Read Me
It's been two years and five months, and I still don't know what I think.
I know what happened on 9/11, and how and who and where and why. I don't know yet how it fits into our crazy culture, when bombs in Baghdad get short shrift so Janet Jackson can make the front page. Will we remember in 10 years; or, rather how will we remember? And what?
Regardless, there's part of the story that gnaws at me. It's the part I don't understand. It starts with the President reading a story to kids while an aide whispers in his ear and it goes on and on from there, until it disappears into a rabbit hole of Reichstag allusions and conspiracy theory and I always run like hell in the other direction. It was confusing and rapid and uncertain and mostly, mainly, unthinkable what happened that morning, and human nature being what it is I'm ready to accept most explanations. But. But. But.
Read Gail Sheehy's piece in today's New York Observer. It's riveting and, if you're like me, your heart will be racing at the end and you might not feel so swell, but read it anyway. It's mostly about what happened on the planes, but there are disturbing time line questions and other things that will keep me thinking for a long time, and wondering what I know and when did I know it.
1:26:32 PM 
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