The Perfect Storm

We’re holed up at the beach house in Long Island, after the biggest storm to hit the eastern seaboard since George Clooney pushed his luck for a few lousy tuna. I’m watching two idiots from the Weather Channel discussing their water proof wardrobe while Staten Island continues it’s cries of desperation, across the bay from it’s up scale sister. Even the Statue of Liberty has her butt turned towards the forgotten borough. We were lucky that we had a place to go. We get to wear Ugg boots, drink hot chocolate and arm chair quarterback Bloomberg’s decision to cancel the New York Marathon. Our building in the city sits in the center of flood zone “A”, which first came into public view during Al Gore’s climate change doc, the “Inconvenient Truth”. He should make another one called, “I Told You So” because lower Manhattan flooded pretty much as shown in slide 27 of his power point presentation. The kids were oblivious to the 70 mph winds that came whipping over the island and across our back yard. Thing 1 asks where the birds go during a hurricane. That’s a good question. South? Pixie Hollow? I have no idea but now the kids can say they’ve survived two hurricanes in 18 months. It will be part of their personal myth. I’m just hoping a devaluation of flood zone “A” property doesn’t become part of mine.

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