Where was I on 9/11 when the planes first hit the Twin Towers? I was in my bed in Brooklyn, wondering why the FUCK people kept calling me on a Tuesday morning.
Back then I still had a land line and my first cellphone was two weeks old, so people weren’t trained to call me there (and it probably wasn’t working). But DAMN.
I heard the answering machine over in the kitchen. “Beep. Kenny, it’s your Daddy. Just calling to see if you’re still alive.”
That’s the kind of thing he always says if I don’t call him for a couple of weeks.
“Beep. Kenny. It’s mom. Calling to see if you’re okay. Call me back.”
Again, not out of the ordinary. Little odd for a Tuesday morning.
“Beep. Hey man. It’s Corey. Just calling to see if you felt anything this morning. Call me back, brother.”
Okay, now why the fuck was Corey calling on a Tuesday morning? And felt anything? Did we have one of those rare minor earthquakes that no one actually feels at the time but swears they did after the fact.
THAT’s when I dragged my sorry ass out of bed and found out what was going on.
And let’s not allow me to get all overly dramatic. Nothing bugs me more than when New Yorkers are all like, “Ooooh. I was here on 9/11. It was so scary. I almost died.” And it turns out they were sitting in Central Park or visiting a relative in Ronkonkoma. That day’s horrible enough without people trying to jump on the pity bandwagon. Should be one day when one-uppers keep their damn mouths shut. (Please forgive the overly dramatic headline, but I gotta grab the readers ya know?)
Fact is, I didn’t work near World Trade and my commute wouldn’t have taken me that close. Had I gone to work that day, I may have made it all the way in. Or I may have been stopped somewhere in lower Manhattan or DUMBO (in Brooklyn). Most likely scenario, I would have been inconvenienced, trapped in Manhattan. Worst case? My dumb ass would have decided to go check it out after the planes hit and before the buildings collapsed. (My mom to me during Katrina: “I’m just glad you’re not here because you’d probably go down to New Orleans just to see.”)
But I was in bed.
Why was I still in bed? Because I stayed up late watching the New York Giants get their asses kicked by the Denver Broncos during Monday Night Football. I was going to go to bed at halftime but decided, “Meh, screw it. I’ll call in sick tomorrow and stay up and watch the game.”
So thank you to the NFL for that game. And even to the Giants for sucking.
And fellas, don’t ever let anyone tell you watching Monday Night Football is a waste of time!
So there I was on the beach at Fire Island this weekend, catching up on Runner’s World magazine (Motto: Running is much more fun to read about than to, you know, actually do), when I noticed a name on the contributor page: Tim O’Brien.
As some of you may know by now, there are a handful of advance copies of The First Annual Grand Prairie Rabbit Festival floating around the U.S. And some of you may be asking yourself, “How do I get my hands on a copy before Dec. 29?”
KEN WHEATON 