Wednesday, August 31, 2011

From The Texas Refugee Camp

Hi friends.

It's been an eventful week: Hurricanes, heat waves, US Open, Obama's Uncle was arrested for drinking too many Appletinis and driving... The usual stuff.

As I continuously defend my decision to flee the big apple and head to Texas, I would like to offer my thoughts about the hurricane and then proffer for some understanding concerning my decision to take the wife and child to the land of BBQ, big sunsets and Jumbo trons.

To help you understand, I would like to discuss two hurricanes with you. The two I'd like to discuss are Rita and Ike. (Katrina needs no discussing)

You see, Amber and I were in hurricane Rita. Rita, if you don't remember, was the Bramer bull of all hurricanes. Rita was a category 5 hurricane and the most powerful hurricane to ever hit the gulf and the 4th most powerful in recorded history of hurricanes. There were wind speeds of 235 mph with sustained wind at 185 mph strong. That's basically sitting through a 500 mile wide F3 tornado for 3 hours. Needless to say, the city was evacuated. But amazingly, here's what happened: Nada. The hurricane hit the land and fizzled like an Alka-seltzez in my dad's favorite Boomer Sooner glass jar/mug.

Praise God, right? Yes, for those that evacuated. But instead of being thankful, the squatters turned into the biggest pack of know-it-alls on the face of the earth and basically made all those that left town feel pretty dumb and faithless. But we evacuators endured and tried to forget the trauma of the evacuation. (That was hell all by itself.)

Then came Ike. Well, everyone who had fled Rita and got caught up in the largest traffic jam in US History (no kidding. Largest. EVER.) and were then subsequently ridiculed for evacuating, decided to take their chances and stayed home, waiting for the little-ole Categor 2 hurricane named Ike, (almost sounds like Tike, like, "Little Tike") to fizzle, too.

Long-story-short - IT DIDN'T. In fact, the squatters on Galveston Island and other places were greeted with the third costliest and damaging hurricane in Atlantic hurricane history. Many were sent to OZ. The island and all it's buildings, boats and bistros were pretty much wiped off the island like crumbs off a table. And that was just that island. The damage of hurricane Ike was bested only by the damage of Hurricanes Katrina and Andrew.

So, my friends, as I watched the news and observed New York's reaction to the monstrously huge hurricane ripping put the coast, I felt that NYC had that "about-to-experience-hurricane-armageddon-but-doesn't-know-it feeling to it. It had all the right ingredients for a horrible disaster... kind of like the people that lived on the beach in the movie JAWS -- It had a city that is totally unprepared for a hurricane; It had a population completely ignorant-bordering-on-arrogant about hurricanes; And finally, it had a Cat 2 hurricane with it's eye fixed on Rivendell. (Central Park)

It was when I heard that the Mayor was evacuating hospitals that I decided that I would accept the offer from my hurricane fearing family to fly us out and we were on a plane a day and a half before impact.

In closing, we left because we didn't want to take our chances with doom. Nothing happened though, and praise God for that. But here's the sad part about it. This should serve as a warning to those in NYC about the power of hurricanes. But it won't. Another Ike will roll around again sometime in the future and everyone will stay and people will drown.

I do know that the only thing I'll do different when that day comes is fly Jetblue.