This weekend it rained. I am told it was a hurricane.
I was also told I'd lose power for an indefinite period of time during which society would slowly crumble into a dystopian chaos whereby men would be forced to live off of bottled Evian water, Quaker granola bars, and whatever turkeys they could pluck from the side of the road. The American dollar would be replaced with a gold ingot and gasoline generator based barter system where two gasoline generators would be worth roughly two gold ingots or one slightly larger gasoline generator. Trees and power lines would be uprooted and carried great distances by the wind and rain only to be deposited haphazardly across every bridge and intersection forcing people to walk from one side of their small town to the other, many dieing in the process. As events reached an apocalyptic crescendo days would be followed by night, cool temperatures by slightly cool temperatures, and periods of idle boredom by even longer periods of idle boredom. People would start doing puzzles, have thoughtful conversations, or perhaps go to bed early even. I was told things would be different come the storm, and they were. I couldn't get a haircut that day.
I also couldn't go to the gym. Or the grocery store. Or the library. It was raining everywhere so I couldn't go for a bike ride or a hike, and a man -- it turns out -- can only watch so much TV in a day. Especially when it's interrupted constantly with news updates reporting that, yes, it is still raining outside. Everything was closed, and there was no where to go. So lacking better things to do I did what any sane person would do and I cleaned. Vacuuming my apartment came far too easily so I pressed on to wash the shower, do the dishes, and fold a load of laundry. It was ugly and I'm not proud of it, but I did it. I also over turned some cars and a lit a tire fire in the middle of the city, but in truth I do that most weekends.
I got lucky. The storm was nothing more than a passing inconvenience for me whereas, from what I hear, the entire state of Vermont was covered in water which was only followed by mud which was only followed by, I would assume, raccoons and other varmints. And so I get to write this blog post now with full electricity, a full fridge, and pantry still full of Quaker granola bars and fresh plucked turkeys. That's two natural disasters down, bring on the volcanoes.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Losing Power: A Personal Experience and Powerful Metaphor for the Libyan Revolution and Fall of Muammar Gaddafi
Last week I did not expect for my power to abruptly be turned off. Last week I even less expected for it to be turned off for 5 days. But so it happened, and I lived to the tell tale!
My epic tale of adventure and pre-industrial era existence began quietly enough last Thursday with my going off to work as I am want to do not knowing that upon my return later that afternoon, none of my light switches would work. The AC was dead. The refrigerator was warm. The internet was kaput. I was sad but not terribly surprised as a few weeks prior the utility company had sent me a vague yet threatening letter to call them to set up my electricity under my name. I had promptly done so, but calling it appeared was only part of a process which was to include also obtaining a "notarized signed land lord statement" which was... well they didn't really tell me. They also didn't tell me when I needed to get this in by. Just that if I didn't I'd one day find my power taken away and my pets heads falling off. Unfortunately the threat was sufficiently vague that I was insufficiently motivated to aggressively pursue this "notarized signed land lord statement." I sent an email, made a phone call to a voice mail it seems no one listens to, and that was that. A few weeks passed by and there I found myself, at about 19:00 in the early evening standing in the front of my apartment with no lights.
The next day I knew I had little time to get the holy paperwork taken care of so I spent a sizable portion of my work day making repeat phone calls to a voice mail it seems no one listens to. Finally around lunch time I left a message presenting clear, specific instruction of what to fax and who to fax it to. This was not done. Finally around 16:00 I finally got a hold of someone in the apartment office and they agreed to do the fax. I called the electric people and they said, yeah, didn't get the fax yet but our fax people leave at 16:00 so it'll probably have to wait till next week.
So I was left to survive the weekend. I had to resort to trapping local small game, burning small scraps of wood to boil a pot of water to run a steam turbine to power my AC, wrapping myself in pelts to keep warm at night, and driving around town to find sufficient internet access. This was unfortunately a fairly rainy period of time in New Hampshire so it involved a fair amount of running to and fro from my car to the library and back again. While I still had left over hot water for my shower things weren't too bad.
Then came Monday; things started getting annoying. I had just been on call the whole weekend which limited some my sleep but also limited some the time spent staring into the darkness that had become my apartment. I once again tended to the phones this time calling the utility people who told me it sometimes takes four hours for the fax people to talk with the not-fax people to coordinate the resumption of services. I should call back around lunch to see if the fax had been received and processed. Lunch came and, no, the fax had not be received. In either case, I was told, my fax would have been deficient a number of very important pieces of information like my phone number. Which I had already told them numerous times over the very phone whose number I was providing them with. I nevertheless called the landlord, they said they did it, I said send it again.
The next day. More rain, less hot water. Today I learned they had received my fax! But it was deficient. Despite being told specifically what to have faxed over, I was not told sufficiently what to fax over as the list provided was missing, apparently, my move in date. Without this well the thought of giving a powerless person power was just plain ridiculous. I needed to send a third fax. Ok, the rules are rules and although it seems the people at both the electric company and my apartment are questionably competent at their jobs I had myself gotten into this mess largely because of my own laziness. I expressed my great dissatisfaction about being told a number of different fax requirements by a number of different reportedly fax-knowledgeable people who apparently all failed the fax portion of the standardized electric company customer service test. Anyway, send fax number three!
That night I was starting to get a little tired of my relatively boring existence (it seems there's not too much to do in an unlit apartment alone after dark) and a little frustrated with the process. The next day I would become even more frustrated when I would call once more and find, fax number four: lost in the universe! Once again the Great New England Fax Monster ate my fax and left me with nothing but tears and an uncooperative, inefficient system entirely indifferent it seemed to my plight. The solution offered, send another fax! I protested, asked why the hell did I need to send yet another fax, pleaded, begged, perhaps cried, and finally it was made known to me there was another way. Just say I'd take care of the billing issue myself -- which unbeknownst to me was apparently the underlying problem all along (dividing up which part of the bill I owed and which part my apartment manager owed) -- and they'd flip the switch. But not until the next day. Once more I protested, begged, pleaded, cursed the stars in the sky, and perhaps shouted a few profanities and after a brief placement on hold I was told they'd see if the switch flipper guy could fit me in that day. And, gloriously, he did. I returned home Wednesday evening to sweet beautiful power. Five days later.
I honestly did not much mind not having electricity for the better part of the week. The lack of internet was inconvenient but I enjoyed visiting other parts of town to obtain it. I certainly didn't like the lack of hot water, and a hot stinky fridge is not very kind to the pocket book or the senses, but all in all it wasn't too bad. I was nevertheless surprisingly happy by the resumption of electricity. Although one can get by in the darkness with the assistance of a head lamp for guidance, it is amazing the pleasure of getting by with just the flick of a switch. And a fridge fold of cold drinks is far more satisfying than a fridge full of lukewarm drinks. Fortunately there were no slap-stick falls in the night during the week and once I had light again my life resumed its usual humdrum pace. The moral of this story clearly being: if the electric company sends you a vague yet threatening message do what they say else they'll turn off your power and just generally not give a shit.
I think one of the worst parts of the whole experience, however, was the end of one particularly long phone conversation with the electric company which went something like this....
Customer Service: ... [finished explaining instructions] ... alright is there anything else I can help you with?
Me: ... [summarized the instructions] ... is that it?
Customer Service: ... [resummarized the instructions] ... ok have I answered all your questions? Is there anything else I can help you with today?
Me: No I think I got it. I'll call tomorrow morning as instructed.
Customer Service: ... [resummarized the instructions again] ... and that's it. Is there anything else I can help you with today?
Me: No, I'm good. Thanks. I'll call tomorrow.
Customer Service: ... [resummarized the instructions yet again] ... Have I answered all your questions? Is there anything else I can help you with?
Me: No more questions. Thanks for the help.
Customer Service: ... blah blah blah [nonsense] ... Have I answered all your questions? Is there something else I can help you with?
Me: No.
Customer Service: ... [long boring goodbye thanking me for my business] ... [more scripted nonsense wishing me a good evening] ... [an insufferable amount of time later] ...
Me: *click.*
And that's how I survived the Great Energy Crisis of 2011. By mostly avoiding my home.
The end!
Or...
To be continued!
Hurricane Irene's churning up the Eastern seaboard, and she's angry I'm told. And bringing with her great storm surges, powerful winds, drenching downpours, plagues of locusts, the death of every first born. Although I am every bit convinced she will die out an unexciting death once fully over land as all hurricanes have ever done, I am nevertheless a bit concerned my beloved power will be leaving me again shortly. I'm told New Hampshire power lines are mostly made of bamboo kabob skewers taped together with discount duct tape. Let us pray. For my power.
Oh, and this has been a powerful metaphor about the Libyan Revolution and fall of Muammar Gaddafi.
My epic tale of adventure and pre-industrial era existence began quietly enough last Thursday with my going off to work as I am want to do not knowing that upon my return later that afternoon, none of my light switches would work. The AC was dead. The refrigerator was warm. The internet was kaput. I was sad but not terribly surprised as a few weeks prior the utility company had sent me a vague yet threatening letter to call them to set up my electricity under my name. I had promptly done so, but calling it appeared was only part of a process which was to include also obtaining a "notarized signed land lord statement" which was... well they didn't really tell me. They also didn't tell me when I needed to get this in by. Just that if I didn't I'd one day find my power taken away and my pets heads falling off. Unfortunately the threat was sufficiently vague that I was insufficiently motivated to aggressively pursue this "notarized signed land lord statement." I sent an email, made a phone call to a voice mail it seems no one listens to, and that was that. A few weeks passed by and there I found myself, at about 19:00 in the early evening standing in the front of my apartment with no lights.
The next day I knew I had little time to get the holy paperwork taken care of so I spent a sizable portion of my work day making repeat phone calls to a voice mail it seems no one listens to. Finally around lunch time I left a message presenting clear, specific instruction of what to fax and who to fax it to. This was not done. Finally around 16:00 I finally got a hold of someone in the apartment office and they agreed to do the fax. I called the electric people and they said, yeah, didn't get the fax yet but our fax people leave at 16:00 so it'll probably have to wait till next week.
So I was left to survive the weekend. I had to resort to trapping local small game, burning small scraps of wood to boil a pot of water to run a steam turbine to power my AC, wrapping myself in pelts to keep warm at night, and driving around town to find sufficient internet access. This was unfortunately a fairly rainy period of time in New Hampshire so it involved a fair amount of running to and fro from my car to the library and back again. While I still had left over hot water for my shower things weren't too bad.
Then came Monday; things started getting annoying. I had just been on call the whole weekend which limited some my sleep but also limited some the time spent staring into the darkness that had become my apartment. I once again tended to the phones this time calling the utility people who told me it sometimes takes four hours for the fax people to talk with the not-fax people to coordinate the resumption of services. I should call back around lunch to see if the fax had been received and processed. Lunch came and, no, the fax had not be received. In either case, I was told, my fax would have been deficient a number of very important pieces of information like my phone number. Which I had already told them numerous times over the very phone whose number I was providing them with. I nevertheless called the landlord, they said they did it, I said send it again.
The next day. More rain, less hot water. Today I learned they had received my fax! But it was deficient. Despite being told specifically what to have faxed over, I was not told sufficiently what to fax over as the list provided was missing, apparently, my move in date. Without this well the thought of giving a powerless person power was just plain ridiculous. I needed to send a third fax. Ok, the rules are rules and although it seems the people at both the electric company and my apartment are questionably competent at their jobs I had myself gotten into this mess largely because of my own laziness. I expressed my great dissatisfaction about being told a number of different fax requirements by a number of different reportedly fax-knowledgeable people who apparently all failed the fax portion of the standardized electric company customer service test. Anyway, send fax number three!
That night I was starting to get a little tired of my relatively boring existence (it seems there's not too much to do in an unlit apartment alone after dark) and a little frustrated with the process. The next day I would become even more frustrated when I would call once more and find, fax number four: lost in the universe! Once again the Great New England Fax Monster ate my fax and left me with nothing but tears and an uncooperative, inefficient system entirely indifferent it seemed to my plight. The solution offered, send another fax! I protested, asked why the hell did I need to send yet another fax, pleaded, begged, perhaps cried, and finally it was made known to me there was another way. Just say I'd take care of the billing issue myself -- which unbeknownst to me was apparently the underlying problem all along (dividing up which part of the bill I owed and which part my apartment manager owed) -- and they'd flip the switch. But not until the next day. Once more I protested, begged, pleaded, cursed the stars in the sky, and perhaps shouted a few profanities and after a brief placement on hold I was told they'd see if the switch flipper guy could fit me in that day. And, gloriously, he did. I returned home Wednesday evening to sweet beautiful power. Five days later.
I honestly did not much mind not having electricity for the better part of the week. The lack of internet was inconvenient but I enjoyed visiting other parts of town to obtain it. I certainly didn't like the lack of hot water, and a hot stinky fridge is not very kind to the pocket book or the senses, but all in all it wasn't too bad. I was nevertheless surprisingly happy by the resumption of electricity. Although one can get by in the darkness with the assistance of a head lamp for guidance, it is amazing the pleasure of getting by with just the flick of a switch. And a fridge fold of cold drinks is far more satisfying than a fridge full of lukewarm drinks. Fortunately there were no slap-stick falls in the night during the week and once I had light again my life resumed its usual humdrum pace. The moral of this story clearly being: if the electric company sends you a vague yet threatening message do what they say else they'll turn off your power and just generally not give a shit.
I think one of the worst parts of the whole experience, however, was the end of one particularly long phone conversation with the electric company which went something like this....
Customer Service: ... [finished explaining instructions] ... alright is there anything else I can help you with?
Me: ... [summarized the instructions] ... is that it?
Customer Service: ... [resummarized the instructions] ... ok have I answered all your questions? Is there anything else I can help you with today?
Me: No I think I got it. I'll call tomorrow morning as instructed.
Customer Service: ... [resummarized the instructions again] ... and that's it. Is there anything else I can help you with today?
Me: No, I'm good. Thanks. I'll call tomorrow.
Customer Service: ... [resummarized the instructions yet again] ... Have I answered all your questions? Is there anything else I can help you with?
Me: No more questions. Thanks for the help.
Customer Service: ... blah blah blah [nonsense] ... Have I answered all your questions? Is there something else I can help you with?
Me: No.
Customer Service: ... [long boring goodbye thanking me for my business] ... [more scripted nonsense wishing me a good evening] ... [an insufferable amount of time later] ...
Me: *click.*
And that's how I survived the Great Energy Crisis of 2011. By mostly avoiding my home.
The end!
Or...
To be continued!
Hurricane Irene's churning up the Eastern seaboard, and she's angry I'm told. And bringing with her great storm surges, powerful winds, drenching downpours, plagues of locusts, the death of every first born. Although I am every bit convinced she will die out an unexciting death once fully over land as all hurricanes have ever done, I am nevertheless a bit concerned my beloved power will be leaving me again shortly. I'm told New Hampshire power lines are mostly made of bamboo kabob skewers taped together with discount duct tape. Let us pray. For my power.
Oh, and this has been a powerful metaphor about the Libyan Revolution and fall of Muammar Gaddafi.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Would You Rather....?
Have diabetes or HIV?
The obvious answer to that for I'd say 99% of the country -- and 100% of San Antonio -- is diabetes. But on further thought I'm personally not so sure. One of my ID staff, however, is entirely sure that HIV is the far better way to go, and the more I think about it the less I think he may be crazy.
HIV, typically once a death sentence only a few years after diagnosis, is no longer the viral grim reaper it once us. Whereas everyone with rare exception would progress from HIV+ to full blown AIDS in an average of 8 to 10 years followed by a few years of progressive misery unto death today this happens in only the rarest of cases (at least in the United States.) Now we have medicines, and not only do we have medicines but we have combo pills, and not only do we have combo pills but we have once daily dosing, and not only do we have a single pill that you take only once a day but we have a single pill that has remarkably minimal side effects. For those prudent enough to take their medicines consistently the reward is an AIDS free life that, aside from a high frequency of medical visits and a slightly increased risk of developing a few chronic illnesses, is essentially indistinguishable from the HIV- life they may have otherwise had. People need not get AIDS any more and certainly need not die from it. Truly now it is in many ways simply one more chronic condition.
Diabetes, on the other hand, though curable is rarely cured. As the disease progresses the consequences accumulate as do the medical therapies. It may start painless, but as it progresses to heart disease, kidney failure, nerve damage, immunodeficiency, and vision loss the pain becomes irreversibly real. During this time often over years to decades the number of medicines progresses from one pill daily to a handful of pills throughout the day and finally to the routine injection of shots and pricking of fingers for samples of blood. The roads are different -- heart attack, dialysis, blindness, amputation, infection, and stroke -- but the destination is the same. People die from diabetes. Not all and not directly, but an appalling sum of morbidity and mortality every year is brought on in part or in whole from diseases which diabetes brings. People view it as only a chronic condition, some people almost taken as a given, but few such medical diseases will change your life as much as diabetes.
To say I'd prefer HIV over diabetes still sounds a bit brash, but I think it may nevertheless be the better choice of the two. Due to the stigma of the disease I imagine most people will always largely favor diabetes. Unfortunately this is probably a large part why we spends billions of dollars and lose thousands of quality adjusted life years annually to the latter. On a lighter note, though, would you rather live free or die? Share a bunk with Kathy Griffin or share a bunk with Carrot Top? Bare knuckle box an angry Michele Bachmann or an angry kangaroo?
The obvious answer to that for I'd say 99% of the country -- and 100% of San Antonio -- is diabetes. But on further thought I'm personally not so sure. One of my ID staff, however, is entirely sure that HIV is the far better way to go, and the more I think about it the less I think he may be crazy.
HIV, typically once a death sentence only a few years after diagnosis, is no longer the viral grim reaper it once us. Whereas everyone with rare exception would progress from HIV+ to full blown AIDS in an average of 8 to 10 years followed by a few years of progressive misery unto death today this happens in only the rarest of cases (at least in the United States.) Now we have medicines, and not only do we have medicines but we have combo pills, and not only do we have combo pills but we have once daily dosing, and not only do we have a single pill that you take only once a day but we have a single pill that has remarkably minimal side effects. For those prudent enough to take their medicines consistently the reward is an AIDS free life that, aside from a high frequency of medical visits and a slightly increased risk of developing a few chronic illnesses, is essentially indistinguishable from the HIV- life they may have otherwise had. People need not get AIDS any more and certainly need not die from it. Truly now it is in many ways simply one more chronic condition.
Diabetes, on the other hand, though curable is rarely cured. As the disease progresses the consequences accumulate as do the medical therapies. It may start painless, but as it progresses to heart disease, kidney failure, nerve damage, immunodeficiency, and vision loss the pain becomes irreversibly real. During this time often over years to decades the number of medicines progresses from one pill daily to a handful of pills throughout the day and finally to the routine injection of shots and pricking of fingers for samples of blood. The roads are different -- heart attack, dialysis, blindness, amputation, infection, and stroke -- but the destination is the same. People die from diabetes. Not all and not directly, but an appalling sum of morbidity and mortality every year is brought on in part or in whole from diseases which diabetes brings. People view it as only a chronic condition, some people almost taken as a given, but few such medical diseases will change your life as much as diabetes.
To say I'd prefer HIV over diabetes still sounds a bit brash, but I think it may nevertheless be the better choice of the two. Due to the stigma of the disease I imagine most people will always largely favor diabetes. Unfortunately this is probably a large part why we spends billions of dollars and lose thousands of quality adjusted life years annually to the latter. On a lighter note, though, would you rather live free or die? Share a bunk with Kathy Griffin or share a bunk with Carrot Top? Bare knuckle box an angry Michele Bachmann or an angry kangaroo?
Monday, August 1, 2011
Bliss
The problem with growing up is it tends to dull the imagination. The once boundless mind is progressively netted and tethered to our best guess at reality. The giant, gray realm of what may possibly be so is slowly divided into the blacks and whites of what is and what isn't. There are no super powers it turns out. No heroes, no magic, no mystery, no unexplored realms to explore or things to be discovered. The Tooth Fairy dies fairly early. The Easter Bunny becomes a silly notion not too long after. Santa survives for a whole but one day too becomes an embarrassing figure you used to believe in. And even science, the last frontier, starts to slowly plod along at a plainly predictable rate. In such a world it is perhaps remarkable the imagination survives at all, but it does in part, I think, thanks to nature's little miracles. And in this case: the firefly.
I'd admittedly almost forgotten they exist. I had gotten so used to the various stinging and poking bugs of South Texas and the unfortunate fruit fly holocaust I had to visit upon my own apartment, that my recollection of summers in the Ozarks began to fade. My move to New Hampshire, however, has thankfully brought all the memories back -- and with half the humidity. There's something magical about seeing the brief flicker of lightening floating lightly in the trees. Although they're often too small and few in number to be all that much to really, truly look at their mere presence pulls the dusty drape off the imagination switch in our brains and briefly makes one's mind young again. Free to dream about whatever it is you please to dream about. Tempered a bit by reality yes, but the passive day dream confined to times of listless boredom is replaced by the active, excited dream fashioned from one's own active imagination. The world, for a moment, doesn't seem so old any more. All because of a simple bug with a glowing green bottom. For these guys alone I gotta say New Hampshire's pretty great.
Between the fireflies, black bears running wild, deep green mountain forests, and small colonial towns I am beginning to believe maybe I have entered some realm of Old World make believe. What's next? A mossy glen full of hatted gnomes? Routine travel by hot air balloon and gyrocopter?
Oh snap, they're already doing it! Here's to hoping for a dark haired gypsy maiden. Or at the very least a not unpleasant looking divorcee with a friendly disposition.
I'd admittedly almost forgotten they exist. I had gotten so used to the various stinging and poking bugs of South Texas and the unfortunate fruit fly holocaust I had to visit upon my own apartment, that my recollection of summers in the Ozarks began to fade. My move to New Hampshire, however, has thankfully brought all the memories back -- and with half the humidity. There's something magical about seeing the brief flicker of lightening floating lightly in the trees. Although they're often too small and few in number to be all that much to really, truly look at their mere presence pulls the dusty drape off the imagination switch in our brains and briefly makes one's mind young again. Free to dream about whatever it is you please to dream about. Tempered a bit by reality yes, but the passive day dream confined to times of listless boredom is replaced by the active, excited dream fashioned from one's own active imagination. The world, for a moment, doesn't seem so old any more. All because of a simple bug with a glowing green bottom. For these guys alone I gotta say New Hampshire's pretty great.
Between the fireflies, black bears running wild, deep green mountain forests, and small colonial towns I am beginning to believe maybe I have entered some realm of Old World make believe. What's next? A mossy glen full of hatted gnomes? Routine travel by hot air balloon and gyrocopter?
Oh snap, they're already doing it! Here's to hoping for a dark haired gypsy maiden. Or at the very least a not unpleasant looking divorcee with a friendly disposition.
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