I’m reminded of a bit from the stand-up act of Robin Williams, (RIP, good sir) where he was talking about the first time Adam and Eve had sex after they had partaken of the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.
Adam, as he rolls away from Eve: “Get back, honey, I have no idea how big this thing gets.”
Well, here’s my blog, like it or not, and I hope you will; I have no idea how big it’s going to get, but there’s only one way to find out.
And here we go…
“DANCING WITH IRMA: GOING DOWN THE DRAIN WITH A SMILE ON MY FACE AND A RAFT UP MY BUTT”
That’s the working title of my new book about my experiences during Hurricane Irma…in the meantime, some observations about the this, that and whatever of Ms. I.
*I went through a number of tornadoes during my many years of living in Northern Illinois, the terminus for what is known in the Midwest as “Tornado Alley”, and while watching Irma, deep in the throes of early Monday morning, when she passed within 35 miles of where I live here in New Port Richey, it occurred to me that the ferocity level of Irma (even though the National Weather Service is now saying that Irma had lost a great deal of her force as she was moving north over Florida, she hit Pasco County with a wind force of 90-100 MPH…that’s moving along smartly) was no greater than many tornadoes I’d seen, in any one frozen moment…but while the tornado attacks and then seems to disappear, the hurricane just keeps on comin’. And comin’. And comin’…and comin’.
*I was without power from about 4:00am Monday morning until about 8:00pm Tuesday evening…I got so sick and tired of walking into dark rooms, throwing the light switch and having nothing happen. (My ex-wife made a similar comment about me once…never mind.)
*One half of the apartment complex I live in had power throughout…one half did not. Guess which half I live in. (Fuckers, from my balcony I could see the lights and the TVs and the laptops and the tablets all flickering and dancing, not fifty yards away, whilst their owners sat in air-conditioned bliss, gorging on hot food prepared on electric appliances and lapping up cold drinks from a refrigerator and flipping channels with gay abandon.)
I’m not bitter, noo, not a bit.
*One interesting note about the lights over on the other side of the complex…one outdoor spot was trained on an American flag that one of my neighbors was flying, screw the weather. I could see the flag for most of the night.
*My first experience with the haute cuisine of Hector Boiardi, better known here in this country as Chef Boyardee…I had (reading from the label) “Lasagna: Pasta with Chunky Tomato & Llama Meat Sauce”. (I had enough “real” food to go at least two days or so more before I got into the “emergency stash”, in which the various varieties of the Chef’s products figured prominently. I just wanted to see how really bad it was, and I wasn’t disappointed.)
*I knew things had gotten desperate when, in a moment of beer-induced clarity, it occurred to me that maybe, MAYBE some Parmesan cheese on the Chef might improve the taste…then I realized what I was doing and cracked up.
*Bad move…never lay a flashlight down on a kitchen counter that you think you wiped off in the dark so that the light shines right across the top. Crumbs. Serious crumbs. Like little Moon-hills, lit from the distant flashlight sun, casting long, ink-black shadows in the darkened room, waiting for a tiny Neil Armstrong to jump down from atop the microwave and intone, “IT’S CHEF BOYARDEE, YOU MORON, YOU’RE KIDDING WITH THE PARMESAN, RIGHT? GEEZ.”
Irma was no damn fun, and a lot of good people lost everything, including their lives. For some of us, it was scary, inconvenient and not over soon enough. For others, it was hell, pure and simple.
Sometimes you have to laugh to keep from just losing it.
Love and weather reports,
Post Script…as you can see there’s LOTS of things that I haven’t done yet to my page; I’ve got a laundry list of “widgets” and features and other technical stuff like “images” and “text” that I will be adding over time. Please keep reading and checking out the new shit when you’re here.
Post Post Script…PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT, DO NOT ASK ANY OF YOUR FRIENDS TO READ MY BLOG…PLEASE, PLEASE DON’T DO THAT TO ME. FIRST YOU TELL THEM ABOUT CAP’N JOHN, THEN THEY READ ONE OF MY POSTS AND THEY LIKE IT, THEN THEY MAKE COMMENTS ON HOW MUCH THEY LIKED WHAT I WROTE AND HOW WONDERFUL THEY THINK I AM, RIGHT UP THERE WITH HERBERT HOOVER AND THE SHAH. SO THEN I HAVE TO THANK THEM, AND WE GET THIS MUTUAL ADMIRATION SOCIETY THING GOING ON AND THEN THE PRESSURE IS ON…NOW I HAVE TO LIVE UP TO THIS CONVOLUTED IDEA EVERYONE HAS OF MY AWESOME GREAT TREMENDOUSNESS, TURNING OUT AWARD-WINNING COPY EVERY DAY, CHAINED TO MY DESK IN MENIAL SERVITUDE, ALL THE WHILE THE CLOCK IS TICKING AND THE TEMPESTS ARE FUGETING AND…I JUST DON’T WANT TO GO THROUGH ALL THAT, OKAY?
GEEZ YOU GUYS, DO I SOUND SERIOUS?
Post Toasties…happy tomorrow everyone. (Wouldn’t “Menial Servitude” be a great name for a rock band? Or your second child, after naming the first “Durance Vile”?)