Thoughts
So it's late, and I'm tipsy, but I thought I'd write up a few notes. First of all thank you all so much for you notes and comments and everything. It feels almost selfish to say how much it meant to me, since I was never in danger in the least and had no real reason to need comforting. But, although as the story unfolded I was feeling pretty calm, at some point I really did start feeling quite scared, however irrational it was. It was really the first pictures of that bus with the roof ripped off that did it. Hearing from all of you really did mean a great deal.
The biggest thing, though, is the way Londoners reacted. "Stiff upper lip" is a pretty ridiculous term, and I guess I had believed it only existed in Hollywood parody or as an auto-exoticist costume. But no: it reflects something real and, I think, quite deep-seated. On the one hand, this could be seen on the BBC news presenters—it's not entirely fair, but just unavoidable to compare this to my memories of 9/11 American television. But more than that, it was in the demeanor of the victims interviewed—both non-hysterical, and in a way dignified. This was both incredibly moving, and quietly reassuring. Example: one woman, very calmly and articulately describe what she'd seen. The camera panned down and revealed that she was bleeding from her leg. This was pointed out to her, and she said—completely sincerely, almost urgently, but totally without a trace self-dramatization—"no, that's nothing. Really, it's nothing."
I saw similar composure and lack of self-pity "behind the scenes" with the Londonist contributors. There's, like, a forum where normally we just discuss what going on on the site. But on Thursday there was a sense of pupose, this very inspiring drive, but again without a sense of self-importance, hyteria, or drama. The Londonist entry for the day might look to you to be minimalist, but in fact it was a great resource on the day for a lot of people, and the result of some really great work on the part of the guys. I felt pretty useless. My own contribution, which I wrote up today but I decided was really too... tasteless to go up right now, will be visible Monday.
For the record, the bus blew up about two blocks away from Senate House, where the Institute for Historical Reasearch, as well as the library where I sometimes work. Russell Square Tube station, the site of the third bomb, is the tube station that I use to get to said office and library. I had been there the day before to pick up my paycheck.
Some thoughts: the housemate that just moved out... oh hey, did I forget to mention that the Welsh dancer moved out, and has been replaced by an Italian? Anyway the Welsh dancer left on Friday for Tel Aviv. When he left we were all like "be careful!" So of course he got an email from me saying, "You go to Israel, and we get the suicide bus-bomber?! What gives!?"
Dear American friend who left, J—, used to use Algate East station, one of the three affected by the first bomb, fairly frequently when he lived in Whitechapel.
New American friend had to walk to work when the buses stopped, although no one knew why at the time. He ended up walking past panicky crowds in the Liverpool St area. That's about as close as I got.
Didn't know where other Welsh housemate was in the morning. He commutes on the bombed line, but wasn't sure when he had left for work. Sent a text, sent an email. Turned out he had the day off, and was asleep in his room the whole time.
Oh yeah, and I got some day-of-disaster rumpy-pumpy.
So life goes on (this, too, is inspiring). The Piccadilly Line, the only one that services my house, is shut down from well north of my house to south of central London, so there will be a lot of bus riding for now. D— from New York, and his wacky girl-friend arrived this morning—they would not be deterred. (Personal to Dr. K: convince the other K not to cancel her trip to London! Tell her there's nothing to be afraid of!) The article revisions are almost done; I still have to write that Sonnambula program note even though the person who hired me for that job has been fired; and I'm looking forward to writing a L'ist Proms preview.
The biggest thing, though, is the way Londoners reacted. "Stiff upper lip" is a pretty ridiculous term, and I guess I had believed it only existed in Hollywood parody or as an auto-exoticist costume. But no: it reflects something real and, I think, quite deep-seated. On the one hand, this could be seen on the BBC news presenters—it's not entirely fair, but just unavoidable to compare this to my memories of 9/11 American television. But more than that, it was in the demeanor of the victims interviewed—both non-hysterical, and in a way dignified. This was both incredibly moving, and quietly reassuring. Example: one woman, very calmly and articulately describe what she'd seen. The camera panned down and revealed that she was bleeding from her leg. This was pointed out to her, and she said—completely sincerely, almost urgently, but totally without a trace self-dramatization—"no, that's nothing. Really, it's nothing."
I saw similar composure and lack of self-pity "behind the scenes" with the Londonist contributors. There's, like, a forum where normally we just discuss what going on on the site. But on Thursday there was a sense of pupose, this very inspiring drive, but again without a sense of self-importance, hyteria, or drama. The Londonist entry for the day might look to you to be minimalist, but in fact it was a great resource on the day for a lot of people, and the result of some really great work on the part of the guys. I felt pretty useless. My own contribution, which I wrote up today but I decided was really too... tasteless to go up right now, will be visible Monday.
For the record, the bus blew up about two blocks away from Senate House, where the Institute for Historical Reasearch, as well as the library where I sometimes work. Russell Square Tube station, the site of the third bomb, is the tube station that I use to get to said office and library. I had been there the day before to pick up my paycheck.
Some thoughts: the housemate that just moved out... oh hey, did I forget to mention that the Welsh dancer moved out, and has been replaced by an Italian? Anyway the Welsh dancer left on Friday for Tel Aviv. When he left we were all like "be careful!" So of course he got an email from me saying, "You go to Israel, and we get the suicide bus-bomber?! What gives!?"
Dear American friend who left, J—, used to use Algate East station, one of the three affected by the first bomb, fairly frequently when he lived in Whitechapel.
New American friend had to walk to work when the buses stopped, although no one knew why at the time. He ended up walking past panicky crowds in the Liverpool St area. That's about as close as I got.
Didn't know where other Welsh housemate was in the morning. He commutes on the bombed line, but wasn't sure when he had left for work. Sent a text, sent an email. Turned out he had the day off, and was asleep in his room the whole time.
Oh yeah, and I got some day-of-disaster rumpy-pumpy.
So life goes on (this, too, is inspiring). The Piccadilly Line, the only one that services my house, is shut down from well north of my house to south of central London, so there will be a lot of bus riding for now. D— from New York, and his wacky girl-friend arrived this morning—they would not be deterred. (Personal to Dr. K: convince the other K not to cancel her trip to London! Tell her there's nothing to be afraid of!) The article revisions are almost done; I still have to write that Sonnambula program note even though the person who hired me for that job has been fired; and I'm looking forward to writing a L'ist Proms preview.
posted by Grrg at 11:45 PM
1 Comments:
I remember being moved by just the opposite when Jon Stewart more or less broke down on the daily show.
G
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