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God Doesn�t Want Me to Live in Washington Heights I�m not posting this entry because I want attention; I�m posting it for therapeutic purposes, and because I don�t really feel like telling the story again, so here it is. Since living in this neighbourhood, I have been robbed while I dozed on the subway, robbed in my apartment (where I was not present at the moment), and now, assaulted and robbed in person. Would these events have occurred in other parts of town? I do not know. I can only take what action is available to me to ensure that they will not transpire again, and that if they do, they will finish with the person who so violates my rights bleeding. Last night, I went on a date with a boy I met at a party on Friday. He�s absolutely gorgeous, being my height, slightly better-built than I, blond-haired, blue-eyed, and one of the more mature nineteen-year-olds I�ve ever met (That�s right, I�m nigh on a decade older than he is, and this is a complete violation of my rule regarding anything under 23 being nothing but trouble), despite his claim that he�s a teenage boy and consequently prone to thinking only of food, video games, and sex. He�s a part-time film student who�s come to the City from Iowa and works in a cafe, so he�s chronically broke, so our going out for sushi meant that I paid, which was fine. We then walked down to Blockbuster to see if there was anything we wanted to rent and watch, which there wasn�t, so we agreed we�d come back to my place, watch the big �Spanish Inquisition� episode of Monty Python on BBC on Demand, then the South Park movie, then go to bed. As we walked into the lobby of my building, I decided I should check the mail, so I stepped over to the mailbox, scarcely noticing the man who slipped in behind us before the door fell shut and locked, until he punched me in the back of the head/neck. Clearly, his plan was that I�d go down after such a blow, but this was a miscalculation on his part, as I, apparently, am made of slightly more resilient stuff, and merely turned, blurting out, �What the fuck...� or something of that sort, thinking perhaps that my date had gotten a little frisky, and then, upon realising I was ever so very wrong, fearing we were about to be gay-bashed, though I don�t think there was anything in our conduct or appearance on our way into the building that would have implied we were anything other than friends who�d been hanging out for the evening. While fiddling with something in his pocket, he demanded we give him all his money. My immediate response was the one I give to beggars on the street: �Sorry, dude, but I don�t carry cash,� a statement which is usually true, and speaking for my companion, �And he�s flat broke, so there�s really not much we can do for you.� He demanded to see our wallets. I pulled mine out, prepared to show him its emptiness, only to discover that I did, in fact, have some cash, probably along the lines of $20, after which, despite my protestations (�cause I�m a mouthy muggee, wouldn�t ya know), he demanded to see what my friend had, which turned out to be less than $10. Our assailant muttered some threat about, �In case you�re thinking of telling anyone, I live right across the street,� and walked out the door. My brain racing, I asked the boy if he was alright, which he was, as the guy had only decided to sucker-punch me, and thinking that my Connecticut cell phone number in New York City might not dial the correct Police Department if I dialed 911, phoned my super, who suggested I dial the aforementioned emergency number. (Had I not been so completely caught off-guard, I�m sure I would�ve responded differently at every turn, but the boy, whom I�ll call Jason, and I had been thoroughly engrossed in conversation, and each other, when we were accosted, and consequently, my reaction throughout the entire event, which cannot have even lasted two minutes, was simply one of dazed incredulity.) I called the police; they arrived within about two minutes and took our statements, though the driving officer said our story sounded �fishy� (My head feels a bit fishy today, thanks, Officer Motherfucker) and berated me for not immediately dialing 911. So even if you�re not seriously injured, bleeding or in great distress, feel free to call 911; the NYPD apparently does NOT have more pressing issues to address than a sucker-punch and the theft of probably less than $30 -- Thanks, Bloomberg. Damn, there�s a lot of sarcasm all over my keyboard right now. We returned to my apartment, where I began to beat myself for everything I could have, should have, might have done, partly out of frustration at my own apparent impotence, partly because I feared the decidedly unimpressive impression I might have made on my young date (to his credit, he being, despite his age, considerably more level-headed than I, it did not seem to diminish his opinion of me, as we watched that Monty Python episode while snuggling, then went to bed to fuck like wild animals before sleeping wrapped around each other �til mid-morning). Notwithstanding the fact that the criminal was slightly shorter than me and had probably a good 50 lbs. on me, was probably jacked-up on SOME substance, despite the early hour (It wasn�t quite 10 p.m.), and might have been carrying a weapon of some sort, I thought: I was carrying a key-ring with numerous sharp keys and a sharp-hooked bottle opener on it. Did I use them? No. We were in the lobby of my building, onto which a number of apartments open. Did I call for help or make a ruckus? No. When the perpetrator turned to my boy and demanded his wallet, did I tackle him from behind and smear his face onto the hard stone lobby floor before gleefully jumping up and down on his back? No. Did I remove one of my size 12 shoes and bludgeon the piece of garbage upside the head and face with it? No. Did I pull out the steel-tipped ball-point pen I�m usually carrying and put it through the fucker�s trachea like my Daddy taught me to do? No. I gave him my money and stopped just short of bidding him a pleasant evening. Will this happen again? No. Dear Citizens of New York City and indeed, the rest of the United States of America: Amendment Two to our Constitution (drafted, interestingly, in this very City) states the following: �A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.� Guess what, kids? We ARE that well-regulated Militia, even these more than two centuries later, and I submit to you that it is not merely our right to keep and bear arms, but our responsibility, in order to act in defense of our properties, our persons, and those of our friends and compatriots, against a ceaseless onslaught from murderous and wanton miscreants and hoodlums. Those who know me know my inclination towards pacifism, my general calm, my forgiving nature, and my desire to see the best in others, as well as to discover a constructive lesson in whatever may befall. I firmly believe, however, that until we all take this right, this DUTY upon ourselves in earnest, the land in which we live will not be safe for the upright, the law-abiding, the responsible, the hard-working; nor will it be a haven for the oppressed, the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free. My father and my step-mother, who reside in Virginia, both possess licensees to carry concealed weapons, and they do carry them. They have both worked in the federal court system, and they live together in the middle of nowhere. My setting is nearly the polar opposite; I am an artist residing in the nation�s greatest metropolis. Our situations, however, are much the same. There is simply no room on our planet for those who would behave in the manner in which my assailant did last evening. Dear Citizens of New York, and indeed of the rest of Our Great Nation (despite the wicked hands into which it has, of late, fallen): Henceforth, should you attempt, without provocation, to bring harm to me, my property, or anyone whom I love (and that covers the vast majority of the populace) in my presence, you may not live to tell the tale. I urge you all to the same Stand. r
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