Ninety-three yesterday as the last day of September dragged its sweaty arse into the National Weather Service record books.
Anyone who got out early yesterday had nothing to complain about. Come to think of it, anyone who got out late, well, likewise.
The Rio wasn’t snaking its way up the drainage channels to snatch up our kinfolk, pets, and proud-ofs. We are light on natural disasters here at the moment, barring the odd pedestrian getting run over by three (!) vehicles, one woman going after another with an ax, and the city council considering guidelines for artificial intelligence, when the real thing seems to be in such short supply.
We may have a spot of wind that will set us to dashing around the foothills chasing our lawn furniture, which we have not been using because mosquitos, which will be chasing us around the foothills, and so on and so on and scooby-dooby-doo-bee.
At least it gets you out in the open air. Like crucifixion.
Meanwhile, a former colleague at Bicycle Retailer and Industry News reports that he and the fam’ are OK in Black Mountain, N.C., save for the lack of “water, internet, cell coverage or landline.” They have a propane generator that supplies electricity — as long as the propane lasts — and while driving is impossible due to downed trees and flooded roads, cycling is not. Stay high and dry, Dean.
Another former bike-industry bro in South Carolina says via text that he too is rocking a generator for power. The water is on, and he has plenty of grub, but the gas “is a bit tricky” and “cold showers suxxxx.” Word, TC.
I’ve only ever been a spectator at this sort of thing. Back in the late Seventies I got yanked off the Gazette copy desk to help cover the aftermath of a freak tornado that walloped Manitou Springs. And in Colorado we had to keep an eye peeled for fires.
One within eyesight of our shack in CrustyTucky had me scouting a back way off our one-road hillside. Another in Bibleburg had us taking in refugees.
Lucky for us, the worst we ever had to deal with was the occasional four-foot snowfall, power outages, and the fabled Shit Monsoon of song and story.
That was pretty crappy (rimshot). About like having a circus elephant with a crook gut let fly in the basement. But at least we still had power, water, and food … though our appetites were not up to snuff for a while.
I mean, c’mon. The place smelled like canned farts.
• Meanwhile, speaking of shitstorms, it’s been a while since I thumbed through the Book of Revelation, but it seems The New York Times is reprinting it in modern lingo.
Mad Blog Media 
I made that comment about the Book of Revelations on Twitter/X today, too, after reading the Grey Lady. This is getting weird. I can see the IDF doing something mean.
My brother in Asheville is back home, sans water and power. Our realtor/friend in Swannanoa says her house is OK but the town is trashed. I’m about to wire some greenbacks to the local charities. My former junior scientist in South Carolina said all the trees that fell on his lot missed his house.
I guess James Baldwin was wrong. The flood next time.
The photos are mind-blowing. And “bouncing back” sounds like it’s not an option. More like a long slog.
NYT has a piece about what it could take to get the power back on in a lot of places. Holy moly. And to think we used to grumble about going to candlelight for 90 minutes or so when someone tripped over a cord in CrustyTucky.
Took two weeks to get the lights on after Gloria hit Long Island in 1985. We moved my chest freezer to the Geology Building and plugged it into the building’s backup generator, which fortunately had two weeks of diesel fuel in the tank.
I recall that story about the Shit Monsoon. Our brother in law/sister in law pair in Waimanalo (Oahu) had a similar incident that had them fleeing to the other side of the island as soon as they could find a place.
Old house, old pipes, old ’hood. Things were bound to go pear-shaped eventually, I guess. And they did.
I miss the place, and the ’hood, and the people. But a pre-WWII house is a handful for a dude what ain’t handy.
Sly of you to put in that Everyday People riff. And it’s started a brain worm today. But at least it’s better than the theme from Cheers or any Madonna song. Skeeters eh? Well sir I could show you any number of bites from only being outside an hour yesterday here in the Mitten State. Bring on the first frost…..
“Sly” of me. I see what you did there, Herb old skeeter-slapper.
I loved me some Sly Back in the Day®. Still do.
Did you ever see “Summer of Soul (… Or When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised)?” Awesome stuff from the Harlem Cultural Festival back in 1969.
Summer of Soul was indeed great. But fortunately Jan 6 WAS televised so there can be no dispute about that. If only tRump, Muskellunge et.all would throw some of their billions towards helping out North Carolina….nah.. they prefer to tear down rather than build. And no overtime pay while doing so…..