This past weekend a hurricane, excuse me, tropical storm blew through the greater NY metro area.
From the protection of my little apartment in Brooklyn, I was really looking forward to a show. Irene pretty much broke wind (a few branches) and bailed. What a bitch!
But in fact, she pretty much wrecked havoc along the coastlines and there are a few communities still without power. Bummer.
We didn’t even buy flashlights.
Regardless, the weather drama provided a strong topic of conversation, and became a strange reminder of both the unity and division this city provides.
Unity in that we were all pretty much fucked if Irene had taken better notes from Katrina. Divided in the way a large majority of these idiots were running around and acting through the haze and confusion of survival.
Flashlights? Gone. Batteries? Are you kidding? Bread? They’re still re-stocking the shelves. And the peanut butter??? Like really people? You’re going to survive on PBJ sandwiches during the imminent apocolypse? Maybe I’m a snobby gastronaut with my taste buds in the clouds but that sounds like pretty boring fare to me.
And now that it’s been bought. It’s gotta get eaten.
I personally stocked up on Samanco fish-shaped adzuki bean and vanilla ice cream sandwiches… but that’s just me.