Greater Grace, the largest church in Detroit, invited officials from the United Automobile Workers union to speak before Bishop Ellis gave his sermon, titled “A Hybrid Hope.”
The S.U.V.’s on the stage, a Chevrolet Tahoe, Ford Escape and Chrysler Aspen on loan from local dealerships, were all gas-electric hybrids, and Bishop Ellis urged worshipers to combat the region’s woes by mixing hope with faith in God.
Praise be to Oliver and the NYT.Despite the post title, we had a good Thanksgiving weekend. Good food, friends and some quiet time together. I can't fully explain the feeling of isolation. Some of it is self-imposed, some feels imposed externally. I'm sure it's a combination of factors most of which I'll tease out in the post-chaotic funk. Today I question the strength of my alliances with people. The political motives behind weakening connections or the ulterior reasons spurring new connections.
Ah, shit. Maybe it's not enough leftover turkey or too much pie.
Speaking of pies, I made five pies. Two apple, two pecan and my first sweet potato pie. My first vodka-in-the-crust pies. Tasty, flaky and easy to roll out. Those pies put the P in presentation. I even did some math to figure out how many pecan halves I'd have to save out for the pie top arrangement so I wouldn't chop too many. Seriously. I figured out the area of a 9" pie (that's right, dear mathletes, I used pi r 2 for pie. Hakuna matata, people–circle of life), the area of a typical pecan and approximately how many of the latter would fit into the former. I'm not saying this was an exact calculation...but it was pretty close and sharpened the point on my head.
Okay, I'm putting my slide rule away and going to bed now. Thanks for playing.
Yay! Six Random Things...I've been tagged by Katie.
The Rules: 1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on the blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six people at the end of your post.
5. Let each person know they have been tagged.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.
1. I once euthanized a dying pet parakeet.
2. I'm an atheist but I love hymns.
3. I enjoy math word problems.
4. I am enamored of spoonerisms.
5. When I'm anxious, I count silently.
6. I am compelled to stick things (coins, dominoes, bottle caps) to my forehead.
Thank you, once again, Keith Olbermann.
Fucking enough already.
Date: Saturday, November 15, 2008
Time: 12:30pm - 5:30pm
Location: Houston City Hall
Street: 900 Bagby
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I'm in dial-up hell. Problems with my DSL line. Waiting for modem. Must control fist of death.
I know, I know, I'm way behind in catching y’all up to date.
But this just in...
I spent most of my childhood and young adulthood paying tithing to the Mormon church. [I was young...and I suspect someone was sprinkling Brains-be-Gone® on my Raisin Bran.]
Now, into a campaign to undo marriage equality in California, those zealots are pouring donations from their current faithful...the simple folk...
link
...you know, the Real Americans:
Anyway, if any of you out there have not completely passed out from donor fatigue and want to help me get some of my money back, and aid a cause that affects all of us, queers and straights, Californians and the not-terminally-hip, click here for more info.
My birthday in Paris has been perfect. Clear skies, cool weather. The Louvre was wonderful. We'll go to dinner in a little while and drink French wine with the decadent meal of my choosing...
Must sign off now because I need to change and this:
It's been ages. Busy recuping, busy preparing. In five minutes the infamous Dr. Ding will swing by and ferry St. Barbara and I off to our big celebration vacation in Europe. Hope to post while there, but if the internet plays coy with me I have paper on which to scribble. Thank you all for your concern and good wishes.
Au revoir, Auf Wiedersehen, Vaarwel, Good bye!
Lean in to your monitor. Can you smell it? It's the powerful perfume of electricity I'm emitting. That's right, faithful readers, there's a light. Over at the Epiphenita/St. Barbara house.
Off the grid for over fourteen days. An odd sabbatical from the usual. Educational, too. But all I can think of right now is being in my own bed while the air conditioner lulls me to sleep.
So I read some corny jokes to pick up my spirits. And now, I'll share them:
One-liners
So a dung beetle walks into a bar, and pulls up a stool...
------
If you shoot a mime, do you have to use a silencer?
Ageism
A couple in their nineties are both having problems remembering things. During a checkup, the doctor tells them that they're physically okay, but they might want to start writing things down to help them remember.
Later that night, while watching TV, the old man gets up from his chair.
'Want anything while I'm in the kitchen?' he asks.Then he toddles into the kitchen. After about 20 minutes, the old man returns from the kitchen and hands his wife a plate of bacon and eggs. She stares at the plate for a moment.
'Will you get me a bowl of ice cream?'
'Sure.'
'Don't you think you should write it down so you can remember it?' she asks.
'No, I can remember it.'
'Well, I'd like some strawberries on top, too. Maybe you should write it down, so's not to forget it?'
He says, 'I can remember that. You want a bowl of ice cream with strawberries.'
'I'd also like whipped cream. I'm certain you'll forget that, write it down?' she asks.
Irritated, he says, 'I don't need to write it down, I can remember it! Ice cream with strawberries and whipped cream - I got it, for goodness sake!'
'Where's my toast?'Sexism
I don't know whether I'm going to burst into tears or burst into flames.
(As if. When given a choice, my choice is combustion.)
This is not a catastrophe, it's just a huge inconvenience.
A huge, cranky-making inconvenience. Spent half the night in the truck last night. The trade-off is air conditioning and uncomfortable surfaces OR comfortable bed and sticky heat. Until 2 am, when we schlepped inside for a few hours of sleeping abed in reasonable temperatures.
A half-million Houstonians and I are fucking tired.
I'm not going to use sleep deprivation and temperature torture as license to be a raging lunatic. But, tranquility in the face of sleepiness is not my superpower.
I'm signing off now because I can't stand to hear myself talk about electricity, hurricanes or sleep for one more minute.
Slipping over here between jobs to say that we are now in Day 10 of the electricity-free torpor. The cool front has dissipated, the nights are hot, humid and allergenful. A few thoughts...
I am exploring the idea of hurricane-induced alcoholism. I have met more neighbors and drunk more alcohol in the past week or so than in the previous six months.
Steven and his mom imported (from San Antonio) battery-driven fans. Since there is not an inverter to be had in Houston or surrounding counties (or extension cords or batteries...but you can buy a generator for $800. EIGHT HUNDRED DOLLARS. Shit, we'll just get a room.), he and his mom should be given a medal from the mayor. It's hot but a little fan goes a long way. Thank you, thank you.
Word is that we won't have power until Thursday or Friday. For those of you not suffering from heat-induced counting dementia: that would be Day 13 or Day 14...or as I like to call it: Day Two Weeks. By that time I will have stopped haunting the home improvement stores for electrical inverters and will be stocking up on pitchforks and torches.
One gets cranky after two weeks of no a/c in the subtropical sauna that is Houston. Even pioneer frontierswomen.
Finally, the saddest note:
The day Ike hit Houston was the day David Foster Wallace hung himself. I just learned of this yesterday and am profoundly saddened by his death. What an incredible writer. 46 years old. Goddammit. Goddammit.
Okay. I'll continue with the recap in another post. My inner Sister Goodwife is about to get knocked over by a huge whine. It's Day 6 in the power outage. I've been sleeping in ragweed-sprinkled, mold spored "fresh" air for as many nights.
The across-the-street neighbors have power. The goddamn church next door has power. My sunshiny attitude is curdling like last week's dairy products. I want to slap the shit out of myself for being such a crumbly baby but I'm t-minus-2-days away from going commando and I'm sick of eating meals that remind me of warmed-up dog food.
Sorry. Will be back with better news. Soon.
Your intrepid frontierswoman reporting here.
We're fine. Thanks for asking. House lost some shingles, garage apartment had a window blown out but no gargantuan limbs attacked structures or vehicles. Here's the chronology.
Friday
Drop St. Barbara off at work. Find two gas stations open and fill up both vehicles without too much waiting in line.
Expected the storm winds to kick in after midnight but the power transformer in our neighborhood couldn't hold out until then. Believe a harsh BREEZE knocked it out at 7:30pm. Across the street neighbors had power until 3:00am. The Heights Sweat-a-thon begins.
The night was long, people. I mean crazy-ass winds but enough rain so that the doors couldn't be left open. Since the storm was so huge, it seemed to take forever to pass over us. I kept watching the pecan trees in the backyard...willing them to keep it together. The house was so hot and humid that I lay down in a back room next to the a/c window unit. The gusts outside were so strong that periodically a little air was forced backwards through the unit and I got a wisp of breeze. Ahhhh.
But seriously, I wasn't afraid. It's not that I mean to imply that the rest of you are whiny pussies or anything (well, some of you actually are...but none of you read my blog, right?) but what is there to get hysterical about? If a tree falls on your house you can't stop it...just find a dry interior room and try and get some sleep. You'll just figure it out when the sun comes out. And if you can't sleep because it's so goddamn hot and humid, organize the linens. Or something.
Saturday
I got up every hour through the night, so I slept on and off until 7:00am. Continued to be rainy and windy until noon or so. I assessed the damage outside and was relieved. The church next door (that's right, campers, Fate has a firm grip on irony putting me next door to a church) had a huge pecan tree that could have easily fallen over onto the small office we rent out. But fell instead into the church parking lot. Proving once again that God doesn't give a shit. I suppose, one might say that He did, because it didn't land on the church, but I don't buy that. If the righteous are rewarded and the wicked are punished that tree would have been uprooted and replanted in my living room. Suck on that, you self-righteous Christian-types. (Of course, I'm not talking to you nice, Unitarianesque Christian-types.)
From 9am until 2pm I did what any good pioneer woman would do, I cooked all the perishables in the fridge. Goddammit, there'll be no wasted food in this house. I made potato/kielbasa hash; arroz con pollo, cooked the frozen flounder and hamburger. Hell, I even baked banana bread from the frozen ripe bananas. All I needed was a gingham bonnet.
Happy to have Eric & Steven stop by for a visit. Lori & Mary brought ice. True friends who see you when you look like you've been using Ol' Bacon Grease Hair Gel are friends forever.
I got to go pick up my St. Barbara early from her job, so I wouldn't have to travel crosstown in the dark. 15 miles and not a single traffic light working. So happy to have her home. We set up a pallet for sleeping, on the floor as close to the screened front door as possible. It's hard. It's hot. And totally not in a good way. 3:30am, I snap. We're heading for the car. Don't care how uncomfortable it is to sleep in a Honda Accord. Like magic, black magic, the skies open up...a thunder & lightning tropical storm. Amazing. No matter, we grab the umbrella, pillows and sheets and trudge out by 4am. Just a few hours of cool, dearbabyjesus. So we put the seats back and sleep off and on for a couple of hours. Around 6am I shine the flashlight on the dash. I ask St. B, so what kind of mileage are we getting? I'm such a kidder.
7am, we climb out of the car into our river-runs-through-it-driveway. Our street often floods but the water seems to be rising a bit too much for comfort this time. Soon it's over the curb, over the sidewalk and creeping up our lawn. Pioneer Women Engage! (Okay. So that's a completely lame reference to a completely lame superhero cartoon. I'm tired, please forgive.) The storm drains are crammed full of flotsam and jetsam (how long have I waited to use that phrase...almost correctly) so we arm ourselves with metal rakes and begin mucking out the drain grates. At times, we're more than knee deep in water. An hour-and-a-half later, the water begins to recede. Don't fuck with women holding rakes, people.
To be continued...
The wind is picking up and the decent weatherman said that the storm stretches out 500 miles from the eye...which is 65 miles wide.
My what a huge eye you have, Ike.
You big ol' Cyclops.
So here we are. Rather, here I am. The hurricane is about 9 hours away. I can tell, because of the interactive graphic the Chronicle has called Storm...Pulse...Tracker (Each ellipsis represents dramatic notes punching home every serious syllable. In my head.) and all is well. I mean, I'm not seeing anything but light wind and rain.
I don't watch television. Seriously, I turn it on so rarely that I forget which network is on which channel. It's because I'm not as tough as you are. Really. I don't have the stamina. On every local channel, of course, is hurricane coverage. Each newscaster trying to outdo the others in breaking news. Only it's not. So they take the skimpiest facts and wring them out for every useless iota of information. 24/7. I watch for 10 minutes at a time and I have to walk away. They are saying nothing new and using up all the dramatic adjectives so that when there is really something to report, we're all deaf and dumb to the importance.
The last straw: Geraldo Rivera. I've run out of epithets. Couldn't have imagined getting to this point. I can't find a word filthy enough to describe what a repulsive douchebag (see? it just glances off the side of my loathing) he is. Just now, he allowed himself to be tossed by the waves into the water. So he could cut right to the core of the reporter on location, cameras a'rollin'. His microphone is an electrical device, right?
IF
THERE
WERE
A
GOD.
But no. He doesn't get electrocuted. He isn't flicked out to the sea by the colossal hand of the Almighty. Flicked. He should be flicked right into Ike's gigantic swirling crotch and get fucked up but good. Wow, I got a little closer that time.
You see? I'm not tough enough for prime time news. My Bliss runs screaming out of the house and my Disgust hands me a pepperoni pizza and says, sit down honey, you're going to enjoy this.
Goddammit.
If it isn't one thing, it's a hurricane. We are 12 hours away from a significant hit on Galveston/Houston. It looks like Ike will remain a category 2 hurricane. Which is no reason to panic nor reason to plan an afternoon on the beach.
I'm not all that worried. Like most Houstonians my biggest concern is losing electrical power (read: air conditioning) for the hot, muggy aftermath. Next is flooding...but I do have, you know, that big, wonderful Tundra, just in case. Of course, I have no intention of getting out in all that if I can help it. (Traffic exiting Houston has been predictably insane.) Our streets flood but Tropical Storm Allison was the acid test for flooding (Houston was inundated) and our little house came within 6 inches of being flooded, so I'm pretty sure we're okay.
Last night we went to Target (for printer ink–I know, but you have your emergencies and I have mine) and drove past a half-dozen gas stations: all of them had bags over the pump handles. There is no gas to be had in this area.
Barbara had volunteered to help out at Menninger, so she'll be there from this (Friday) morning until tomorrow (Saturday) night. It's a psychiatric treatment facility so when they say they'll be in "lock-down," they damn well mean it. It's a little creepy to be anywhere using that phrase. She's a saint, I've said it before, and I'm glad she'll be able to help them out. But, of course, I would rather she'd be huddling in the interior bathroom with me, candles and a stack of books. Maybe some wine.
Okay, I'm signing off. Will update you on the thing before or after.
