significant, but some time ago they acquired the shiny gloss of a distant event which is now well-understood and defined and encapsulated by the media and about which it is now, finally, okay to be ironic and sarcastic and glib and oh-so-gen-y. To some degree, we’ve already moved on.

But that’s not at all the way things seem to be in New York. Everyone I talked to about the state of the city used the same phrase: “We’re still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

I think this is just to the right of where #2 WTC used to be.

Down at ground zero, the air is still rank with the odor of damp burnt wood and building materials, and in some places the dust is so thick in the air that it stings your eyes and throat. It’s hard to describe the smell precisely, mainly because we don’t have a lot of good words for describing odors, but it’s a little like what the steam would smell like if you set a bunch of wood and paper and drywall on fire, and then poured water over it. Sitting here in my bedroom in Boston nearly twelve hours after my visit downtown, the smell of it is still on my hands and face and clothing.

There were hundreds of other tourists like me, walking around taking pictures and talking into cell phones. Some people were crying. Most just stared. There are still tons of police and rescue workers too, and the nearby bars and restaurants were full of tired faces.

It was hard to get very many good pictures, since most of the area was cordoned off with tall, green-mesh fencing, and because, for many many people, ground zero is a crime scene, a place of work, and a place of mourning.

You have to zoom in to see the writing on the sign.

I tried to circumambulate the whole area, but it was so big, and I was tired, and I had to catch my return train. Overall the experience of visiting the WTC site made me feel like I’ve been insensitive and jaded in already thinking about what happened as “an important sociohistorical event,” and too quickly forgetting the human impact.

In a software store one block from ground zero.

I have a bunch more photos. If I get the time later this week, I may put them up.

Right next door to Sausage Manor.

It’s 2AM, and I’m supposed to be at the train station in about 4 hours.

Another sleepless night.

It’s funny how much the ordinary things have changed since the attacks. I have to be at the train station at 5:45 in the morning to get to an eleven o’clock meeting in New York. In the old days, I would have rolled out of bed at 8:30, left my apartment at 8:45, caught the 9:00 USAir shuttle and been in Manhattan by 10:30, with time to spare.

To which you might rightly say: “That is so 9/10.”

But these days you have to be at the airport two hours before your departure time — we really mean it — and the train’s cheaper anyway. Besides, there’s something romantic about stepping out my apartment door onto the T and taking trains all the way into Manhattan. A complete rail connection from my house to Penn Station.

In front of the international arrivals door at Logan airport.