Thinking back on that day, I was supposed to leave on a road trip that morning. I woke up when my dad starting banging on my front door shouting that we were at war. I spent the next few hours watching the live footage of what was happening. Then I got a call saying my 10am haircut appointment was cancelled because downtown Anchorage was being evacuated. Apparently some dumbass Chinese pilot tripped the "Hijack" alarm in his jetliner and they thought the plane was going to either crash into a building in Anchorage or maybe the Alaska pipeline in Valdez.

I ended up canceling my trip, which would have eventually taken me to New York to see some baseball games. The Mets were making a late-season charge and were basically unbeatable. It really looked like they were going to catch the Braves (fuck you Armando Benitez!). Thinking back, I kind of wish I had gone anyways. It would have been great to be there for Piazza's home run on the first game in NY after 9/11.

I did make it to New York the following spring and got to see the viewing area of the pit. It amazed me how many foreign tourists were standing there smiling for photographs in front of what was basically an open grave. I remember how this one group of asian tourists were joking and smiling until they saw me staring at them with what must have been the coldest face I've ever made. I think maybe they thought I was going to come over and kill them because their smiles immediately vanished.