I slept soundly as Hurricane Irene took Manhattan or did she? It seems that all 5,912 skyscrapers are continuing to stand tall, nor did Irene knock the Empire State Building off its axis.
Coco, who resides near the lower Manhattan evacuation zone, told me that she got up several times during the night to look out the window, all the while wondering:
Coco: Where the hell’s Irene?
Coco told me that she never once had to make use of a single glow stick. She does not believe in flashlights. I suggested that she light one in her bathroom:
Me: It’s pretty dark in there.
I once had an issue with finding the light switch.
When I woke eleven-ish this morning, I turned on my TV. The reporters who had been on air since Saturday sounded a bit hoarse, especially channel 7’s Jim Dolan. They were reporting about flooding in the outer boroughs and New Jersey, but nothing sounded monumentally catastrophic to me. Of course, if I owned a house without flood insurance, and it got flooded, I’d be completely out of my mind. Instead, what has me most upset is that mass transit remains out of service, so in many respects the city is paralyzed. Businesses remain shut down, there’s no place to go, and not much to do. New York must be taking a bath economically this weekend.
Coco: This weekend’s a total bust!
Me: No kidding. No one can get anywhere.
Since I’m the cash-poor half of our equation, I considered suggesting she find a taxi and get to the Upper West Side to hang out with me, but what are we going to do? We’re two feral creatures, we don’t sip tea, we don’t do embroidery, we don’t play cards, even though a few years ago, a very cool arty acquaintance gave me a pack of Frida Kahlo playing cards. Yet, I’m not in the mood to let Coco kick my ass playing poker with my Frida Kahlo playing cards.
Movie theaters are closed, and so are the restaurants we like, including the Magnolia bakery. Coco suggested that if her boyfriend were in Magnolia at the same time as Milton, and there was only a single slice of Hummingbird cake left, she could envision them fighting it out. Apparently, her guy is as insane as Milton over that cake. Coco reported that our favorite watering hole in her hood (I am forbidden to reveal its name) was boarded up and The White Horse, a tavern we like, is also closed.
The only diner in my neighborhood that is open gave me such extreme stomach issues the one time I ate there sixteen years ago, I remain convinced that if we ate there now we’d both be signing our death warrants.
We could hang in my apartment; I have hundreds of DVD’s but a crummy TV. Coco has a great TV, but no DVD player. My place is cramped and my bathroom light won’t shut off. It’s been on non-stop since Saturday. Coco asked me
Coco: What’s going on with your bathroom light?
Me: It still won’t shut off and it will probably stay on until Tuesday since no one can probably get here to fix it until then.
Of course, I would rather it not shut off than not turn on.
So I’m doing what many cabin fever suffering New Yorkers are doing right now – walking around their neighborhoods and shooting several post-Irene pictures. Later, I’ll probably take a nap.