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Describe The Weather As "Sandy" Moves North...

post #1 of 10
Thread Starter 

In Pennsylvania we're expecting the weather to be pretty bad by late Monday into Tuesday, maybe into Wednesday. The weather reports are using phrases like "Frankenstrom," and Monster Storm." Last year we had the freak snow storm this weekend. If you're along the east coast give those of us that are in the storm's path a heads-up on what to really expect...

post #2 of 10


post #3 of 10
Thread Starter 

I thought that maybe I posted the original post a bit early. This morning I'm seeing some pretty wild pictures from the Outer Banks, and I'm noticing that the Philadelphia television stations are already running school cancellations...

post #4 of 10

Schools are closed tomorrow as well for nyc. Some evacuations have been made in certain areas.


Ofc I got an email from work saying it is open weather permitting lol I was hoping for a day off 

post #5 of 10
Thread Starter 

Most of the schools in south-central Pennsylvania have been closed both Monday and Tuesday. You don't see that too often...

post #6 of 10
Thread Starter 

They said on TV that "The Perfect Storm" hit twenty-one years ago yesterday...

post #7 of 10

I just read that most of Atlantic City is underwater...... http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/10/29/atlantic-city-flooding-photos_n_2039130.html

Edited by Achmedisdead - 10/29/12 at 10:42am
post #8 of 10

Has there not been a more populous thread devoted to this topic?  If not, I'll just install this word contraption here:


11.1.12 NYC:


Mayor Broom-Curds and his jailbird grandson, "Con Ed," had been promising Manhattan's electricity would be back by Saturday, but various insultants now say Sunday at the earliest, and some commentators translate that to mean Monday or later for people who live east of 14th Street (and whom our distinguished Mayor seems not to consider actual citizens). It's really up to the people who are pumping water out of the facilities and how fast they're able to go.

However, many people in New Jersey and Long Island won't have power for at least another week and some are in far worse situations than most of my neighbors.  One acquaintance had the entire first floor of her house flooded and is now worried that the home she's had to flee is being ransacked by looters.

Traffic without traffic lights has been an interesting experiment. In the beginning, pedestrians reported narrow misses by drivers who were actually aiming for them, and the break-waist speeds observed did suggest that certain speedomaddicts perceived this to be their outlaw moment. Then the streets grew impossibly congested, passenger limitations were imposed, a gas shortage dampened the spree whims of the Sadean, and a new drivers' consensus opted for careful cooperation. Jalopies now stop at every block, which makes them look like scarab beetles pausing between the cycles of ballroom dance steps.

The most dangerous part of the blackout might be the lack of heat, since temperatures have been dropping to the forties and will continue to do so through the weekend. We can't warm ourselves by the oven briefly because a default switches off the gas to stop the narcoleptic among us from snoozing their way to nonexistence.

It was scary and fun getting to work tonight without street lights, transportation or police. I saw tourists walking with flashlights trained on the area just in front of them, while particularly nervous types panned their beams back and forth as they scanned the vicinity for stealth muggers.

You can tell recent arrivals by the constancy of their beams, which are no doubt helpful VLDs (Victim Location Devices) for said muggers. The rest of us know how well our eyes can adjust to the darkness, which soon changes from total to relative. We make our way through the shadows as quietly as we can.

Mi sigilo es su sigilo.

Edited by scrypt - 11/2/12 at 2:33am
post #9 of 10
In times of crisis, human character shines. Both good and bad. The bad are exposed by their daring, the good, ignored for pedestrian expectations. Sad world.

I'm watching the chemical planes fill the skies full of (?) here. Great time to be surviving.

Please catch a break you guys. You need one.
post #10 of 10

Unbelievably, the outage in my particular part of Manhattan is over.

I stayed at work for as long as I possibly could, knowing that darkness and cold awaited me later. By the time I left at 7:03 p.m., it was windy and frigid outside and the bench in the booth by the bus stop sign was too cold for anyone's behind. The Number 20 arrived late and even the aisles were packed with people -- an unusual situation for a bus in Battery Park.

I exchanged monosyllables with the driver and left him alone because he had to negotiate his way to the freeway without the drivers on cross streets even knowing it was his turn. We rode through darkness and I saw queues of hooded pedestrians with flashlights swiveling and shrinking as we passed.

We got to my destination faster than I ever remembered getting there before -- the driver must have skipped half the route. He let me off at 14th Street and 8th Ave -- I almost missed my stop. When I looked around, I was surprised to see traffic lights functioning on 14th, and even streetlights twinkling on the uptown side. Restaurants were fully lit over there on 15th and beyond. I made out candles in one, but the full overheads next door announced that both places had power, actual power.

From 13th Street down -- the downtown side of the street -- only the road flares were visible in what would have seemed black glass behind the first receding block, which was still slightly illuminated by the lights on the other side.

I stood beside a bus stop sign in the dark in front of a candle-lit bodega. The mustachioed child inside was still selling whatever stock the owner had left. I didn't go in because I made out my bus in the distance.

For three blocks going south, everything remained dark outside my passenger window but for the occasional traffic light. How could the driver even tell where he was? I wondered how I'd know when I was close to home if the window beside my seat remained that uninflected.

Then on Broadway, the streetlights and the occasional drug store seemed to be fully lit. By Union Square, both sides of the street were white with neon and all the shops were open. You could see customers waiting for the cashiers in Whole Foods. It felt miraculous.

As we continued to drive, the other passengers and I became apprehensive. Surely the light and power were going to stop. We assumed our places near the projects would still be submerged in shadow.

We turned the corner on 14th and C: Con Ed's electric works were torchlight-bronzed and functioning. In the seats behind me, a couple consisting of an African-American older gentleman and a younger Latino man held hands. "Look like Verizon doin' they business," the older man said.

"It sure does, baby," the younger man said. "Weren't none-a this on when we left."

All the way home, the streetlights and storefronts remained lit. Everyone was relieved or pleased, nodding or simply grinning. The people on a New York City bus usually look bored and annoyed. They didn't look that way this time.

"I can't believe the lights are on," I whispered to our white-haired driver.

"I know," he said. "I dint think they'd be on eitheh. My wife said they lit around five."

When the bus driver let me off, I jumped through the doors and ran to my building. I can't tell you how overjoyed I was to see the awning lit, the lights in the hallway when I entered. It was thrilling to unlock my door and glimpse the brightness inside through the crack.

The first thing I heard was my television tuned to the news channel, as it had been just before the power went down. The bland newscasters' voices greeted me as I put away the leftovers I'd taken home from the cafeteria, thinking they'd comprise my main meal for the weekend. I took the milk I'd tried to keep fresh out of what had been the tepid freezer. The liquid was already partly frozen.

I hadn't watched TV in years before the storm, but now I felt reluctant to turn it off. For the past six days, my only company at home had been the voices of those stagey weather announcers on my crank-powered radio. You get attached to voices when you're alone in the darkness and I definitely felt that. But then the spell broke and I switched off those alarmists' hypnotic mantras.

They're the reason, after all, that we tend to ignore true disasters: They make ordinary events sound too dramatic, so that the real ones don't seem real.

* * * * *

It feels amazing to have light, heat and internet service -- to type this message at home on my personal laptop at last.

Imagine how it would feel to live in a place where you lacked these things. Maybe life is actually better than we think. Perhaps ordinary things are exquisite luxuries.

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