My mother and I were in England in 1986. I learned three things almost immediately, mushrooms for breakfast are a good thing, cream teas are better, and the Brits hate Americans. I spent three weeks hearing oh so charming English people with oh so charming English accents say oh so ill mannered things about my country, myself and my mother. Not to mention deliberately bad service in stores and restaurants.
On September 11, I figured they were cheering in pubs from Cornwall to Yorkshire. Reading the 9/11 thread, I find I figured wrong.

I spent September 11 working in Squirrel Hill, singing "How Firm a Foundation", praying for every woman I know who has a son or husband of military age, and looking down Forbes Avenue, to see if the Jewish Community Center was safe. I was convinced George W. spent the day worshipping the porcelain god. Now I'm working to send the son of a Bush back to Texas. (They've closed Devil's Island, so it'll have to be Texas.)