I could tell you that I sat up all night, monitoring Hurricane Irene, watching the wind and rain do its best - or worst - to stir up trouble. I won't, though. Truth is, I slept through the whole thing. I went to bed around 1pm and didn't wake up until 9:30. Must've needed the sleep. So no Irene war-stories for you, dear readers. Sorry.
No broken windows. No lost power/water. I don't even see much debris on the streets.
Perhaps it was a Chicken Little response by New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut, imposing mandatory evacuations and preparing for the worst. However, the devastation that could have taken place if Irene had hit at the right spot and the right strength would have been catastrophic. It's a gamble either way. That said, the local media was way over the top, even if the event had proved apocalyptic. Alas, it was ever thus.
I like to think it proved that New Yorkers can make rational decisions, prepare for potential chaos in an orderly fashion, and follow directions. These are traits not often attributed to New Yorkers, so a collective pat on the back for your solid reason and lack of panic, fellow citizens.
My favorite Mayor Bloomberg moment was when he was asked if preparations were in place to handle looters. He gave the questioner a sort of puzzled, but cock-sure, look and replied, "New Yorkers don't loot. That's not what we do nowadays." Yes, leave that to the likes of Londoners, Los Angelenos, and New Orleansters. It was then I realized that the main qualification of being mayor of New York is that core cock-sureness in New York City and its citizens. Thank you for having such faith in us, Mr. Mayor. (And I hope we would've lived up to your expectations re: looting.)
Now, back to normal. Goodnight Irene, thank you very much.
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