Mickey Z
Cool Observer
Saturday, February 11, 2006
The big blackout of August 14, 2003
Good morning
I really like the blackout story. It sums up my sentiments about the event too. The lack of conditioned air made for a MUCH more enjoyable outdoors - my back’yard’ was a much more quiet and peaceful place. Then the neighbours came out and started a barbeque that went on forever - they must’ve had a huge freezer full of meat that was going to go bad, so they and another neighbour had a meatfest that was less then enjoyable for us. It soon started to smell like they were eating babies over there but we made out just fine with our gas stove for cooking. The peace and quiet (neighbours not included) was nothing short of serene. A man and his wife from NY pulled into the gas station as we were attempting to purchase nicotine sticks and were entirely oblivious to the power outage - the clerk’s heavy accent was frustrating the man and so I explained that no fossil fuel would spew forth from the pump & why. They evidently had not been listnening to the radio. They seemed to go a little into shock upon realising that no degree of his wife’s indignancy at the dry pump would change matters, and they would not be making it to their final destination that day.
All in all I sort of wished the power could’ve stayed out longer. The QUIET was wonderful.
Mudge IS generous! As I think “many” of the Expendables are; generosity of spirit is part of why I come here daily. It’s a welcome tonic to a day at ‘The Store’.
From yesterday...Mew your black snot mention got me! For a few months I experienced a commute from North to South London and recounting to anyone the black snot that ensues from the 2nd hand diesel consumption is still not grasped! The only other place I’ve experience that is in downtown Bombay (it really is a very gross thing!)
Posted by Amelopsis on from Canada 02/11 at 09:25 AMGood morning all....My word for Mudge was “unparallelled”. I don’t think it’s spelled right.
My word for Joe would be “missed”. Where is he?
Looks like you might get some snow, Mickey. If you need help shoveling just let me know.Posted by RMJ on from Churchill 4 Prez Hdqts 02/11 at 09:25 AMGood Morning to you Amelopsis...we were just doing synchronized typing. Speaking about generosity, all of you, Mickey, Youngfox, you, and the rest of the gang really fit that description.
Posted by RMJ on from Churchill 4 Prez Hdqts 02/11 at 09:29 AMI’m blushing, RMJ. I think your demonstrated generosity is the most significant sort. The kind that brings a strong backlash is the kind most personally challenging to demonstrate; when you do it, it benefits everyone. Your actions do benefit us all, RMJ. Thank you.
If we type synchronously should we be part of the next olympic opening ceremonies? oooohhh...aaaaahhh.....flying bags of money to support phoney patriotic stupor while bankrupting communities without significant residual benefits.
Posted by Amelopsis on from Canada 02/11 at 09:44 AMI spent the fall ‘97 semester in London, my very first time out of North America, and my first confrontation with the Black Snot. I lived in a little flat in Bayswater--two tiny bedrooms, six young Americans, plenty of drama. I spent days in class in Kensington (Shakespeare, Irish Literature, European Intellectual History), so I’d walk to school through Kensington Gardens. We arrived a week or two before the death of Diana--the princess, but I never liked the concept of royalty. I observed the massive mound of flowers that piled up in front of her palace. It was depressing to consider the amount of environmental damage that went into transporting all of those flowers there, the plastic packaging, the money invested, the time wasted and so on. Soon it began to stink, but people kept leaving flowers. I wonder how many other people died in horrible car wrecks in those weeks, but the princess took all of the flowers. I wonder how many lives were destroyed by landmines--the pet concern of the princess--but the attention was on the flowers.
Anyway. It stank. Evenings I went to the symphony, to the theatre, to various cultural events. Afterwards we’d all meet in the pub around the corner from our place and down pint after pint of Guiness. I had saved up for this trip and was making the most of it. Still, by mid-October I calculated that I had spent something like 400 quid on Guiness alone.
It was only in frequent excursions--to Edinburgh, to Bath, to the south coast, to Dublin, to Stratford-upon-Avon, and once even to the Continent--that I was able to minimize the effect of the Black Snot.
I remember being struck by the cyclists---and even some pedestrians---wearing face masks. What had it come to that people would rather put on a face mask than cease polluting the air? This was my first clue that the Enlightenment-era value of rationality was on the way out. I’m working on an essay now that touches upon this problem:
Consider solutions for unsafe drinking water. Water generally becomes unsafe for consumption due to industrial and agricultural pollution. A common “solution” in the so-called advanced West is the home water filter, an expensive plastic jug with expensive replaceable plastic filters that remove a certain amount of dangerous materials from the water. To produce such home water filters, an industrial process must be undertaken in which more water is polluted, simultaneously creating the filters and the need for them. If one considers it for more than a few seconds it becomes apparent that this is no solution to unsafe drinking water, but a commercial pseudo-solution for a thing-obsessed society.
Anyway, my girlfriend, an archaeologist, is on a dig in London at the moment and is also in the clutches of the Black Snot. Doesn’t seem like the congestion charge---no pun intended---is doing much to alleviate the foul air. I still like London but I think I’m realizing it’s mainly nostalgia. Crowded, expensive, filthy air, and covered with police, cctv cameras, and instructions on what one may and may not do. £10 fine for doing this, £20 fine for doing that. Best sign I saw this last time over there: a single roadsign declaring “No Roadsigns”.Posted by Keir on from The Hague 02/11 at 10:04 AMG’Morning, Empress, RMJ, and Keir. We’re off to an excellent start here today. Great stories and comments. I know my blackout tale does not have any sense of a timely hook, but it felt right today and Empress’ story confirmed that feeling. (Wow, I can relate to your reaction to the stench of charred flesh.)
Keir, I love this line: “What had it come to that people would rather put on a face mask than cease polluting the air?” It sums up so much of what passes for thinking these days.
RMJ: Bring yer shovel...the snow is a-coming. You Vermonters are much more experienced and adept at shoveling than us Astorians.
Posted by Mickey Z. on from Astoria 02/11 at 10:23 AMMy son from Melbourne (3 or 4 million people and lots of lights) came to stay with us a couple of years ago for a while. One night I beckoned him out to the front porch to look at the stars (no street lights here - no street,actually!).
WOW! came the quick reply.
Then I said “See that cloud over there?”
“Yeah” he said.
“It’s not a cloud. They’re stars. It’s called the Milky Way”
A very quite and not so quick “wow” was heard.I can’t imagine not being able to see stars. It helps me so much to get my perspective back in order.
Posted by Jim on from 02/11 at 11:08 AMA chirpy “helllllloooooooooo” to all freezing, black-snotted Expendables! At the risk of being “shot,” I’ll complain about the chill here...it’s only gonna be 54F for the high today. Break out the earmuffs...which, curiously enough, I found when moving crap last night.
The “one-word” game’s been really really interesting. I’ve had the generous, unparalleled (word always looks misspelled, RMJ, no matter what), articulate, obnoxious, determined, and so on, responses. Interesting stuff. I don’t see that I’ve earned so much praise, and thank Empress for calling me generous, but it sure feels good!
Anyone else up for a one-word description exchange?
Posted by Mudge on from Austin 02/11 at 11:17 AMMudge:
Interested.
Hit me.
Posted by Keir on from The Hague 02/11 at 11:59 AMDoes it have to be an adjective? If not, Keir: Lungs.
Posted by Mickey Z. on from Astoria 02/11 at 12:08 PMMany years ago, 1968 to be exact, I was reluctantly shipped off by my divorced mother to my divorced father for what was to be a short visit.
He took me to Europe.
Our plane landed in Paris, a beautiful city with many charms, chief among them Inge. She was my father’s mistress, a lovely, lovely woman with the most gorgeous Delft-blue eyes I have ever in my life seen!
Imagine for a moment, as I have done many times since, arranging a romantic tryst with your studmuffin in a beautiful city. Imagine now going to the airport, seeing your (visibly American) studmuffin getting off the plane **with his 8-year-old (visibly American) son** in May, 1968...when Paris was kinda tetchy because of those pesky student riots and all.
It would shock adult me not at all for Inge to have responded with errr ummm terseness or brusquesness. She opened her arms, hugged me, and said, “I’ve so looked forward to meeting Dick’s Only Be!” (My father’s megalomania led him to nickname me two things: Timogen, after Attila’s redhaired son; and Only Be, short for “Only Begotten Son,” for which origin I refer all to the New Testament.)
As I type, I sit mouth agape at the sweetness of this response to a grumpy, jet-lagged, sullen kid. I warmed to her, needless to say, and never thought at the time about what this must have cost her...I just expected that she’d figured out I was faaabulous.
Oddly enough, Inge didn’t feel much like hanging around in Paris. She had her bags packed and with her, and two tickets to her home in Bern. (I pause again to imagine the gall of a man bringing his som transAtlantically to a tryst with a woman!) And there I was! I had to be dealt with, and neither of them could get me on that plane no matter how they pleaded.
Off to the train station we went. Inge stayed in the cab with the luggage. I went into the station with my father, who put me on a train for Milan, saying, “We’ll meet you at the station, buh-bye!” and shoving me on the train.
At eight. VERY little French, NO Italian. A seven-hour ride. He gave me a few hundred francs. The ride was fun, when I got over being petrified of all the smoking French folks. They were more than kind to me, as I see now taking turns chatting with me and tousling my hair and making sure I was eating (a lot of bread and cheese and cafe au lait), so I lost my sense of terror before we were 50 miles outside Paris. At the Swiss, then Italian, frontiers, no Customs official questioned my lone, visibly American, presence on the train...just tousled my hair, exhaled smoke on me, and moved on.
I arrived in Milan’s train station. It’s HUGE. I spoke no Italian, and had French money (when that mattered). I had no passport. I cried a lot, and was taken into what I assume was the staff canteen to be fed, given more coffee (latte macchiato, these folks had more sense than the ones on the train), and fussed over. Italians adore kids, and I was a fun one because, when they took out the car magazines, I was enthralled. (My first spoken word of Italian was “bagagliaio” or trunk in American, boot in British.)
Time flew by! The kindly Italian gents were willing to take turns entertaining me by taking me around the station, feeding me (refusing French money I offered), and showing me cool little Fiat Topolinos and Lancia Aurelias as they whooshed around.
Six hours in the station being entertained by wonderful people, and then my father shows up with the face of a thundercloud. Inge had been reaming him steadily on the flight from Paris, and the drive from Bern, for shoving me all alone on the train and leaving me to rot while he wanted to make some whoopee with her. She was having none of it, and for the rest of the two months we all traveled around Europe, was noticeably cool to my father.
Shocking how ungrateful a woman can be...I was taking her on one hell of a trip. My father’s response when I reminded him of this little incident...three years ago.
Plus ca change....
Posted by Mudge on from Austin 02/11 at 12:16 PMKeir’s Word: “Intrepid.”
Posted by Mudge on from Austin 02/11 at 12:24 PMShockingly ungrateful woman! Mudge your story reads like an old movie - wondrous continental adventures filled with foreign intrigue whilst trouble is brewing just under the surface… I see Gina Lolabrigida with sunglasses and a scarf in her hair, and maybe Gregory Peck, don’t forget there has to be a convertible on a mountain highway somewhere too.
Here’s a word for RMJ: Courageous
ok - gimme a word - I’ll be back “suddenly” later on.
Posted by Amelopsis on from Canada 02/11 at 01:03 PMAmelopsis’s Word: “unflinching”
Inge wasn’t like Gina Lollabrigida...she was nowhere near that errr pneumatic for one thing, and less of a kitten.
Convertibles? Ha! An old Peugeot 406 diesel sedan.
Mountain roads? Yeup...but considering I’d moved from Los Gatos, Calif., to Mercedes, Tex., only a couple years before, that felt like homecoming. Highway 17 was a twisty, wonderful road when I was a kid, and we went over the pass down into Santa Cruz on it fairly often.
Posted by Mudge on from Austin 02/11 at 01:16 PMGreat story, Mudge. As for Highway 17, Michele and I almost moved to Santa Cruz and would still like to do so one day. It’s just so expensive.
Empress, I’m gonna have to think a bit about the perfect word for you. Off the top of my head, I’d say: fascinating.
All right, after some stressful apt. hunting-related stuff, we’re heading out to do something fun before the big snowstorm. I’ll see everyone later.
Posted by Mickey Z. on from Astoria 02/11 at 01:58 PMHey, where the heck is everyone? Michele and I just foolishly took a shot at seeing Pink Panther...looking for a few laughs. It contained ZERO laughs but here’s the real punch line: 90% of the audience was in hysterics. We felt like aliens.
Anyone, at Mudge’s suggestion, I sent out the “one word” thing to a handful of folks and got these replies: nice, terrific, warmhearted, dedicated, analytical, “artisticalicious,” thoughtful, discerning, clean, exemplar, zealous, and this hyphenated answer: kind-gentle-altruistic.
Ain’t I swell?
Posted by Mickey Z. on from Astoria 02/11 at 08:26 PMMickey: doing.
(PS: cordial invitation to mine).
Posted by Keir on from The Hague 02/11 at 09:56 PMThank you kindly, Keir. I just visited your blog and highly recommend it.
Evening, all…
Posted by Mickey Z. on from Astoria 02/11 at 10:46 PMGood morning, Mickey and all you expendables. Thanks for sharing this story about 14 August 2003 with us - 14 August also happens to be Mr Helga’s birthday.
And didn’t Mudge describe himself as ‘curmudgeonly’ once? A word which comes to my mind is ‘witty’, a quality which he shares with many other gay men.
It is 2:47pm on a sunny Sunday in Daylesford, and I should be outside really - Mr Helga is busying himself in the garden even while I type this. Should I feel guilty? You be the judge.
Auf Wiederemailen aus Australien,
HelgaPosted by Helga Fremlin on from Daylesford, Australia 02/11 at 10:47 PMBefore I wander off/out: I found ‘Pink Panther’ very hilarious, Mickey.
Posted by Helga Fremlin on from Daylesford, Australia 02/11 at 10:49 PMI found Pink Panther depressing. Steve Martin’s a funny man. I like Kevin Kline. >YAWN< Dull screenplay. We’ve seen this several times in the Peter Sellers era, so why do it agian? Do something different!
I liked Batman Begins because it WAS NOT the same ole same ole. Lotsa stuff blew up, yeah; silly fantasy villains, yeah; but not the precise same imitation-Tim-Burton stuff that just wasn’t worth it in the previous 45 or 50 iterations of the franchise. (Each hour of Batman and Robin counted as three films.)
Auf wiedermailen, all!
Posted by Mudge on from Austin 02/11 at 11:26 PM
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