'Bred Crumbs

09:40 PM Thursday night, I got dinner from the nearby Pakastani/Indian place, not just because it's so tasty, but as a little way of fighting a bitter undercurrent of the fallout from Tuesday. Knowing that the less wise of Americans are turning their outrage toward anyone who shares any part of the heritage of the likely terrorists, I was determined, in my small way, to display instead support and appreciation.

When I got there, I found no hint of menace. I found, to my happiness, that the joint was packed with people socializing, sharing friendship -- laughing. Buoyed, I went home and had a simple, satisfying evening. Things felt normal, and I took great solace in that.

It was true at work Friday, too, except during my company's voluntary moment of silence, which I was surprised I felt a need to share. When I had read on one of the many crawls across the bottom of the TV screen that morning that Bush had called for a day of prayer, I was angered; even this was no excuse to marginalize me for my legally protected right to have no one or no thing to pray to. But as I sought information beyond TV news -- which, once the flow of solid information about this mess finally slowed, began to regain its usual shallowness and disregard for context -- I saw the day was being proposed as one of prayer and remembrance. And I could get behind the latter, and did, with silence and, at night, candle. I used the midday meditation to, for the first time, really absorb the human loss, and resolve to honor those lost by moving forward.

But that night, despite a wonderful evening spent with Robbie, fear and sadness surged back. I doubt it will be the last time.

Tuesday morning, my working assumption, as for many, was that everything was different now. I no longer believe that. Yes, much will be different. Many waves of impact from this attack on my land have yet to break -- the economic effect, for example, and the use of tragedy as an excuse to act on hateful ignorance, and the shock of whatever happens next in this new, prolonged war.

For Bush is right, for once, in calling it a war. It would help if he used the term a little less fervently, but it is a war, and a new kind of one. Its battles will probably spread over a wide front and a long time, and they won't even necessarily be combat. The wagers of war on all sides will certainly take more lives, but many of the war's volleys will be through intelligence, diplomacy, and finance. And all that means we can't just stop what we were doing. Nor can we hope to ignore the pain, forget the fear, escape the evil. Maybe we should keep lighting those candles each night, to remind us of what happened, of how fragile the things we cherish can be. But we should only light those candles if, while they burn, we continue to do the things that bring us sustenance and joy.

And rather than grope forward, each of us should closely examine what he believes in, what ideas need to fuel this future. For one, I wish Bush -- and oh, how I hope that there are enough smart people somewhere in our government to limit his damage -- would speak less of punishment and more of prevention. For the latter is what we really want -- security -- and the former, no matter how satisfying some people in their anger might think it will be, will accomplish nothing but more horror and loss.

And as the red-white-and-blue flags sprout up around me, I examine whether I'm patriotic, whether I really love my country. And I discover that I do, but that does not mean I will wave the banner or spew the rhetoric. It means I will continue to insist on the liberty and diversity that are truly what this country is about, that give our still-young nation its strength and power.

Tonight on my way to Safeway, amid streets and stores as bustling as ever, I was startled that a car dealership on one corner was packed and festive at 8 p.m. on a Saturday -- especially this Saturday. For unclear promotional reasons, the building was full of long, sleek, classic automobiles. Between all the fins and convertibles and the giant American flag hanging over the entryway, it looked exactly like a scene from the '50s; I half-expected everything to turn black-and-white. The only difference was that all the men admiringly surrounding the cars were kissing, hugging, and fondling each other. It was a delightful vision.

Tuesday felt like shock and terror. Wednesday felt like coping. Thursday felt like the beginnings of recovery. Friday felt like mourning. Today felt like healing. And tonight feels like celebration -- of continuing to live, for those of us who do; of continuing to be free, for those of us who are; of simply continuing.

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11:34 AM The only way the terrorists will have won ... [is if the United States] starts wallowing in paranoia and cracking down on speech, travel, movement, communications, life, love, pizza delivery, singing in the shower, the right to feel not all that righteously patriotic in the wake of the tragedy, but rather to feel waves of sadness and disgust and pain, the necessity of healing.

It's hard to condense, as the ellipsis and brackets show, but the Chronicle's Mark Morford has written something truly inspirational about how we go on now. Read it.

·  ·  ·

Now, as always, if you get a mass e-mail relaying dubious essays, suspect appeals for cash, or the vague ramblings of a 16th-century Frenchman, don't buy it. (Link swiped from Ernie.)

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06:56 PM Something for health officials to consider after the crisis is past: the current blood screening process is limiting the supply of healthy blood. Gay men with uninfected blood are not allowed to give blood if they have acted on their impulses even once in the past twenty-plus years. This restriction walks a fine line between prudence and discrimination -- the argument's not important, certainly not now. What is needed, though, is a more creative solution. Perhaps some way of permitting blood donations by gay men who provide reliable documents showing negative results of recent HIV tests. I don't know. It's the kind of question that's going to come up a lot in the coming weeks and months -- where lies the balance between security and repression?

·  ·  ·

Words worth remembering from San Francisco Chronicle TV critic John Carman:

I certainly don't defend terrorists; I'm angry about Tuesday, too. We mustn't approve, but it's in our own interest to understand why part of the world might find satisfaction in their actions.

·  ·  ·

I have grown weary of Paula Zahn.

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06:55 PM At about 3 a.m., I was awakened by the sound of a single airplane.

I was spooked. My first reaction was how weird it was that a mere airplane overhead had startled me awake; ordinarily it wouldn't, but this was the first plane to cross the sky in many long hours. My second: why am I hearing a plane at all when all domestic air travel is grounded?

"It sounds like a small one," said Robbie, who I didn't know till then was awake too. "Probably a fighter."

I resisted the urge to get out of bed and turn on the TV. I knew it was just panic talking, the goading of the fear that took hold on the long, godawful day I was trying, to the extent possible, to put behind me. I realized that if that lone, unexpected plane was the bearer of more bad news, it would be obvious; there would be more signals. Far more likely was that it was maybe just a patrol -- guardianship of a kind I guess I never truly expected to see on these shores in my lifetime. I decided I would consider the sound a reassurance, if only because of the need now for reassurances.

I listened as the drone of the distant engines drifted into nothingness, leaving only the occasional rattling of my window blinds by a fog-borne wind that was scarier than it would have been on any other night, after any other day.

I drifted back into what I am thankful was a nightmare-free sleep.

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09:13 AM Late last night, I was trying to make a functional change to the site when my computer crashed for good. The hard drive quit finding key parts of a lot of applications. The failure was not unforeseen; the machine had been acting clunky a lot lately, and I spent most of Labor Day weekend organizing and backing up data just in case. Still, it was distressing. I started worrying about how to replace the crippled machine; I worried about the money it might cost.

Obviously, those things are not much on my mind now.

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05:26 PM Since I recently finally got a DVD player -- I had one on my computer, but how relaxing isn't that? -- I have become obsessed with reading the "features" listed on DVD packages to see whether the item really has features or whether it stoops to listing "interactive menus" and "scene access." Which is kind of like tires and a steering wheel being considered "options" on a new car.

Just so you know if you ever get trapped in a video store with me.

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