Ay. The current shape of the terrorist threat is suicide bombers with explosive briefcases in the subways. I'd better give my parents a call. I can only imagine that if word of this has reached them (and how would that not be possible?) they'd be getting more than a little freaked out by now. Or perhaps they don't see New York as being particularly targeted. I remember after September 11th, I read or saw footage of the Nebraska State Fair (I believe that was it) and how they were doing bag searches of everyone attending. Now, forgive me, Nebraskans, but I can't imagine your state being a particular obsession for Osama Bin Laden. True, Nebraska is the heartland of this great country of ours, and there's mention of 'the fruited plane' in America the Beautiful, but frankly, I think you're all pretty safe.

Anyway. Life goes on here in New York, where we're NOT THINKING ABOUT IT when we ride the subways. NOT THINK. NOT THINK. NOT THINK. NOT THINK. NOT THINK.


I used to know a guy who grew up in Belfast. His family, who were Roman Catholic, ran a bar. When he was a young'un, his 'job' was to go around the bar after it closed and look for any 'packages.' Once, when he and his mother were coming home late at night, they were waylaid by two men with guns who forced them both to their knees, told them to 'say their prayers,' and then ran off.

This guy now returns to his car after he parks it to check to make sure that all the doors are locked (by walking around and trying them all) two or three times. I've never eaten with him in a restaurant when he hasn't sent back the cup of coffee the waitress or waiter brings him and asks for another cup. Countless weird idiosyncracies like that. I wonder if that's what we'll all turn into? If being a New Yorker will come to be associated with filling up the bathtub with water and submerging the package that the Fedex guy brings you ("It was only some wedding photos from your niece.") and refusing to fly across the country without a minimum of two layovers and other odd behavior associated with post traumatic stress syndrome.

I wonder how Number Two (now Number One) at my old job is holding up. He has a daughter who will be two in April. She is something of a miracle baby. He never imagined that he would be a father, and he's devoted to her. He took his wife and fled the city during the Y2K brouhaha. He lives in Brooklyn, not more than six or seven blocks from where they uncovered a bomb making cell back in the '90s.

NOT THINK. NOT THINK. NOT THINK. NOT THINK. NOT THINK. NOT THINK.

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