Why Hurricanes Suck- Part II: The Storm
"Winners never quit and quitters never win." - Vince Lombardi
"You win some, you lose some, it's all the same to me." - Lemmy Kilmister
It is said that moments of great stress bring moments of great clarity. Well, staring down the barrel of a Category 5 hurricane is one of those moments of great stress. As I encountered my first hurricane, and throughout the storm, I came to the first moment of self-realization I've had since I came to this island: When push comes to shove, I'm more Lemmy than Vince. I will prepare as well as I can; but at some point, life is just a roll of the dice. I, therefore, took on the storm with, shall we say, a little more que sera sera, than my wife.
The second realization I had during the storm was: MY WIFE IS VINCE LOMBARDI. Now I knew this before, but I have never seen it on such raw display as during the storm. You see, when something stands in the way of Amy in life, and she decides that she is going that way, NOTHING will stop her. Whether it is college, or a job, or a marathon; if Amy really wants to accomplish something, she will. (Another variation of this quality is: "you send one of hers to the hospital, she'll send one of yours to the morgue.") Amy, therefore, took on Irma just like another bitch at the DMV. It was truly awesome.
The storm winds began about 11:00 a.m. Amy began organizing our store of provisions. I, on the other hand, went to take a few "before" pictures for my scrapbook. It was at this point that I had my first decision to make. I pictured a photograph of myself, gazing fearlessly into the coming storm, grim determination on my face, with the caption: "Bring it on." I pictured putting this photograph proudly on Facebook and perhaps being chosen for the cover of Time magazine's story of the storm. After much consideration, I determined that smart men mock neither God nor nature. Also, given my fresh example of excess hubris, I decided that taking this picture would not end up well. Instead, I opted for a picture of me and the dogs, lounging on the sidewalk.
In addition, to get the party started, I prepared a delicious brunch of onion and potato frittata, which I paired with a zesty sauvignon blanc, with a dry, yet balanced, fruity flavor with a tail of oak.
Around 3:00 p.m., shit started flying around outside. Not big things, but enough to let you know this was a little more than a windy day in Chicago. At this time, Amy had moved on to putting food and water in a bedroom closet. She was preparing our ultimate "Alamo," where we would make our last stand against the storm. When I asked her what she was doing, she said, "Where do you think we're going to go when the roof comes off?" I choked back the impulse to say "the Land of Oz," because the serious look on her face told me to shut up and drink my wine. Knowing that the power company was set to cut off power to the whole island at 5:00 p.m., I began making dinner.
For dinner I prepared an exquisite roasted chicken, which I paired with a bold, yet subtle, pinot noir with hints of cherry and mahogany.
When the tropical storm winds hit I was well and truly shit-housed. Along the way, I tried to be the best DJ I could be, spinning "The Wind Cries Mary," "Rock You Like a Hurricane," and "Riders on the Storm," with reckless abandon. I also pulled out my guitar and fumbled my way through some indecipherable classic rock songs, all at full volume. I also realized that at this point I had gone through all of the cold pinot grigio, and switched to my go-to hurricane drink: Jack Daniels. During this time, Amy had finished equipping the closet with food, water, blankets, dog food, emergency radio, reading material, and flashlights, and had moved on to positioning a mattress over the door of the closet to barricade us in, should the need arise.
The roof tore off around midnight. Now, I'm sure you're asking yourself at this point, "But Randy, what about the four Korean pilots?" I'm glad you asked. Ryan, Nathan, Richard, and Lee were our airbnb guests prior to and during the storm. They had all moved to the island to work for one of the airlines, but found themselves staying with us during the actual hurricane. Actually, before the storm, they were instrumental in helping us prepare for the storm; moving kayaks, hauling supplies, and filling sand bags. We also got to know them and became friends. During the storm, these guys leapt into action.
When the roof tore off several things started to happen. First, thousands of gallons of water started to rain into the living room we were defending. Amy and the pilots moved quickly to place the 55-gallon trash cans that Amy had prepared under the gushing leaks in the ceiling. They also moved swiftly to take some of the 80 towels that Amy had stored away and placed them in the door seams to keep the water from blasting in. When the window frames started to violently buckle and shake, the pilots tied rope through the handles to keep the windows from blowing out. All at this time, everyone's ears are popping because of the low pressure, and it sounds like 20 freight trains are passing two feet away from the house. At some point, Amy began yelling, "get to the closet, get to the closet!!"
At the height of the madness, I had my second decision to make. Now, when I heard this hurricane was coming, I instantly pictured Lieutenant Dan from the movie Forrest Gump, strapped to the mast of the fishing boat, screaming "You call this a storm?" into the raging maelstrom. I feared I would do the same. I feared I would taunt God and/or Irma. I feared this would be the way I left this plane of existence. (Note: thanks to all of you that sent me GIF's of Lt. Dan screaming away, with notes saying, "please don't do this," attached.) However, when looking the hurricane dead in the face, at its worst, I again remembered that pride goeth before the fall, and decided not to yell at the storm.
I did not back down altogether. While the wind was howling and the water was pouring, I cranked up a little "Riding the Storm Out," while playing some epic air guitar. This was the last memory I have of the hurricane. (As Amy would later relate it, "All the time we (her and the pilots) were trying to save our lives, you were just running around screaming some stupid fucking Journey song." (It was R.E.O. Speedwagon.)) I like to think that at that point, screaming rock lyrics in the face of a hurricane, Lemmy looked down on me, tipped his hat, and said "Fuck yeah, mate." What probably happened, however, was that Vince Lombardi looked down, shook his head disapprovingly, and slapped me into blissful unconsciousness.
Up Next: Why Hurricanes Suck- Part III: The Aftermath.
"You win some, you lose some, it's all the same to me." - Lemmy Kilmister
It is said that moments of great stress bring moments of great clarity. Well, staring down the barrel of a Category 5 hurricane is one of those moments of great stress. As I encountered my first hurricane, and throughout the storm, I came to the first moment of self-realization I've had since I came to this island: When push comes to shove, I'm more Lemmy than Vince. I will prepare as well as I can; but at some point, life is just a roll of the dice. I, therefore, took on the storm with, shall we say, a little more que sera sera, than my wife.
The second realization I had during the storm was: MY WIFE IS VINCE LOMBARDI. Now I knew this before, but I have never seen it on such raw display as during the storm. You see, when something stands in the way of Amy in life, and she decides that she is going that way, NOTHING will stop her. Whether it is college, or a job, or a marathon; if Amy really wants to accomplish something, she will. (Another variation of this quality is: "you send one of hers to the hospital, she'll send one of yours to the morgue.") Amy, therefore, took on Irma just like another bitch at the DMV. It was truly awesome.
The storm winds began about 11:00 a.m. Amy began organizing our store of provisions. I, on the other hand, went to take a few "before" pictures for my scrapbook. It was at this point that I had my first decision to make. I pictured a photograph of myself, gazing fearlessly into the coming storm, grim determination on my face, with the caption: "Bring it on." I pictured putting this photograph proudly on Facebook and perhaps being chosen for the cover of Time magazine's story of the storm. After much consideration, I determined that smart men mock neither God nor nature. Also, given my fresh example of excess hubris, I decided that taking this picture would not end up well. Instead, I opted for a picture of me and the dogs, lounging on the sidewalk.
In addition, to get the party started, I prepared a delicious brunch of onion and potato frittata, which I paired with a zesty sauvignon blanc, with a dry, yet balanced, fruity flavor with a tail of oak.
Around 3:00 p.m., shit started flying around outside. Not big things, but enough to let you know this was a little more than a windy day in Chicago. At this time, Amy had moved on to putting food and water in a bedroom closet. She was preparing our ultimate "Alamo," where we would make our last stand against the storm. When I asked her what she was doing, she said, "Where do you think we're going to go when the roof comes off?" I choked back the impulse to say "the Land of Oz," because the serious look on her face told me to shut up and drink my wine. Knowing that the power company was set to cut off power to the whole island at 5:00 p.m., I began making dinner.
For dinner I prepared an exquisite roasted chicken, which I paired with a bold, yet subtle, pinot noir with hints of cherry and mahogany.
When the tropical storm winds hit I was well and truly shit-housed. Along the way, I tried to be the best DJ I could be, spinning "The Wind Cries Mary," "Rock You Like a Hurricane," and "Riders on the Storm," with reckless abandon. I also pulled out my guitar and fumbled my way through some indecipherable classic rock songs, all at full volume. I also realized that at this point I had gone through all of the cold pinot grigio, and switched to my go-to hurricane drink: Jack Daniels. During this time, Amy had finished equipping the closet with food, water, blankets, dog food, emergency radio, reading material, and flashlights, and had moved on to positioning a mattress over the door of the closet to barricade us in, should the need arise.
The roof tore off around midnight. Now, I'm sure you're asking yourself at this point, "But Randy, what about the four Korean pilots?" I'm glad you asked. Ryan, Nathan, Richard, and Lee were our airbnb guests prior to and during the storm. They had all moved to the island to work for one of the airlines, but found themselves staying with us during the actual hurricane. Actually, before the storm, they were instrumental in helping us prepare for the storm; moving kayaks, hauling supplies, and filling sand bags. We also got to know them and became friends. During the storm, these guys leapt into action.
When the roof tore off several things started to happen. First, thousands of gallons of water started to rain into the living room we were defending. Amy and the pilots moved quickly to place the 55-gallon trash cans that Amy had prepared under the gushing leaks in the ceiling. They also moved swiftly to take some of the 80 towels that Amy had stored away and placed them in the door seams to keep the water from blasting in. When the window frames started to violently buckle and shake, the pilots tied rope through the handles to keep the windows from blowing out. All at this time, everyone's ears are popping because of the low pressure, and it sounds like 20 freight trains are passing two feet away from the house. At some point, Amy began yelling, "get to the closet, get to the closet!!"
At the height of the madness, I had my second decision to make. Now, when I heard this hurricane was coming, I instantly pictured Lieutenant Dan from the movie Forrest Gump, strapped to the mast of the fishing boat, screaming "You call this a storm?" into the raging maelstrom. I feared I would do the same. I feared I would taunt God and/or Irma. I feared this would be the way I left this plane of existence. (Note: thanks to all of you that sent me GIF's of Lt. Dan screaming away, with notes saying, "please don't do this," attached.) However, when looking the hurricane dead in the face, at its worst, I again remembered that pride goeth before the fall, and decided not to yell at the storm.
I did not back down altogether. While the wind was howling and the water was pouring, I cranked up a little "Riding the Storm Out," while playing some epic air guitar. This was the last memory I have of the hurricane. (As Amy would later relate it, "All the time we (her and the pilots) were trying to save our lives, you were just running around screaming some stupid fucking Journey song." (It was R.E.O. Speedwagon.)) I like to think that at that point, screaming rock lyrics in the face of a hurricane, Lemmy looked down on me, tipped his hat, and said "Fuck yeah, mate." What probably happened, however, was that Vince Lombardi looked down, shook his head disapprovingly, and slapped me into blissful unconsciousness.
Up Next: Why Hurricanes Suck- Part III: The Aftermath.
Amy is a Juggernaut. I'm glad she's swashbuckling Banyan's path to victory against construction timelines and natural disasters. Easy to see why you love her.
ReplyDeleteAnd it's also easy to see why your business card says "Lead Guitar" the show must go on!
That night was pretty intense, especially when Irma trying to blow out windows!
ReplyDeleteI'm glad we made it without any harm! Haha
"Amy, therefore, took on Irma just like another bitch at the DMV."
ReplyDeleteI laughed so hard when I read this, I cried. I can picture my sister dressing down a professional bitch with a clarity reserved only for expensive hallucinations, witnessing it in person or being on the receiving end of it myself, many, many times. Sleep well and buy an extra bottle of Jack, Randy. Irma was just a warm up for Amy to make short work of the impending zombie apocalypse.