Where were you when the world stopped turning?

I was still in the shower.

My grandfather Wayne Wyatt, who passed away last September, poked his head into the bathroom and said, "A plane has hit the World Trade Center."

Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2001.

"Terrible accident," I think.

By the time I got to the bottom of the stairs, the second plane hit the other tower.

This was no accident.

I went to work. Doug Shipman called to talk about a golf tournament. I asked if I could call him back.

I watched news coverage on a small black-and-white TV. My boss came in about 10 and told us to get to work.

"If you just sit there, the terrorists have won."

She was right. I went to work.

Then it hit me:

I was in Manhattan the week before. It was my first trip to New York. I took a train to Grand Central Station. I met Tom Selleck. I saw those magnificent twin towers.

Turns out a guy with whom I once attended church, Tony Karnes, perished in the attacks. So, too, did so many others.

Everything changed. Nothing changed.

Where were you when the world stopped turning?

New York and back in 50 hours

New York and back in 50 hours. Fun. Fab. Fantastic.

Now, I'm going to crash.

Tell you about it this week.

Here's a summary.

Drive all night. 6:30 a.m. Breakfast at Junior's. Check-in at The Milford.

Two-hour sleep. Shatner. Music Box Theatre. Matinee.

Relax. Rest. Rejuvenated.

Restaurant Row. Ravioli at Lattanzi. Rockefeller Center. Snow. Skaters.

Knicks hat. Times Square. Rangers game at the Garden. Watched on TV.

To sleep. Perchance to dream.

Rise at 7. The New York Times; The Daily News.

Leave at 8. Wreck on the Turnpike. Ten minute wait.

Pennsylvania. Breakfast at Perkins.

Maryland. West Virginia. Virgina. Forever.

Tennessee. Louis'. Home.

Start spreadin' the snooze.

Still livin' and dyin' in Hawaii-Aleutian Standard Time

Last night after work the wifey and I met at Downtown Grill and Brewery for dinner. I was in South Knox for a late afternoon meeting, so I thought it would be a good excuse to eat downtown.

It was a nasty night, rainy and dreary, the kind of thing fall and winter usually bring with them. And, yet, it seemed to fit.

We sat by the front windows. I watched business types hurrying home in their three-piece suits, glad I could sit and enjoy myself during rush hour.

Bo Pierce, on Facebook, told us to pretend we were looking over the Pacific. As much as I still have Hawaii flowing through my veins, what I actually thought of was Manhattan. We were in such a spot where the buildings could have been skyscrapers and the hustle and bustle could have been ripped right out of Gotham. The rain added to the effect.

It put me in mind of that early February day we ate lunch at just such a brewery at the Empire State Building.

I want to go back to New York when we have more time to stay. Up and back was OK, but not enough.

After spending 10 days in paradise, though, I can tell you I'm still livin' and dyin' in Hawaii-Aleutian Standard Time. A New York state of mind will have to wait.

I do have one question, though. Why does the Downtown Grill NEVER have the State Street Stout in stock?

To be Daniel Okrent for a week...

OK, I've finally found another job I want. At least for a week.

If you've seen the incomparable Ken Burns "Baseball" documentary or read the New York Times the last few years, you know the name Daniel Okrent. And if you've ever played fantasy baseball, you owe him thanks.

Okrent created Rotisserie League Baseball back in the late 1970s. He was one of the best talking heads on Burns' ode to our national pastime. More importantly he is an accomplished writer and editor.

He has written a blog this week for Paris Review's website. As if I needed yet another reason to want to be back in Manhattan...

In a New York state of mind...

Hi gang.

Sorry I haven't ducked in this week. Took a quick jaunt to Manhattan to see "Elvis in Concert" at Radio City Music Hall. Great trip. Great time. More on that in an upcoming Shopper-News.

Weather is wonderful, isn't it? False spring has sprung. I only wish it would last, which you know it won't.

The fun had even hit Herald Square. A blustery 30-degree Tuesday gave way to a warm 50-degree Wednesday.

"Enjoy this weather while it lasts," said our server at Heartland Brewing Company, located at the base of the Empire State Building. I didn't even need the warm overcoat.

Manhattan is fun, feisty, forever alive and flashing. Too bad Jenn and I didn't have another day in the Big Apple. Saw the theater at which James Earl Jones and Vanessa Redgrave are appearing in "Driving Miss Daisy." Spotted a sign for another show devoted to the "Million Dollar Quartet" -- Elvis, Jerry Lee, Carl (as in Perkins) and Cash (as in Johnny). If only, if only.

Took the train from Penn Station back to Newark, back to reality. Woke up in Times Square, went to sleep in Tennessee.

I don't have any reasons, to quote Billy Joel. I've left them all behind.

I'm in a New York state of mind...

The mean reds

It's been a day for the mean reds.

Oh, not quite. Had an eye appointment this morning ($250 for an exam and a year's worth of contact lenses), went to the grocery store (steaks and refreshments for dinner) and chilled at the pad the rest of the day. But, I've not been with it today. Just can't seem to give a damn.

Read James Dickey through the first two chapters. Damn, what a book. Somehow worked up a headache, though, so herding words was out for the rest of the afternoon.

Tried to watch TV. Couldn't settle on anything. Skipped back and forth between "Weeds" and "West Wing" and "Perry Mason" and a Jack Lemmon movie.

I like Jack Lemmon. Kinda miss the old guy. This was a 1975 flick based on a Neil Simon play. It's set in Manhattan. Lemmon's going through a crisis; he's lost his job. Didn't hang with it long, but it made me want to hop a train and spend a few days in the City that Never Sleeps.

I want to walk down to the little newsstand in the Milford Plaza lobby, grab the Times, the Daily News and the Post, and some coffee, and while away the morning in bed with the papers. I did just that once, on a rainy Wednesday in February, before taking the subway down to Ground Zero to look around. It was five months after 9/11. They were still unearthing remains.

I give up on Jack Lemmon, but the Manhattan feeling won't go away. So I take something for the headache and watch Audrey Hepburn bedazzle George Peppard while talking about her mean reds. She enjoys breakfast at Tiffany's, you know. What a stunner.

I throw a load of towels in the laundry, but try not to think about what I'm doing. Being domestic, adrift in the suburbs, is depressing as hell.

I don't have anything to take for my mean reds. It's OK, though. The movie will do, at least until the credits roll.