A Simple Sign in Brooklyn by Hapytamynyc

Feeling frustrated about my writer's life of twists and turns, I wandered the avenues of Brooklyn in search of a bargain. I got one. A life lesson, for the price of a walk.

A beautiful, dark haired toddler stopped to observe a store window filled to capacity with toys and small electronics.

(Toddler pointing at a small sign in the window of the toy store.)
toddler: "Ooh, Mommy, look - WORDS! What does it mean? What does it MEEEAN !?

mommy: "It means that the Dora doll is for sale."

toddler: " Oooh, Mommy! Words are good!"

ANGER
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Whatever happened to the dignified and formal manner in which we believed that Judges should be selected? Today, in the midst of a contentious and bizarre race for New York City Civil Court, the dignity has been kicked to the curb.

In addition to being qualified, the candidates must also be street tough and thick skinned. The New York City race is starting to resemble a WWE wrestling match meets the Bush/Gore campaign of yesteryear than a contemporary and intelligent discussion on New York City politics.

The Second Judicial District, which includes Chinatown, Cooper Square and the lower East Side is the genisis of what looks like will become the norm in New York City as Supreme Court Justices may be running in open primaries instead of "back room" selection sessions. It may be more Democratic but is it good?

Vote-by-vote count of paper ballots, street fights, voting machine sabotage and accusation of voter fraud abound.

Margaret Chan, a Chinatown candidate says she was attacked by a man who ripped down her campaign posters and sent her running to the nearest police station. Her brother was arrested after he smashed a campaign opponents car window. Allegedly, the car was from the opposing campaign and they were trying to run him over.

Her opponent David Cohen, may call for a rerun of the election after voting machines were jammed for hours on Primary day.

Many of Chan's supporters believe that part of the ugliness may be a product of prejudice. No Chinese-American candidate from Chinatown has ever represented the area in an elected city, state or federal office. Her election would be a monument in the history of the area.

From this contest will emerge the fair, impartial and intelligent Judge. Oh, my.

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HAPPINESS

The Mets celebrate clinching the NL East title. It has been almost two decades since the Mets won their division. Since, 1988, mets fans have faithfully waited in the stands for this magical moment.

After days of nail biting, Mets fans have been waiting for the inevitable. Finally the night arrived. No doubt the nights hereos were Jose Valentin with two home runs and Steve Trachsel, 61/3 scoreless innings.

The fans did a mock tomahawk chop then went home to dream the dream of an eventual World Series win.

I Remember Where I Was, On 9/11 by Tammy Todd
Category: Life

It's hard to believe that it has been five years since the 9/11 terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center. Are we wiser and safer or just jaded? It's 2006 and we haven't found Osama Bin Laden and are not fully prepared for another attack.

I remember, being a brand new, "New Yorker" and seeing the twin towers for the first time. They were breathtaking. I had never seen anything on that scale before and was elated that I would have a chance to work there, for a few short weeks. I would arrive hours before I was due at work, just to wander the grand buildings and peer through it's windows. "Windows to the world." I thought.

A few months later, I would be on the phone to a Human Resource Director for a company at the World Trade Center at 8:40am on September 11th. I was excited at the prospect of a new job at the Center but I was uncharacteristically fatigued and lethargic. I did not feel up to taking the train ride to the towers and then sitting through a lengthy interview. It seemed like the onset of the flu.

Before, we could reschedule the interview, the first plane hit the World Trade Center. The television was on in my living room and I could see the local station's, " breaking news" banner. Apparently, a wayward plane, accidentally careened into the World Trade Center. We wouldn't realize that the United States was under a terrorist attack until the second plane hit the second tower.

I never met her and I don't remember her name but I remember the fear and urgency in her voice. "Please stay on the line with me", she said. "I'm at another location, but I have over 500 employees in that building!" her voice was beginning to shake. "Just stay, I'll put you on hold in-between my other phone calls to the Managers in the building."

I reassured her that I would not hang up. I clicked the channel over to CNN and gave her updated information as the broadcaster announced the unfolding story. Dozens of times, she would put me on hold and then return a few minutes later panicked for new information. This would last until both of the towers fell. We both cried and said our good-byes.

I prayed that she would find some of those 500 employees and was happy to find out through another Executive, a few days later, that all 500 people had made it out safely. Those that could not accept transfers to the company's other divisions, some offers as far as three states away, would lose their jobs.

I never spoke to her after that morning, but I can still remember the tone and timber of her voice, five years later. Every 9/11 I remember the heros and the victims horror and her plea, "Please, stay on the line, with me." To this day, it is almost impossible, to get me to hang up first.

For years, I kept a yellowed and tattered postcard of John Lennon standing in front of the Statue of Liberty next to a patch of grass with a small sign on a stick that read "keep off the grass".

There he was, standing between the grand scale symbol of acceptance of all humanity and a small sign of a direct and absolute command. I was struck by this glaring mirror image of American life.

Much later, on public television, a group of academics debated the blind acceptance of societal norms in America. One scholar mentioned the proverbial "keep off the grass" sign. Why would the scholarly argue such a subject? It is part of our civic mystery.

What does one do when their path meets this sign? Do we blindly obey? Do we stop and wonder who is asking us to keep off the grass and then seek them out for negotiation? Maybe we can negotiate weekends on the grass or every other Saturday. Should we step on the grass in open defiance of such an oppressive order?

We face these "keep off the grass moments" almost daily. Whether it is about marriage, love and sex, divorce, having children or how we choose to deal with political and religious expectations. Should we choose career or family? What should we wear, eat or drive? Should we stay with the pack for safety? Is this succor and surcease or oppression?

HapytamyNYC says, "Follow your bliss, remember bed peace and please, keep off the grass".

I would feel much better about being a cowgirl if Bush wasn't such a cowboy. I want to enjoy the chaps, spurs and the clearing of the brush but I don't want to own a tank or anything with the word ballistic attached to it.

I want to ride to my home on the range and rustle up my lost steer along the way. I don't want to ride on somebody else's range and colonize it.

I want to ride my tall horse on a soft saddle not put my soft saddle on my high horse.

I want my cousins and my sisters to saddle up and enjoy a long ride into the sunset with me. I don't want them to saddle up and go fight for my freedom or my country's pursuit of happiness and in the process not return from the long ride into the sunset.

I know one thing my cowgirl side has in common with Bush, when we go searching for a cute, animated cowgirl photo for our blog(s) we both bring a paperbag to use for hyperventilation and a dictionary. Uh, is that what cowgirls do now?

I don't think that I need everyone to love me, for me to be happy. I do think that being squirted with mustard, ketchup, smeared with pickle relish, sprinkled with diced onions and then layed gently into a warm, soft, inviting hot dog bun would be nice. What if mustard was happiness? Ketchup was wisdom? Pickle relish was wealth? Diced onions was playfullness and fun?:D

I wonder, if you crossed paths with someone extra nice and helpful and they offered to squirt,smear or sprinkle you with a condiment and its special meaning, which condiment would you choose and what would it mean?