Come on, Irene
Sailors on a ceremonial unit run through the streets of the nation's capital during the pouring rain as hurricane Irene approached.
The nice thing about little earthquakes is that there's not the interminable lead-up, although the let-down can be as bad as a boozy night with a lousy lover.
Did you feel it? Did you feel it?
Nah, I missed it.
I knew Irene was gonna be a dud. I mean, let's be honest here: Irene is a pussy name for a hurricane. Ida would have uleashed the woop-ass. Even Ingrid, Irma, or Ivanka would have done some damage.
But Irene? Do you know what Irene means? It's from the Greek Ειρηνη (Eirene), the goddess of freakin peace. That's nice and all, but a loser name for a hurricane if there ever was one. (Ida, on the other hand, derives from the German for "work", which no one wants to see on a weekend — makes evacuation a snap, lemme tell ya.)
All this hysteria when we should have known, we could've known two or three years ago — they give out the names way in advance.
All the histrionic reports of the long-arm "lashing", the "pounding", the "slamming" we were about to receive from Irene as she "raged" along the coast. When was the last time you heard of anybody getting "pounded" by an Irene? Not even in the Women's Supermax. An Audrey, a Betsy, even a Shirley, yes. But an Irene? No. She's definitely a bottom.
Yes, there's an unfortunate death toll down South where the storm hit land as a Cat-3, but nothing north of Connecticut (where a man died from downed wires). I'm not saying that's because we're smahter up here, just more beloved by God, obviously. (Just between you and me: I think She's a lesbian. It's the only explanation that makes sense.)
Anyway, by the time Irene reached Coney Island she was pretty much out of steam. Going through Jersey takes it out of you, I guess.
And only yesterday the Governor of Massachusetts was warning of 90 mile-per-hour winds. By this morning it looked as if they'd peak somewhere in the mid-40s in Boston.
But when I was out an hour or two ago the wind didn't even blow my umbrella inside out. Pah. You can't even call it wind.
Seriously. It's not like New England doesn't have its weather. Nor'easter anyone? We know what wind is, bitches.
It's this kind of un-storm that makes me wonder if we don't, somewhere deep down in our iddiest of ids, long for destruction and disaster to hit. Civilization and its discontents, right? I mean, Hollywood indulges our mass fantasies of Armageddon with a blockbuster or two dedicated to the theme every summer.
Actual threats to life and limb notwithtanding, there is something quaintly primordial in our cursing the skies and scurrying to high ground at the first sign of storm clouds. It's not that there's not wisdom in doing everything in our power to avoid the havoc wild weather wreaks, it's that on some level — let's admit it — we are thrilled at the possibility of it. There is some wee kernel of wishful thinking in all our preparations for the worst.
Because inside us all there's something wild.
Wilder even than, er, Irene.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hsn2C5CDajE&feature=fvsr
All 3 other hurricanes I've lived through brought with them low pressure fronts which gave me nice naps - this one is so far so boring that I haven't even fallen asleep!
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The minute I heard that it had dropped to Category 3 over open water I knew she was on a downward spiral.
I was on Cape Cod as a kid for Hurricane Carol; my family and I were evacuated out of our little group of rental cottages in the back of a National Guard pickup truck through three feet of rapidly rising water. THAT was a hurricane!
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The only think I was worried about was rain and storm surge adding water to already saturated ground. So, not worried so much about you as about your garden. I love the attitude, though.
I was furious that the Red Sox could play baseball for eleven hours yesterday and I couldn't see any of it because of the evil MLB/Fox Saturday Baseball deals. For schadenfreude, the wimpy Yankees cancelled a double-header--away.
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Well hello sailors... I spent the storm where else but at a 'hurricane party'. Fortunately the storm turned out to be more fun than anything - at least for me and what appeared to be the majority of the South End - all of which had crowded into the bars that remained open by mid-afternoon.
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