- Feb 3, 2024
- LitBits
- 0
New blog post by Jason L. – discussions in this thread, please
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I have to make a new word. This is not uncommon for me. Legiterally is now, officially, a thing. Coffeed is a passive verb that has long need to be in existence. I am still looking for one for accidentally on purpose and those people who talk on speakerphones in public if anybody’s feeling frisky.
And then, there’s this one, that came to me, legiterally, as I was opening up my word document to type up this update. Hurricanity. A bit of insanity, but also a bit of urbanity and, to an extent, even boredom.
I am, you see, in the path of Hurricane Milton. By in the path, I mean, it was going to make landfall at the end of my street but then the meteorologists pushed it southward to those poor bastards in Bradenton. The last few days have been full to the brim of preparations. Especially cleaning. Anything that smells a little will definitely smell a lot after a few days with no air conditioning. Laundry that has been put off has been finished, the carpets have been attacked viciously by the vacuum, the bathroom positively gleams.
This is not going to be your ordinary, garden-variety storm. Helene, which devastated the
unprepared North Carolina mountains, also clipped us soundly. Storm debris from Helene still litters the major roads: warped kitchen drawers, ruined mattresses, broken chairs and an endless supply of broken tree branches line Tyrone Boulevard in Saint Petersburg, ghoulish mountains of someone else’s broken and ravaged private lives that you want to turn away from but still, relentlessly, have to look at.
No, Milton promises to be even more relentless, taking those bits of flotsam and jetsom and weaponizing it. They are calling for 50cm of rain, 4.5 meters of storm surge, 80kmh winds. And those are the conservative estimates. Houses along the road have put boards over the windows. As early as Monday, when the Internet vanished, I had to resort to using the local library for their internet, listening as patrons discussed evacuation routes. By Tuesday evening, even those were starting to close, as I-4 to Orlando clogged with evacuees. Gas stations had lines around the block. And then they ran out.
Even the Waffle House Index—that Southern staple of 24/7 breakfasts, is reading closed. Foreigners (including Yankees, who don’t understand that they are foreign, bless their hearts) probably
don’t understand this, but this is a big deal. Waffle House is 24/7. For decades, Southerners gauge how bad a storm is by whether or not the Waffle House is open. Also whether or not people have been desperate enough to buy the jugs of unsweetened iced tea off the grocery shelves. Even the federal government uses the Waffle House Index, which is weird, but, okay.
And, as I wrote this, I got this message text marriage, accompanied by a blaring emergency warning.: Let’s not judge
the state of my battery. I put it to charge.
And yet, I am staying, which begs two questions: One of them is why and the other is what the fuck is wrong with you?
Okay, so…I want to reassure people that I am not in an evacuation zone. At all. I am at 21 meters above sea level, so, even though I am only seven km from Indian Rocks Beach, I am not vulnerable even to a storm surge, which will affect only about the first two km. The apartment complex is built of cinderblocks, and I don’t live on the ground floor. The windows are hurricane-proof and the roof is new. There are 90 liters of water in the closet, dozens of hard-boiled eggs and cooked food in the fridge that will keep for a bit, cans of food in the closet, batteries galore, and books to read. The bathtub is filled with water that has mysteriously bent the yellow lights into pale turquoise. I am, I suppose, set.
And that enters me into that word. Hurricanity. That feeling just before a major event, when you’ve made your choice and, even knowing that soon things will be chaotic, for the moment, you are calm and unafraid.
Why did I make this choice? Why does anybody, to be honest? I mean, bad decisions lead to the best stories. “Where were you when Milton hit?” I was at a Days Inn in Houston doesn’t quite land in the same way, does it? Some of us stay because there is noplace to go. Some of us do it because we have weathered similar storms in the past.
And me? I will not be in danger. I will be inconvenienced. At one point within the next twenty-four hours, the lights will blink and go out. I will look, reflexively, at the lamps, perhaps disbelieving that it’s happened so soon, or marveling that they lasted so long. And then I will light the candles and wait. For the morning, when I can assess the damage. For the lights to come back on, and the water to restore. The cleanup and the shortages will take weeks to effect: eggs, bottled water, and basic necessities will be hard to find moving forward.
But for now, hurricanity has set in, and I am not afraid.
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Get the discussion going – post your thoughts & comments in the thread below…
For more posts by Jason L. click here Hurricanity – Litopia
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I have to make a new word. This is not uncommon for me. Legiterally is now, officially, a thing. Coffeed is a passive verb that has long need to be in existence. I am still looking for one for accidentally on purpose and those people who talk on speakerphones in public if anybody’s feeling frisky.
And then, there’s this one, that came to me, legiterally, as I was opening up my word document to type up this update. Hurricanity. A bit of insanity, but also a bit of urbanity and, to an extent, even boredom.
This is not going to be your ordinary, garden-variety storm. Helene, which devastated the
Even the Waffle House Index—that Southern staple of 24/7 breakfasts, is reading closed. Foreigners (including Yankees, who don’t understand that they are foreign, bless their hearts) probably
And, as I wrote this, I got this message text marriage, accompanied by a blaring emergency warning.: Let’s not judge
And yet, I am staying, which begs two questions: One of them is why and the other is what the fuck is wrong with you?
Okay, so…I want to reassure people that I am not in an evacuation zone. At all. I am at 21 meters above sea level, so, even though I am only seven km from Indian Rocks Beach, I am not vulnerable even to a storm surge, which will affect only about the first two km. The apartment complex is built of cinderblocks, and I don’t live on the ground floor. The windows are hurricane-proof and the roof is new. There are 90 liters of water in the closet, dozens of hard-boiled eggs and cooked food in the fridge that will keep for a bit, cans of food in the closet, batteries galore, and books to read. The bathtub is filled with water that has mysteriously bent the yellow lights into pale turquoise. I am, I suppose, set.
And that enters me into that word. Hurricanity. That feeling just before a major event, when you’ve made your choice and, even knowing that soon things will be chaotic, for the moment, you are calm and unafraid.
Why did I make this choice? Why does anybody, to be honest? I mean, bad decisions lead to the best stories. “Where were you when Milton hit?” I was at a Days Inn in Houston doesn’t quite land in the same way, does it? Some of us stay because there is noplace to go. Some of us do it because we have weathered similar storms in the past.
And me? I will not be in danger. I will be inconvenienced. At one point within the next twenty-four hours, the lights will blink and go out. I will look, reflexively, at the lamps, perhaps disbelieving that it’s happened so soon, or marveling that they lasted so long. And then I will light the candles and wait. For the morning, when I can assess the damage. For the lights to come back on, and the water to restore. The cleanup and the shortages will take weeks to effect: eggs, bottled water, and basic necessities will be hard to find moving forward.
But for now, hurricanity has set in, and I am not afraid.
---
Get the discussion going – post your thoughts & comments in the thread below…
For more posts by Jason L. click here Hurricanity – Litopia
