TOPOFF 3 and the Little Engine that was Bombed by Terrorists
Shocked awake at 12.30
"Hey man, still want to go see the terror attacks?"
Tristan. I told him I would go. I jabber that I need a shower, but think better of it and decide to meet him at lunch. We're in New London. We're going to get some terror on film.
New London'd not the biggest city in the world, or in Connecticut, not by any means, and after just a few minutes of searching we find out terror. Well, not really. We find where the terror SHOULD be. Lots of cops, piggies in blue, standing around looking bored, but at the same time very on edge. In the car we jokingly talk about who we would call to front our bail, just in case we do get arrested. Tristan chooses his girlfriend. I choose Piya, because I figure she would get a kick out of it. Later that night she reminded me that she slapped me over the weekend. We have a funny relationship.
Parking. Where to park. The waterfront seem like a good idea, and we ditch the car in a 2 hour stip. It's 1 pm, and nothing is happening.
"Maybe it's not going down today. Maybe this is like the warm up. What if today's a mirage, like, to get people on edge, but ease them into it?", I say to Tristan, who looks around for any sign of activity.
"I was really expecting a lot more shit to go down, like explosions, cars flying, people walking around with shrapnel in their faces." He sounds dissappointed.
"Maybe we missed it?"
We didn't in fact miss it, as a loud explosion informs us. The concussion hits my chest. Not powerful from where we are, but enough to get my attention. A lovely cloud of black smoke slowly ascends to the heavens, and fast than it rises, Tristan and I fly to the car. After all, the camera is still there.
We perch on the pier. We watch the copters, the sirens, the trains going by and wait for another explosion. Or aliens. Just something to come about. I think. When I woke up I thought of three things, though I told Tristan only 2. The first: Gonzo journalism and the colour orange: how are they related? In reality, I don't think they are at all. The second: "I wonder how much it hurts to get hit with one of those police clubs?" I figured this might be a good thing to consider before going into battle, so to speak. The third: "I don't want to get arrested. It looks bad on a resume." I am a soon to be unemployed senior, after all.
Those points considered, things are pretty ok. Tristan and I are paranoid out of our minds for undercover cops. We saw some unmarked car, and everyone who comes near us is suspect. We film some. An old woman comes up. She's a late 50s hippie, with a point and shoot camera and a pair of japanese binoculars. We talk about the state of things, and what's going on over there, in the terror zone.
Before going on, I must frame this scene for you. The sky is blue, a perfect day for terrorism, if you ask me. I am in black boots and pants, holes in the knees, with my "Hunter" hat on. Tristan is wearing almost plaid looking pants (stylish) and a jacket, looking very indy filmmaker. The old lady (she's not that old) has long scraggly hair, mostly grey. She's stout, about my height, and smells of something I can't quite place. We stand on a pier. Across the harbour there is a clearing, very close to the Pfizer building. Here the US government has decided to have a mock terror strike. It is really only about a mile away, if that.
So the hippy woman gives me her specs and I see a legion of people marching en masse below an American flag. I look again and see the same thing. Tristan tapes it. The woman scurries to her auto for another pair of specs, a more powerful pair. She reminds me of my high school latin teacher. We bid her farewell soon after this, then never see her again.
Think like a terrorist. That's my internal mantra. The lady told us to check out L&M Hospital. The decontamination center is set up there, in the ER. Tristan and I think of a way to get in there. I suggest hitting my head on the railing of the pier, but we decide against it. Driving by, there is a row of "real" press and about 10 cop cars, all manned and ready to chase down vagrants and or people of arabic decent. I'm sure either would do for them. THey wait, and we roll on by, looking, but not filming. We cruise by the water, looking for a vantage point. We find nothing, and whilst turning around become part of a convoy of emergency vehicles, slowly heading towards the terror site.
"Decontamination truck. Do not come withing 500ft"
Well fuck, I think, as we're tailgaiting this monster beast of a vehicle. Well fuck indeed.
The rotary points us away from the terror and towards protesters, some from our school. Tris knows them much better than I, and we decide to hook up with them. Parking is an issue, so we ditch near Carlos' Market. Hiking up the road some, we wander around downtown looking for a good vantage point. We make our way to Howard St. when we see a man filming traffic. We head towards him.
As we gain on him, he books it, calmly. No words said. I think he got my picture. Wonder what one would do with that? Maybe I'll have a big folder in the pentagon someday. It'll be big, but not thick. I'll be happy that way. I can do so much more without a thick folder...but we take his place and hang out behind some office buildings. For the large amount of police that are around, blocking the roads, there are NONE behind these buildings. Camera in his hand, Tristan and I look for a good vantage point, coming dangerously close to this scene. More sirens and flashes than one can count are over the ridge, all sorts of fed, medics, cops, coasties, and all sorts of nasties as well. We sit there and get some shots in passing. We can't muster the balls to charge the ridge they're on and get a good shot. We sit and think of climbing a building, or a tree, but think better of it. We leave.
As we leave, we see our protesting friends. We hook up, get mobile, and head towards the hospital again, to show them what we saw. We can't actually pull up to the ER, which makes me think how much it would suck to be bleeding right now, so we cut through the hospital and around. We drive by once, and drive by again. On the second round, Tristan lifts up his camera, and tapes. I slow down so he can get some good shots. I get to speed ASAP, go past the cop blocking the road, and join traffic. Smooth.
"I need all your liscences, your registration and your insurance"
Right. He pulled us over next to a fire hydrant. It was yellow and rusted. What if there were a fire? What then? That cop would've been responsible for the loss of so much property as well as the potential destruction of a hospital...man, he would be hanged for that. But there was no fire, all there was really was a car full of youth and a cop. He was actually not as bad of a fucker as he could of been. He warned us against the fed. They, he said, don't give a shit if you are a college student with a film department. THey, he said, would stomp your camera in front of your face, while you and the baby jesus cry about it, then they would slap jesus, noting the seperation between church and state, and drive off with your virginity. They like to look big, he said, in my words.
Not even a warning. To Ocean Beach we go! Driving backroads, as to avoid and APBs for a Black WRX, we get lost. We end up at a bowling alley. It's 3 something right now, and I think that bowling would be fun. But the Ocean holds many secrets, and when we get to the beach, we see that these secrets are not really secret, but giants.
The cop at the park entrance assures me the beach is open, and lets me check it out for myself once he looks at my driver's liscence. That sure was nice of him. So we park between the Carvel and the Kiddie Rides and hit the boardwalk. All around us are correspondents for VNN, the Virtual News Network that is mock covering this mock terror attack. They are not alone. On the beach are many, many cops. In the water are 2 zodiacs, or something like them. They have Coastie colour and M60s on the fronts. One comes over towards us and points it's bow directly down our throats, giving us a good look at his cannon. We look at him, and he at us. This goes on for a few minutes.
"He must be really bored"
The boat goes away. Makes me wonder if they could hear us talking. Wandering the boulevard, we hit the mini golf course and the sands themselves. The place is closed and feds are everywhere.
Plus the water's cold. No day for a swim. Too early in the year.
So we pack it in and head to the car. A cop stops us, nicely in fact. He wears an orange vest and a hat that reads "TOPOFF 3". Quite a nice hat. Daniel wonders where he can get one.
"How'd you boys get in here?"
"Through the main gate."
"Yeah?"
"I showed him my ID."
"What were you doing here?"
"Walking on the beach."
"Where are you going now?"
"To our car."
I wanted to tell the cop that we had indeed parked betwixt the Kiddie Rides and the Carvel, as the large map of the beach behind him showed, but that might have dampened our moods. We leave. We retreat to our refuge of academia. I drop everyone off at campus, then go to my apartment. I sit there and think there. I didn't get hassled too much, not at all, but just enough to bother me. Terrorists are underestimated by these men. If a bunch of college kids can figure out what you are doing, and where you are going to take people to be treated for contamination, then I think that someone with malicious intent most definately would know where to go to blow shit up.
The public nature of the excercise bothers me, as well as how private they tried to make it. If we were all invited to watch, I would be ok. But they are making this whole terror attack a little too real, and there were more than a few people on the streets that had no idea what to expect, and were quite irked by the lack of information they received.
I was angry when I got home. Angry. I felt like those cops really were the enemy. I wanted to just yell and gnash and do all that childish stuff. I wanted to change the world. I was worked up like no other. Then I get a message from a friend. He can tell I'm steamed and inquires why. "Man", I tell him, "It's that fucking TOPOFF 3!"
"What the hell is TOPOFF 3?", he says.
Shocked awake at 12.30
"Hey man, still want to go see the terror attacks?"
Tristan. I told him I would go. I jabber that I need a shower, but think better of it and decide to meet him at lunch. We're in New London. We're going to get some terror on film.
New London'd not the biggest city in the world, or in Connecticut, not by any means, and after just a few minutes of searching we find out terror. Well, not really. We find where the terror SHOULD be. Lots of cops, piggies in blue, standing around looking bored, but at the same time very on edge. In the car we jokingly talk about who we would call to front our bail, just in case we do get arrested. Tristan chooses his girlfriend. I choose Piya, because I figure she would get a kick out of it. Later that night she reminded me that she slapped me over the weekend. We have a funny relationship.
Parking. Where to park. The waterfront seem like a good idea, and we ditch the car in a 2 hour stip. It's 1 pm, and nothing is happening.
"Maybe it's not going down today. Maybe this is like the warm up. What if today's a mirage, like, to get people on edge, but ease them into it?", I say to Tristan, who looks around for any sign of activity.
"I was really expecting a lot more shit to go down, like explosions, cars flying, people walking around with shrapnel in their faces." He sounds dissappointed.
"Maybe we missed it?"
We didn't in fact miss it, as a loud explosion informs us. The concussion hits my chest. Not powerful from where we are, but enough to get my attention. A lovely cloud of black smoke slowly ascends to the heavens, and fast than it rises, Tristan and I fly to the car. After all, the camera is still there.
We perch on the pier. We watch the copters, the sirens, the trains going by and wait for another explosion. Or aliens. Just something to come about. I think. When I woke up I thought of three things, though I told Tristan only 2. The first: Gonzo journalism and the colour orange: how are they related? In reality, I don't think they are at all. The second: "I wonder how much it hurts to get hit with one of those police clubs?" I figured this might be a good thing to consider before going into battle, so to speak. The third: "I don't want to get arrested. It looks bad on a resume." I am a soon to be unemployed senior, after all.
Those points considered, things are pretty ok. Tristan and I are paranoid out of our minds for undercover cops. We saw some unmarked car, and everyone who comes near us is suspect. We film some. An old woman comes up. She's a late 50s hippie, with a point and shoot camera and a pair of japanese binoculars. We talk about the state of things, and what's going on over there, in the terror zone.
Before going on, I must frame this scene for you. The sky is blue, a perfect day for terrorism, if you ask me. I am in black boots and pants, holes in the knees, with my "Hunter" hat on. Tristan is wearing almost plaid looking pants (stylish) and a jacket, looking very indy filmmaker. The old lady (she's not that old) has long scraggly hair, mostly grey. She's stout, about my height, and smells of something I can't quite place. We stand on a pier. Across the harbour there is a clearing, very close to the Pfizer building. Here the US government has decided to have a mock terror strike. It is really only about a mile away, if that.
So the hippy woman gives me her specs and I see a legion of people marching en masse below an American flag. I look again and see the same thing. Tristan tapes it. The woman scurries to her auto for another pair of specs, a more powerful pair. She reminds me of my high school latin teacher. We bid her farewell soon after this, then never see her again.
Think like a terrorist. That's my internal mantra. The lady told us to check out L&M Hospital. The decontamination center is set up there, in the ER. Tristan and I think of a way to get in there. I suggest hitting my head on the railing of the pier, but we decide against it. Driving by, there is a row of "real" press and about 10 cop cars, all manned and ready to chase down vagrants and or people of arabic decent. I'm sure either would do for them. THey wait, and we roll on by, looking, but not filming. We cruise by the water, looking for a vantage point. We find nothing, and whilst turning around become part of a convoy of emergency vehicles, slowly heading towards the terror site.
"Decontamination truck. Do not come withing 500ft"
Well fuck, I think, as we're tailgaiting this monster beast of a vehicle. Well fuck indeed.
The rotary points us away from the terror and towards protesters, some from our school. Tris knows them much better than I, and we decide to hook up with them. Parking is an issue, so we ditch near Carlos' Market. Hiking up the road some, we wander around downtown looking for a good vantage point. We make our way to Howard St. when we see a man filming traffic. We head towards him.
As we gain on him, he books it, calmly. No words said. I think he got my picture. Wonder what one would do with that? Maybe I'll have a big folder in the pentagon someday. It'll be big, but not thick. I'll be happy that way. I can do so much more without a thick folder...but we take his place and hang out behind some office buildings. For the large amount of police that are around, blocking the roads, there are NONE behind these buildings. Camera in his hand, Tristan and I look for a good vantage point, coming dangerously close to this scene. More sirens and flashes than one can count are over the ridge, all sorts of fed, medics, cops, coasties, and all sorts of nasties as well. We sit there and get some shots in passing. We can't muster the balls to charge the ridge they're on and get a good shot. We sit and think of climbing a building, or a tree, but think better of it. We leave.
As we leave, we see our protesting friends. We hook up, get mobile, and head towards the hospital again, to show them what we saw. We can't actually pull up to the ER, which makes me think how much it would suck to be bleeding right now, so we cut through the hospital and around. We drive by once, and drive by again. On the second round, Tristan lifts up his camera, and tapes. I slow down so he can get some good shots. I get to speed ASAP, go past the cop blocking the road, and join traffic. Smooth.
"I need all your liscences, your registration and your insurance"
Right. He pulled us over next to a fire hydrant. It was yellow and rusted. What if there were a fire? What then? That cop would've been responsible for the loss of so much property as well as the potential destruction of a hospital...man, he would be hanged for that. But there was no fire, all there was really was a car full of youth and a cop. He was actually not as bad of a fucker as he could of been. He warned us against the fed. They, he said, don't give a shit if you are a college student with a film department. THey, he said, would stomp your camera in front of your face, while you and the baby jesus cry about it, then they would slap jesus, noting the seperation between church and state, and drive off with your virginity. They like to look big, he said, in my words.
Not even a warning. To Ocean Beach we go! Driving backroads, as to avoid and APBs for a Black WRX, we get lost. We end up at a bowling alley. It's 3 something right now, and I think that bowling would be fun. But the Ocean holds many secrets, and when we get to the beach, we see that these secrets are not really secret, but giants.
The cop at the park entrance assures me the beach is open, and lets me check it out for myself once he looks at my driver's liscence. That sure was nice of him. So we park between the Carvel and the Kiddie Rides and hit the boardwalk. All around us are correspondents for VNN, the Virtual News Network that is mock covering this mock terror attack. They are not alone. On the beach are many, many cops. In the water are 2 zodiacs, or something like them. They have Coastie colour and M60s on the fronts. One comes over towards us and points it's bow directly down our throats, giving us a good look at his cannon. We look at him, and he at us. This goes on for a few minutes.
"He must be really bored"
The boat goes away. Makes me wonder if they could hear us talking. Wandering the boulevard, we hit the mini golf course and the sands themselves. The place is closed and feds are everywhere.
Plus the water's cold. No day for a swim. Too early in the year.
So we pack it in and head to the car. A cop stops us, nicely in fact. He wears an orange vest and a hat that reads "TOPOFF 3". Quite a nice hat. Daniel wonders where he can get one.
"How'd you boys get in here?"
"Through the main gate."
"Yeah?"
"I showed him my ID."
"What were you doing here?"
"Walking on the beach."
"Where are you going now?"
"To our car."
I wanted to tell the cop that we had indeed parked betwixt the Kiddie Rides and the Carvel, as the large map of the beach behind him showed, but that might have dampened our moods. We leave. We retreat to our refuge of academia. I drop everyone off at campus, then go to my apartment. I sit there and think there. I didn't get hassled too much, not at all, but just enough to bother me. Terrorists are underestimated by these men. If a bunch of college kids can figure out what you are doing, and where you are going to take people to be treated for contamination, then I think that someone with malicious intent most definately would know where to go to blow shit up.
The public nature of the excercise bothers me, as well as how private they tried to make it. If we were all invited to watch, I would be ok. But they are making this whole terror attack a little too real, and there were more than a few people on the streets that had no idea what to expect, and were quite irked by the lack of information they received.
I was angry when I got home. Angry. I felt like those cops really were the enemy. I wanted to just yell and gnash and do all that childish stuff. I wanted to change the world. I was worked up like no other. Then I get a message from a friend. He can tell I'm steamed and inquires why. "Man", I tell him, "It's that fucking TOPOFF 3!"
"What the hell is TOPOFF 3?", he says.
WE ARE NOT AFRAID
Mock
Terror
is a
Scare Tactic
New London April 4-8
www.riverridgerecord.org
(a sticker given to me by the CCLEFT kids)
(I live on River Ridge Road)
-ccm
Mock
Terror
is a
Scare Tactic
New London April 4-8
www.riverridgerecord.org
(a sticker given to me by the CCLEFT kids)
(I live on River Ridge Road)
-ccm
posted by CCMAS | 4:43 AM
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