Come on Irene
Sunday's hurricane proved to be rather uneventful around these parts. After watching news reports recommending people don't go outside, complete with reporters on location somewhere desperately experiencing sound problems while trying to prevent their loosely-fitted hats from being blown away, the power suddenly shut off all over town. We were bored, so I grabbed two of my children and decided to do the unthinkable and... go outside.
We found what could be described at its most extreme as a blustery day as featured in the classic Winnie the Pooh tale; this in contrast to what the Daily Beast proclaimed "Hurricane Fury". I headed down to the beach with my children to witness the power of nature and thereby cultivate a healthy, antitranscendentalist respect, newscasters be damned.
Instead, we discovered a plethora of natives frolicking among medium-sized surf. Children darted in and out of rocks while dogs played fetch with the hands that feed them. Surfers graciously rode the whitecaps. After walking the beach for a while, we decided to head home. On the way, we ran into our next-door neighbors, who were coming from a "packed bar" down the street and a little tipsy. This reminded me that I could drink some wine if I wanted to, which I did. After that, I made Buffalo wings with my wife on our gas stove which we lit with a match. Then, we ate it by candlelight. The power came back on just in time to prevent our dairy products from spoiling and for me to catch the latest episode of Breaking Bad.
Monday, August 29, 2011 at 11:48PM | tagged
Hurricane Irene,
media,
satire,
the mundane in
Dispatches from the Wild Wild East |
Post a Comment | 
