Pet and I have been engaged in an email conversation about songs and those that pop into our heads. I wrote to her this morning about the song that was important to me on 9/11/2001. I'd already posted the entry about the library when I read Pet's latest email, encouraging me to post that story.

So, this is the email I'd sent to Pet this morning:


I keep meaning to write about this, or make a blog entry about it, but something else always seems to get in the way. Since we're on the subject, and it is September 11, I'll tell you about it.

When the terrorists attacked in 2001, it hit me pretty emotionally, but not in the way it hit most of my peers. That day, and for days afterwards, I had one song running through my head: "Help Save The Youth Of America," by a British neo-folk songwriter named Billy Bragg. It's a song I have memorized from beginning to end. I think it's a pretty good indication of how important music is to my life. The song
was written in the mid-1980's. (Trivia: Billy Bragg came up with the song when he was looking at a book on American civil rights, and saw a photograph of a Ku Klux Klan member holding a sign that read: "Help save the youth of America from the dangers of Negro rock 'n' roll.")

Help save the youth of America
Help save them from themselves
Help save the sun-tanned surfer boys
And their California girls

When the lights go out in the rest of the world
What do our cousins say?
They're playing in the sun and having fun, fun, fun
'til Daddy takes the gun away

From the Big Church to the Big River
And out to the shining sea
This is the land of opportunity
And there's a Monkey Trial on TV

One nation with their freezers full
Are dancing in their suits
While outside, another nation
Is sleeping in the streets

Don't tell me the old, old story
Tell me the truth this time
Is the man in the mask or the Indian
An enemy or a friend of mine?

Help save the youth of America
Help save them from the world
Help save the boys in uniform
Their mothers, and their faithful girls

Listen to the voice of the soldier
Down in the killing zone
Talking about the cost of living
And the price of bringing him home

They're already shipping the body bags
Down below the Rio Grande
But you can fight for democracy at home
And not in some foreign land

And the fate of the great United States
Is entwined in the fate of us all
And the incident at Chernobyl proves
The world we live in is very small

And the cities of Europe have burned before
And they may yet burn again
And if they do, I hope you understand
That Washington will burn with them
Omaha will burn with them
Los Alamos will burn with them


("Help Save The Youth Of America" is copyright 1986 Elektra/Asylum Records)

Sometimes I wish I had selected the "Entry Title" option when I created this blog. However, when I started thinking I wanted it, this blog had close to 400 entries, and the idea of going back and coming up with all those titles seemed too daunting. I'm over 500 entries now, and the title of this entry would be something like Adventures At The Library.

Phillip and I reserved computers again, just like last weekend, so we can play Neopets checkers together. (This is so silly.) We made our reservation mid-week, and I was assigned computer 5072 at the Central Library, from 2:00 to 3:00. About five minutes to 2, I located computer 5072 and found that it was stuck at the system-level reboot. I couldn't get it to boot up. I went to the nearest library catalog terminal, cancelled my reservation, and made another reservation. I was assigned computer 5124. The screen on computer 5124 said "System Loading." The fellow at the next computer said, "I don't think that one's working." I rebooted computer 5124, and, sure enough, it never got past the "System Loading" screen. I went back to the library catalog, cancelled my reservation, and made another one. I was assigned computer 5072. (The first one that wasn't working.) I cancelled that, and made another reservation. I was assigned computer 5124. (The second one that wasn't working.) I cancelled and reserved about six times, until I got a computer that wasn't either 5072 or 5124. I logged onto computer 5137, and won the game against Phillip. When I left the library, I was about two blocks away, and helping some Japanese tourists find the "public library," when I realized that I'd forgotten to tell a librarian about the two non-functioning computers.

I decided this afternoon that my favorite part of the new downtown library is the up escalator from Level 1 (the 4th Avenue entrance) to Level 3 (the 5th Avenue entrance). Level 1 is where the Children's section and the Language section are. I wouldn't call it cramped, but it's not as spacious and sweeping as other parts of the library. It is a closed-in space. The two-story escalators, color-coded bright yellow, have full walls on either side, giving a tunnel-like effect. When you first step onto the up escalator, and look up, through the tunnel, you see sky - nothing but sky - through diamond-shaped windows. As you ascend, you start to see the corner of a black rectangle above. The black rectangle gets larger as you go, and you realize that it's very, very large, and it's very high above you, and it appears to be floating in space. Meanwhile, the sky keeps getting larger and larger and larger. Suddenly, you step into the extemely spacious Level 3 - the "Living Room," it's called. That large black shape is the bottom of a level a couple of floors above you, and there are no apparent supports. You look around and can see forever - fully visible elevator shafts ten stories tall. You look up and see tiny people looking down over the railings. And everywhere, there is sunlight. It is a dramatic effect.

I think the Central Library is a beautiful building. I am glad to see that the library staff has posted direction signs throughout. (My inside source tells me that those signs are in defiance of the architect's decree against signage. I don't know what Rem Koolhaas was thinking when he issued that order.)

While I was using the computer, a security guard came by and told the woman at the computer next to me that she had too many bags with her. My initial thought was that it was another case of univiting the homeless. (The entire library has only one pair of restrooms, and they're painted an ugly green, specifically to make the place unattractive to the homeless.) The woman replied that she had three bags - how many was she allowed to have? The guard informed her that she had to be able to fit all of her bags under a library table. I then realized that the issue was, in fact, about not blocking the walkways. I offered the let the woman place one of her bags under my table. The woman ignored me - placed two bags under her table, and one under her chair - and the guard thanked me. I then realized that the security guard was actually very understanding and reasonable about the whole situation.

I'm only half-way through From Russia With Love and, although I'm not into the proper frame of mind for it (which is why it's taking me so long to finish it), it is a good book and I do want to finish it. It's due back on Monday, however. I tried to renew it online, but was told I couldn't because someone had placed a hold on it. So I returned it to the Capitol Hill library on my way to the bus downtown, found two copies on the shelf at the Central Library, and checked one out. I also checked out a book on yoga. There's an interesting pair of books to check out together: Yoga Within and From Russia With Love.

The yoga practitioner at work had advised me that a good yoga instructor won't force you into anything, and will encourage you to modify positions to suit your comfort level.

Lisa, the instructor for the next seven weeks, does that. She told us tonight: "No pain, lots of gain!"

Tonight's class was larger than the one I tried out last July. It was also more evenly male and female students (that July class was all women, except for me and one other guy). That last part shouldn't matter, but somehow it did. It was also an even mix of beginners and more advanced students.

Yoga is a spiritual practice, but not necessarily a religious one. (Read Lisa's viewpoint on that here.) The goal is to strengthen the mind through control of the body. There is chanting. (I offer my heart to the power of Grace / that lives in us as goodness / That is never absent and radiates peace / and lights the way to transformation) There is meditation.

I need to train myself to arch my back more, or, in the language of the class, move my heart forward.

I need to learn to move from position to position slower and with a more fluid motion. I need to let my breaths move me.

As I walked out of class, down the sidewalk, toward our car, I felt a lightness - as if my feet were only slightly touching the ground - exactly like I felt after the meditation session with Craig. It is a wonderful feeling. I am glad that I decided to sign up for these yoga classes.

The song stuck in my head this morning (again: for unknown reasons) is I Feel Fine by The Beatles.

There's a human scale to the James Bond novels that's somehow missing from the movie versions. The novels border on humor at times, but not in the comic slapstick style of the movies. In the novels, the British Secret Service is made up of government employees who complain silently about paperwork and look forward to retirement, while SMERSH (the Russian Secret Service) is made up of soldiers with varying degrees of loyalty who are, for the most part, doing their job because The State tells them to. In Instanbul, the T Branch (working for the British) keeps a close watch on the Russians, who are, in turn, keeping a close watch on the T Branch. Both sides know the other side is watching them, but can't do anything about it. The head of T Branch, Darko Kerim, bribed the city to inspect several buildings (including Russian headquarters) for possible damage caused by streetcar vibrations. Russian headquarters had to be evacuated during the inspection, which allowed Darko Kerim to install a periscope into the building. The Russians knew it was all a trick, of course, but haven't yet found the suspected listening devices.

It would be interesting to remake some of the Bond movies, make them truer to the books, make them as Cold War period pieces, and see how they turn out.

"What fails strict scrutiny here is a government-approved civil contract for one class of the community not given to another class of the community. Democracy means people with different values living together as one people. What can reconcile our differences is the feeling that with these differences we are still one people. This is the democracy of conscience." - Thurston County Superior Court Judge Richard Hicks (Celia Castle, Et. Al. Vrs. State of Washington)

This blog has somehow fallen out of Google's field of vision. That's OK, actually - this is written for myself and a few loyal readers. It's just a curios situation. It used to be that all I had to do to get here was go to Google, type in feeding squirrels work, and click "I'm Feeling Lucky" (which was a lot easier than typing in this blog's URL). Now the above search will bring you to a page on squirrel-proofing your bird feeder. (The opposite message, it seems.) The second site the search brings is this blog - but one of the archive pages, oddly enough. I wonder what happened.

This is a very lazy Labor day. This is a day lacking in motivation. I walked up to Broadway Video and rented Taking Lives, but only because Phillip suggested a movie, and there's nothing we want to see in the theaters. I went swimming, but only because Phillip invited me. I napped. I read a hundred pages of How Soon Is Never?, which is turning out to be a pretty good novel. (The author has good insight into the punk rock philosophy.) I thought about things I wanted to do, and didn't do them. I thought about things I should be doing, and didn't do them.

Phillip and I spent today with Pet. It was terrific seeing her again. She is a good and true friend, and unlike anyone I have ever met. I wish that, somehow, she didn't live a two-hour drive away.

We started the day by mushroom hunting. Five years ago (or so) we walked out of the woods with buckets full of mushrooms. Today, we found a dozen mushrooms (or less) - a handful - and all of them found by Pet.

We then visited Gladys Night's grave site. The rock was gone, but otherwise, the site was undisturbed. I found a perfectly good screwdriver there. Right after that, Pet found a perfectly good leash clip. Right after that, Phillip found a perfectly good spring clamp. We each found "a perfectly good something," Pet pointed out. Were these gifts from Gladys, as Pet suggested?

Our next stop was the town of Packwood, and its Labor Day garage sale/swap meet/street fair thing. Five years ago (or so) it was held in a vacant lot. Today, it took over every spare spot of the town. All the way, up and down Highway 12, from city limit to city limit, there were booths after booths after booths of pre-viewed Disney VHS tapes, marshmallow shooters, knick knacks, sno-cones, rusted tools, romance novels, Confederate flags, models of NASCAR racers, used bicycles... and we walked past almost every one until our legs wore off.

From Packwood, we went to Morton for a late lunch/early dinner of not-bad Mexican food.

I'm exhausted. I'm going over to to Mulgathorns see what Pet wrote about today, and then I'm going to bed.