Put Him Down Like Old Yeller

Two nights ago Logan called me into the livingroom for breaking news. I was busy trying to make a deadline but when I saw news of Osama Bin Ladin goin' down, all of that writing stuff went out the window. I can tell you that yes, I am a vengeful person by nature (though I like to blame my Venus landing in Scorpio.) But to defend my personal bloodlust, I was here for 9/11. I woke up in time to watch the second plane hit. I was living in our old apartment in Chelsea. I say "our" cos my ex-fiance' Allan (whose birthday was yesterday) had gone to work that morning. He called home to wake me just in time.

I'd left him a few weeks prior but returned when I didn't like being alone. The night before the attack I'd almost slept over at another man's apartment. He tried to bribe me to stay, offering again to take me shopping the next day (he was such a lawyer!) I didn't want to stick to anyone at that time, especially someone who offered money up as though it was a character trait. I was in a transitional phase and only good on my own. That night I walked from Broadway and 8th Street back to 8th Ave and 18th Street to "our" little tiny apartment. I no longer have the dress I was wearing - it was later deemed too slutty for my maturing tastes. I carried high heels in my hands and sang showtunes at the top of my lungs on my barefoot walk home. I wasn't drunk. I was finally taking on my independence. It wasn't another man I needed - it was plain ol' courage. I was done fighting with NYC and decided this was where I belonged. Homeless people called out niceties to me and I wished them all a fantastic night. As I crossed 7th Avenue, I toasted the Twin Towers with my high heels held overhead, singing at the top of my lungs, "If I can make it there I'll make it - BUMP, BUMP - ANYWHERE!"

A week later I watched a child stand on that same corner, look down the avenue and ask his mother, "Where are the towers?"

People always ask me if I was here for it - people in other places who see New York City as a tattoo on your timeline, letting everyone know that you're an artistic masochist who rejects the norm. It was hard on me trying to stay here in the beginning. I didn't have anyone to help. I had to drop out of NYU cos there just wasn't any money. Most weekends when the college cafeteria was closed I had to go without food. I was ashamed of this and sometimes my roommate would return early Sunday night from her parents' home in New Jersey and order us a pizza.

Allan came from money and sometimes I wonder if he's the only reason I was able to remain in this city. We moved in together almost immediately. I loved him - he's a good guy. But actors are too much maintenance for me, even the exceptional ones. But when I left him to return to Florida, I realized I didn't want to be there either. I didn't want to start over. He took me back in as an experiment for both of us. We were allowed to see other people, which never really helps. I still believe we came back together just in time and for very good reason.

Allan walked all the way from the upper eastside because transportation had shut down and most of the cabbies were fleeing from the city. He dropped his backpack as soon as he came through the door and burst into tears. We held each other crying. He was sweaty and filthy from the debris. We immediately headed to St. Vincent's to give blood, to give anything we could. The stillness is what I remember the most. Nothing moved. It was as though the city had died and we were all just zombies roaming its streets, making eye contact with one another for the first time in all of New York City's history. We looked into the eyes of everyone we passed, all of us looking for the people we loved, just in case.

We tried giving blood, but they didn't need it. We walked for miles looking for something we could do. In Union Square there were banners being made. Most of us wrote encouraging words for everyone missing someone they loved. But there were plenty who wrote about bombing others. An eye for an eye was a very strong attitude. We even passed a teenager wearing a t-shirt that read: BOMB PAKISTAN

I couldn't believe we'd reached that point already.

The movie theater at 14th Street had signs posted offering free movies playing on a loop all day. No one's phones worked yet. Allan and I were trying to find some way to help. We eventually returned home to watch the news. Over and over we saw footage of those planes hit the towers. And then there were the jumpers. Finally my cell phone buzzed with twenty-seven messages from people who loved me. Some of them cried, scared because I didn't answer. I worked as a temp at the World Financial Center which was attached to the Trade Center. I passed through the Trade Center when I exited the train each morning. The message that stays with me most is from my cousin. She was sobbing and said, "I know you're okay because you have to be okay, Angie."

I burst into laughter and began to dance around our apartment as Allan cried, retrieving his messages. He looked at me like I was a leprechaun who'd just told him a really dirty joke. I explained how lucky we were - we were SO LUCKY! We were safe, along with all of our friends. I couldn't help it - I was ecstatic.

But then we spent days trapped on the island, running from bomb threats and walking to most destinations since the subway was out of the question. The city came back to life but felt like a graveyard. Everywhere you looked were shrines with candles, tokens, flowers and MISSING posters. Sometimes you'd catch the same face in two different parts of the city and for a moment you felt that you'd found someone. The missing never came back. And it took less than two months for me to realize that Allan and I were done.

When I saw George W. on the TV that day, promising all of us that this crime would be punished and we'd all be kept safe, I finally felt a connection to him. I know he was a glorified puppet, but I needed to hear those words. It was one of the only moments during his presidency that I felt secure with our commander-in-chief. He was not the man for whom I voted, but as he stood under our flag making promises, I felt a tremendous amount of patriotism come over me. I was proud of my country and of our leader. That didn't last very long, but in those moments of helplessness, even George W. looked good.

Cut to many years later: What I can't understand is how so many personal newsfeeds have been critical of President Obama. If there was ever a time to feel united, this is it. Today was not about democrats or republicans - it was about our country coming together to defeat an evil that's threatened us for a long time. It's disheartening to see so many Americans continue to express their disdain of our current president's course of action on a day like today. And then there were the conspiracy theorists who think we've simply struck a deal with Bin Laden to stay quiet and we'll let him live. As though there's nothing Bin Laden would love more than to stand up and shout, "Here I am, stupid Americans!"

But in the end, the Tweets and Facebook updates that bothered me the most are the people quoting Martin Luther King, Jr., Gandhi, and anyone else who once spoke with a Taoist attitude. There was almost nothing more condescending than that. This is a man who just used a woman as a human shield the day before. This is the man responsible for thousands of American deaths - a man without empathy or tolerance. This is someone who robbed hundreds of thousands of their loved ones. And the morning after his body is dumped in the sea we're seriously expected to show compassion? To treat him like a human being and not the monster he was?

Logan and I watch A LOT of serial killer biographies. There are few things that excite me like a real live killer. It fascinates me that someone can cross that line and harm people in such a manner (also, despite my rosy exterior, I am secretly morbid - more so than most people can believe.) The day before Osama was killed, we watched the Biography special on Jeffrey Dahmer. Blame the childhood video footage coupled with interviews of his loving father, but Jeffrey Dahmer really bummed us out. He was misshapen somewhere around puberty and he actually felt empathy for those he killed. Dahmer was certainly a product of society oppressing its homosexuals, yet there was certainly a big piece of humanity that was missing from him. At the trial he chose to read a letter of remorse to the family members of his victims. There was such a striking loneliness to it that I couldn't help it - I wanted to hug Jeffrey Dahmer. I wanted to push the hair away from his eyes, let him have a good cry in my lap, and then hold his hand as we walk to the gas chamber.

When you call something "Capital Punishment" you misdirect your audience. You can punish someone with torture but with death you're releasing them. No matter what you believe, that person is gone and we no longer get a say in their punishment. I don't believe in Capital Punishment but I do believe in the death penalty, though not as it stands. In the cases of serial killers, yes, we must put them down. I'd even go so far as to terminate the lives of sex offenders simply because it is not possible to rehabilitate them. I don't want their deaths for any other reason than to protect ourselves. You can cry at the end of Old Yeller, but you know it was the only way to handle a rabid dog.

I rejoiced last night and today. Again, I danced a jig in my livingroom. We ended up downtown and I was happy to see excited tourists who'd been lucky enough to book their trip during this historical event. I'm thrilled he's dead. It's about ridding the world of a boogeyman whose only desire was to harm others. And when I think about the images from 9/11 I can't help it - I'm vengeful. It's easy to quote Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr. and your morning teabag, but I know very few people who operate on such a level (and the ones who are living that righteous life rarely need to borrow from the mouths of others.) As long as I can feel compassion for the likes of Jeffrey Dahmer, I'd say that I'm on an acceptable path with my giddiness over Bin Laden's death. It's also been a really long time since America had a good hero moment - let's just enjoy it.