I recently purchased the oeuvre of one John Vanderslice, and as a consequence, I have been thinking about the WTC attack. Given who I am, anything following that is going to be a big barrel of "wrong" so please accept my "apologies" in advance.

First, I wonder who was the first person or reporter or writer to refer to those events as "9/11" or "September 11th"?

Second, when investigating crimes we are supposed to pursue "means, motive, and opportunity" and I don't think enough effort was put into investigating Paula Poundstone. Ask the question: Who had the most to gain? If you will recall, the media was building her a bonfire on September 10th. I am sure she had the same reaction as most of us, shock and horror, and whatnot... But I'd have to bet that on some primitive level she must have been relieved. It's awful to say, but seriously, she was about to be crucified by the media! Although, truthfully, I think the conspiracy was a little out of her league. But if you happen to be a 9/11 "Truth" whackjob, why not direct some of your razor-sharp attentions on Paula Poundstone?

On that note, third, as much as I tried not to, I had two unshakable responses the day of 9/11. After, "This is a lucky break for Paula Poundstone," I initially thought, "and George Bush too. This is going to make him." Ask my mother. Then, soon after, I tried not to but I couldn't shake it. I was like Porkins with that T.I.E. fighter, "I can't shake it! I can't shake it!" My next thought was, "This would make one hell of a pinball game."

I couldn't help it. And I must admit now, I was right. It really would make a SUPERB pinball game. Give me a break! I was perpetually unemployed. What is there to do all day when you're depressed and unemployed. I had had to move (briefly) back in with my parents a few weeks before. I was about to turn thirty. That's a tough time! You want to talk about a lousy thirtieth birthday. I suppose it would be worse if your birthday was actually September 11th. That would be bad. Imagine how many kids were born on that day! That must suck. Happy Seventh Birthday! But back to me. I spent as much time as possible out of the house, of course. I was getting pretty good at some pinball games. I was able to keep the ball in the safe spots and out of the out lanes. I was getting good at tilting, even. And if you've ever had a period of your life where you were hooked on pinball, you know how that table infects your every waking thought. If you have no control over your life, here's a place where things can make sense.

And it is odd that pinball makes sense. What is the story? Are you the ball? Are you the flippers? Is the ball your "opponent"? Is the game itself your enemy? Or are you and the game collaborating in some sort of dance? It is a strange game, in that the analogies are all so strained. Yet at the same time, pinball is a fairly philosophical pursuit.

So, before the attacks, I was planning on hopping in my car, heading down to the Southside, and playing pinball. My mother told me about it, and she said she was scared, and I said, "Nothing to be scared of, it's over." I don't know how, but I knew. I was very calm. It was not very long afterward that I was saying, "Listen, if that's the best they can do, we have nothing to worry about... They couldn't even use their own weapons, they had to borrow a weapon, and a clumsy one at that." I am not saying the attacks weren't horrific or effective. I'm just saying that the US killed 120,000 people in one night of bombing, and that was 1945. This was (militarily) a pathetic attack, and a desperate one.

All that aside, perfect pinball narrative.

Tags: 911, pinball