Tuesday September 18. 2001


In terms of Where Were You When:

When the first plane hit the Trade Center last Tuesday, I was in my Advanced Ceramics class watching a video on the French artist Cristo wrapping some bridge with cloth. He was pompous and the video was rather boring, and I dozed throughout. Today, we did the same thing (it seems that Tuesday has become video day), only it was about some dude from South Africa, I can't even remember his name now, that did all these strange drawing animations, including but not limited to various buildings falling down and people lying on the ground, dead. Sure, it was social commentary or whatever. But it just didn't feel right, under the circumstances.

John still isn't back at work, and has no idea when he's going back. I talk to him every night, and I ache to be with him, for us to talk face to face, and for me to hold him and just try to make it all okay, even though I know I can't. Hopefully I will be taking a bus up to NYC this weekend, if it all works out. I'm not sure how I'm going to feel about that. So many times I've driven up the NJ turnpike, and when I saw the towers, I knew I was there soon. They were like a beacon. I don't know what it's going to be like for them to just not be there.

dad -

here's a list of everything from the car i can remember. i included everything, i'm not sure what is important or not:

1. bike helmet
2. 5 disc CD changer
3. wood table frame
4. 24 pack of bottled water
5. approx. 20 cassette tapes
6. the club (one)
7. 5 star 3 ring binder w/zipper, composition notebook, papers, sketchbooks
8. stuff that was in the trunk - blankets, sweatshirts, motor oil, various fluids

love me

I'm really starting to be angry about my car. Not so much about the car itself, but mostly about #7 in the list above. In that binder was three years' worth of papers - articles, technical information, old research papers, diagrams and sketches. I feel the loss of that, because it's something I know I will never be able to replace. But. Life goes on. Two of my sketchbooks, my major ones, are okay.

I talked to my Dad last night about the legal wrangling that goes along with getting your car stolen. We have good insurance (I take back all that grumbling about the $95 a month), so it's all going to be covered and I will probably be able to get a new car. But for now, once my mom returns the rental car and takes back the van, I will be driving Boris, my Dad's 1990 silver Toyota Camry with over 200,000 miles on it. Boris is the car I was nearly killed in last December. Needless to say, I'm hoping to have better luck.


One Year Ago:
"The L-shaped tear in the back that was sewn up had long since come undone, and hangs down rather sadly, the threads of the shirt slowly unraveling."

Two Years Ago:
"For all those of you who say art school can't possibly be hard work, I have two words: fuck you."