The View from the 13th Floor

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The View from the 13th Floor:
The learning curve of George W. Bush, the nickname of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the language of Isiah Thomas and the wisdom of the drug addict Lenny Bruce

“It’s the suppression of the word that gives it the power, the violence, the viciousness.”
– Lenny Bruce
(I would only add: So does the expression.)

I’m waiting for delivery. The Chinese restaurant around the corner makes a great spicy kung pao. The Chinese restaurant also serves Spanish food and Peruvian dishes. In the morning, the restaurant offers the best breakfast special in New York City. It’s called the Hong Kong Special: pancakes, eggs, sausage or bacon and coffee, all for $4.99. In other parts of America, we call this the Denny’s Grand Slam.
I ordered enchiladas camarones along with my kung pao.
In its circulars, the Chinese restaurant advertises “dishes with the diversity of the United Nations.” There’s some truth in advertising.
The United Nations, a bionic stone’s throw from my apartment on the Upper West Side, happens to be the hotspot of the world these days. A few days ago, world leaders gathered there for the opening of the 62nd session of the General Assembly. President George Bush spoke in the morning. Expanding his axis of evil, he identified a series of “brutal regimes” in Belarus, Cuba, Iran, North Korea, Syria and Zimbabwe. The leader of one of those nations, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (pronounced ah-mah-dih-nee-ZAD), sat in the audience.
President Bush reserved his harshest words for Myanmar, or Burma according to the Bush administration. He said, “Americans are outraged by the situation in Burma, where a military junta has imposed a 19-year reign of fear. Basic freedoms of speech, assembly, and worship are severely restricted. Ethnic minorities are persecuted. Forced child labor and human trafficking are widespread. In the capital city of…” Bush paused. In the video of his speech, his hands tightly gripped the lectern. “In the capital city,” Bush continued, “rape is common.”
Why did Bush pause? Did he forget the capital city of Myanmar, or Burma as the Bush administration insists? Did he know the capital of Myanmar? Wasn’t the name of the city written down in his speech? Why couldn’t he just read the name off the sheet of paper?
When George W. Bush ran for the presidency in 2000, the American public discovered that he couldn’t name but a few heads of state around the world. On the African continent, for instance, Bush came up with three: Khaddafi in Libya, Mubarak in Egypt, Nelson Mandela down in South Africa. Of course, everyone on the planet knew that name. It wasn’t much of an accomplishment.
Seven years later, Bush apparently has learned the name of another leader in Africa. In his speech at the United Nations he called the government of Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe, “An assault on its people and an affront to the principles” of human rights.
Clearly George W. Bush is on a slow learning curve. Seven years to learn one name? This calls to mind the geographical knowledge of the president, not exactly his specialty. Question: Would George W. Bush be able to name one city in Iran other than Tehran? If his administration is about to bomb Iran in a desperate attempt at power relations, shouldn’t he have a basic knowledge of that country’s geography?
The most influential comedian of the 20th century, Lenny Bruce, specifically addressed this issue. The date was October 1962, the fortnight known as the Cuban Missile Crisis. Bruce spent that incredibly tense time in Miami, a bionic stone’s throw away from the theater of engagement. “In-VAY-shon!” Bruce shouted at his audience. “In-VAY-shon!” And then he screeched, “We’re all gonna die!”
His audiences laughed and giggled and released all the pent up anxieties of near-destruction.
During his fortnight in Miami, Lenny Bruce asked his audience to name one city in Cuba other than Havana. When nobody could, he responded, “We all better learn a little about Cuba. Some of you might be sent there to fight. And I don’t know about you but if I’m going to die in a place, I want to know something about it.”
How is it that Lenny Bruce, a high school dropout addicted to Methedrine, understood the world better than our Yale-educated president? Maybe the answer can be found in one of Lenny Bruce’s favorite lines, “If white America told the truth for one day, its whole world would fall apart.”
My doorbell rings. The sound is intrusive but my dog, Isaac, does not stir. He used to overreact. He used to rush to the door like he wanted to tear it down. His bark used to be as threatening as an Ahmadinejad rant. Isaac is an old man now and he no longer hears the doorbell. I used to curse his overreaction to the doorbell. Now I miss it.
When the doorbell rings, a voice nearby immediately follows. “Doorbell,” the voice says, as if I need the reminder. The voice doesn’t belong to a spouse or a child. The voice belongs to Ted, the guy just outside the window. I live on the 13th floor. To my knowledge, Ted doesn’t know how to fly. He can’t scale large buildings. No, Ted is part of the construction community. At its core Manhattan is a construction zone.
Scaffolding covers the exterior of my building. There’s a rope and pulley system arching over the edge of the roof. A kind of ladder is attached to the rope and pulley system, stretched out horizontally. It serves as a platform. Ted stands on the horizontal ladder, strapped in by a harness, and performs building repairs.
Isaac doesn’t bark at the sound of Ted’s voice. Isaac might not be able to hear Ted’s voice but the truth is, Ted has become a member of the family. He’s been with us for the past week now. He’s volunteered intimate details about his life over this span. For instance, he has a wife who’s pregnant. He’s scared out of his mind about becoming a father.
This morning, when I went out for a run, I somewhat facetiously asked Ted to keep an eye on the place. He, in all seriousness, asked me to bring him back a soda. I forgot. When I phoned the Chinese restaurant to place my to-go order, Ted asked for a Coke. His request immediately slipped my mind.
I’m becoming an old man too.
I answer the door. There’s a deliveryman carrying a heavy plastic bag of food. He hands over the bag. It’s too heavy. I look at the check. It’s too much. He shows me the address. The building is right. The apartment number is wrong. I live in 13E. “E for Edward,” I always say when ordering food. He wants 13B. B for Bush, I would assume.
Unfortunately for the delivery guy, 13B is on the other side of the building, in a whole different elevator shaft. He could do his deliveries at Columbia in less time.
Of course Columbia, not even a bionic stone’s throw from my apartment, was a little busy this week. The day before the UN session, the university opened its campus to the Mahmoud Ahmadinejad Publicity Tour. “You should have seen the crowds,” my neighbor Kim, a Columbia student, told me. “Hundreds of protestors and counter-protestors. The media hovering like pterodactyls. I think I saw Bill O’Reilly.”
Bill O’Reilly’s presence didn’t surprise me. Kim’s simile did. Did pterodactyls hover?
Kim expressed some disappointment, however. She did not get into the auditorium. “The tickets went like hotcakes,” she told me. “It was easier to get a ticket for Simpson.” Ashlee or Jessica, I would assume, not O.J.
Kim, like hundreds of others, watched the live telecast on a big screen set up on the lawn.
Here are some facts according to the Mahmoud Ahmadinejad Publicity Tour. When accused of supporting terrorist groups while simultaneously building a nuclear arsenal, Ahmadinejad turned the accusation around, “If you have created the fifth generation of atomic bombs and are testing them already, who are you to question other people who just want nuclear power. I think the politicians who are after atomic bombs, politically, they’re backwards. Retarded.”
Did he really say retarded? You’d have to ask the interpreter. Ahmadinejad spoke in Persian. However, according to a huge amount of circumstantial evidence, Ahmadinejad speaks a more international language. Some background information here might be useful. Ahmadinejad participated in the takeover of the American embassy back in 1979. He was one of the original student-organizers. During that takeover, the American diplomats shredded as much documentation as time permitted.
The Iranians, when they found the shredded documentation, brought in a large receptacle to crate out the trash. One man stopped that activity. He began to piece the strips of paper back together. He gained a nickname from that activity: Scotch. His real name was Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
In order to tape the shredded American documents back together, Scotch Ahmadinejad had to know English.
At Columbia, the Mahmoud Ahmadinejad Publicity Tour rolled on. When asked if his country sought the destruction of Israel, Ahmadinejad replied, “We love all people. We are friends of the Jews. There are many Jews living in Iran, with peace and security.”
There used to be many more Jews living in Iran. Under the Shah’s regime, Iran was sort of a safe haven for Jews. The population used to be 150,000 strong. Meanwhile, the Shah secretly pushed for friendly relations with Israel. Iran in fact supplied Israel with oil and in return Mossad agents, attempting to look like the Shah’s elite forces, formed the Shah’s security detail.
The Shah also opened his country to Iraqi Jews fleeing Saddam Hussein and earlier dictators. The Shah’s Iran became the underground railroad for Iraqi Jews trying to reach either the West or Israel.
When Khomeini came to power, he met with representatives of the Jewish community. Ostensibly he offered fair treatment. He issued a fatwa in support of the Jewish minority. There was even a Jewish seat in the parliament.
The Jewish exodus began essentially as Khomeini arrived. Half the population fled in the initial stage of the Khomeini revolution. By the end of the century, less than 30,000 remained. Today, according to the Christian Science Monitor, some 25,000 Jews stick it out.
At Columbia, the Mahmoud Ahmadinejad Publicity Tour rolled on. When asked about Iran’s execution of gays, Ahmadinejad responded, “In Iran we don’t have homosexuals like in your country. We don’t have that in our country.”
Apparently the crowd booed and hissed and chortles of laughter echoed throughout the auditorium.
Ahmadinejad continued, “In Iran, we do not have this phenomenon. I don’t know who’s told you that we have this.”
According to 365gay.com, the premier gay newspaper and watchdog, “International gay rights groups believe that more than 4,000 lesbians and gay men have been executed since the ayatollahs seized power in 1979.”
Undeterred, the Mahmoud Ahmadinejad Publicity Tour rolled on. When asked about Iran’s treatment of women, Ahmadinejad said, “Women are the best creatures created by God. They represent the kindness, the beauty that God instills in them. Women are respected in Iran.”
These patronizing words speak for themselves. But I have news for Ahmadinejad. Women are not the best creatures created by God. Dogs are.
One man who might not agree with that statement is Michael Vick. Another man who had something to say about women this week is former basketball star and current coach of the New York Knicks, Isiah Thomas. According to Anucha Browne Sanders, the fired Knicks executive suing Thomas and Madison Square Garden for sexual harassment and seeking $10 million in damages, Thomas repeatedly called her a “bitch” and a “ho.”
Thomas responded in a videotaped deposition. Asked if a black man calling a black female a “bitch” bothered him, Thomas responded, “Not as much. I’m sorry to say, I do make a distinction.”
He continued, “A white male calling a black female a bitch is highly offensive. That would have violated my code of conduct.”
He continued, “Maybe I shouldn’t go there…. A white man calling a black female, that is wrong with me. I’m not taking that. I’m not accepting that…. That’s a problem for me.”
My question, after reading both Isiah’s quotes and Ahmadinejad’s quotes, is this: If you were a female and you had to have lunch with one of these two men, which would you choose?
Speaking of lunch, the doorbell rings again. My dog does not stir. “Doorbell,” Ted says. A different deliveryman stands with the food.
“Watcha got?” Ted asks, when I reappear. I list the items. “Did you get my soda?” he says.
I give him the bad news. He gives me a New York look. On the surface, the look suggests that he’s tough and full of menace. Below the surface, the look suggests sensitivity and hurt feelings. New Yorkers really are very delicate souls.
I offer Ted the kung pao. I sit on the inside of the window ledge and he sits on the horizontal ladder, still harnessed in, and together we eat lunch. We use plastic utensils.
“Man,” he says, “I could kill for a Coke.” His mouth burns. Beads of sweat form on his forehead.
I enjoy the shrimp enchiladas. My mouth does not burn.

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