How a surge in Ohio ruined my afternoon...evening...morning.
Some impressions from trying to get out of NYC yesterday: Trudging down 38 flights of stairs...isn't heat supposed to rise? Walking out of the building on Broadway, a guy from the "Nation of Israel" -- a sort of black supremacy group -- using a bullhorn to complain about the white man's imperialism in Iraq. The bullhorn is disconcerting; you want someone with a bullhorn to tell you what's going on or where to go; not harangue you in the middle of a vast throng trying to cross the convergence of Broadway and 7th Avenue in six directions at once. No streetlights. Drivers and pedestrians on the west side fairly polite (this will change as the population of cars and people grows exponentially by Fifth and Madison). Cops are trying to direct traffic, but it feels organic. On Park Avenue, no traffic cop so a guy in a brown suit has taken it upon himself and doing a pretty good job. It's very hot (89-degrees was the high) for such civic-mindedness.
The streets around Grand Central are weirdly calm (the whole city seems to be, despite the constant wail of sirens that reminds everyone of Sept. 2001). But they're packed. Sitting on the bumper of a mail truck that ain't going anywhere for a while (what's the point?), listening to the radio of a delivery van; the guy just opened up his doors and turned up the radio, so people could listen to the news (electronic shops were doing the same thing throughout the city). He finally has to close up and move off -- he's double parked and an ambulance on the street behind us, in which paramedics (I thought) had been treating someone, turned on the siren and began slowly moving. Turns out, according to the Times, a middle-aged woman had collapsed in exhaustion climbing down the stairs in the MetLife bldng. Although paramedics got there quickly, it had taken an hour for the ambulances to arrive too late.
Grand Central is closed (I'd like to meet the idiot who made that decision; there's food going bad down there and the air is probably fairly cool), but the MetLife (formerly known as the Pan Am bldng in more airline-friendly times) lobby is open to anyone who wants to hang out. Quiet, even kids with their parents in for the day from CT. I sit outside with my back against the cool marble of the building watching a building maintenance guy sweep up cigarette buts, weaving in and out of the hundreds of people standing around. He's a professional with a job to do.
The shoes. Women (oh, how I love New York) teetering around on spikey mules that are both elaborate and virtually non-existent. I wonder how the feet will feel in, say, six hours.
Getting dark now. There has to be several thousand people in a two-block stretch of Vanderbilt which runs next to Grand Central. Sitting on the sidewalk, standing in the middle of the street. Talking casually with the police. Elaborate triage unit in the cab stand area, but no one got stuck in the tunnels when the power went out -- pretty amazing as it was the start of rush hour. Nevertheless, every now and they they stretcher out someone who had passed out standing up in the heat, waiting for the doors to the station to open.
Other than Vanderbilt, which is bathed in police spotlights, lights from the police cars and, amazingly, the Chase Manhattan bank which is lit like a christmas tree (on the streets outsides, we can only fantasize about the a-c, phones, and working bathrooms), the city is almost pitch black. This is a first -- staring up at the sky and seeing stars over midtown Manhattan. Also a first -- lying on my back on the sidewalks of midtown Manhattan looking at the stars.
Lots of cabs -- they'd been in hiding earlier -- start appearing. But they're all "off duty." No meter. $50 dollars per person for five people crammed in to go to Larchmont NY. Wonder if, after paying the fare, one of the rider reports the driver's badge number; the hack would lose his license.
Some guy starts yelling at a cop. Must have had a couple on the way over and he's old and tired and it's hot and he's thirsty and can't take the hard pavement. The cop just yawns and she directs him to some guy who's supposedly in charge, over in the triage area. We're thinking, yep, this bozo's gonna make them take some action; turn on those damn lights already. And sure enough, he has an effect. The bullhorn finally comes out and the Metro North guy announces, "We will run the trains all night to get everyone home. When the lights come back on, it will take one hour to power up and begin moving trains out." People applaud. My friends and I are furious. This is bullshit on several levels. One, he's basically saying he has no idea when the power is coming on. Geez, that's useful information. Second, what about the diesel locomotives? It is still pitch black throughout the city; if we're waiting for the power to come back on, we're not getting out of here for hours if not days.
At 2AM, intermittent sleep (now I know why the homeless sometime seem to sleep all day -- they can only get it 5 minutes at a time, before a truck or a jerk makes a noise to wake them up). Then it happens; the defining moment -- a Mr. Softee truck rolls up and parks at Vanderbilt and 45th, and the driver jumps out and screams, "Ice Cream, get yer Ice Cream!" Hundreds of people queue up for soft ice cream cones. I'm thinking about one of their tastey milkshakes.
Friend of mine decides he needs to micturate, as they say. Decides to try the nearby Roosevelt. Comes back a few minutes later. The lobby has light, they let people in, the bathroom is open (though water isn't pumping), and they're giving out ice water in the bar (I was desperate for more from the bar, but the Makers Mark was behind lock and key and the ice water was very, very nice). I will write a letter to the management thanking them for the hospitality.
An hour and a half later, someone announces that Metro North trains were running. Had been for an hour. My friend and I left the hotel; turning the corner on Vanderbilt, where thousands had been when we'd gone to the hotel, the street is empty except for the newspapers and empty water bottles. Oh, there must be chaos in the terminal, I thought. Nope. The dark terminal practically empty. It must have been pretty insane getting on the first few diesel-powered trains, but now I walk on one -- an express to my stop -- and take a seat. It doesn't leave for an hour and a half, at 6:30 am, but the engine and the a-c are running and it's pointed east. The conductor had started the shift the day before at 5:30 am.
The only thing I'm sure of, it's Gray Davis' fault.
Certainly not this guy's? He can hardly be bothered. The political football has been kicked off, but fixing the grid's antiquated systems are a long way from ever being improved.
Some impressions from trying to get out of NYC yesterday: Trudging down 38 flights of stairs...isn't heat supposed to rise? Walking out of the building on Broadway, a guy from the "Nation of Israel" -- a sort of black supremacy group -- using a bullhorn to complain about the white man's imperialism in Iraq. The bullhorn is disconcerting; you want someone with a bullhorn to tell you what's going on or where to go; not harangue you in the middle of a vast throng trying to cross the convergence of Broadway and 7th Avenue in six directions at once. No streetlights. Drivers and pedestrians on the west side fairly polite (this will change as the population of cars and people grows exponentially by Fifth and Madison). Cops are trying to direct traffic, but it feels organic. On Park Avenue, no traffic cop so a guy in a brown suit has taken it upon himself and doing a pretty good job. It's very hot (89-degrees was the high) for such civic-mindedness.
The streets around Grand Central are weirdly calm (the whole city seems to be, despite the constant wail of sirens that reminds everyone of Sept. 2001). But they're packed. Sitting on the bumper of a mail truck that ain't going anywhere for a while (what's the point?), listening to the radio of a delivery van; the guy just opened up his doors and turned up the radio, so people could listen to the news (electronic shops were doing the same thing throughout the city). He finally has to close up and move off -- he's double parked and an ambulance on the street behind us, in which paramedics (I thought) had been treating someone, turned on the siren and began slowly moving. Turns out, according to the Times, a middle-aged woman had collapsed in exhaustion climbing down the stairs in the MetLife bldng. Although paramedics got there quickly, it had taken an hour for the ambulances to arrive too late.
Grand Central is closed (I'd like to meet the idiot who made that decision; there's food going bad down there and the air is probably fairly cool), but the MetLife (formerly known as the Pan Am bldng in more airline-friendly times) lobby is open to anyone who wants to hang out. Quiet, even kids with their parents in for the day from CT. I sit outside with my back against the cool marble of the building watching a building maintenance guy sweep up cigarette buts, weaving in and out of the hundreds of people standing around. He's a professional with a job to do.
The shoes. Women (oh, how I love New York) teetering around on spikey mules that are both elaborate and virtually non-existent. I wonder how the feet will feel in, say, six hours.
Getting dark now. There has to be several thousand people in a two-block stretch of Vanderbilt which runs next to Grand Central. Sitting on the sidewalk, standing in the middle of the street. Talking casually with the police. Elaborate triage unit in the cab stand area, but no one got stuck in the tunnels when the power went out -- pretty amazing as it was the start of rush hour. Nevertheless, every now and they they stretcher out someone who had passed out standing up in the heat, waiting for the doors to the station to open.
Other than Vanderbilt, which is bathed in police spotlights, lights from the police cars and, amazingly, the Chase Manhattan bank which is lit like a christmas tree (on the streets outsides, we can only fantasize about the a-c, phones, and working bathrooms), the city is almost pitch black. This is a first -- staring up at the sky and seeing stars over midtown Manhattan. Also a first -- lying on my back on the sidewalks of midtown Manhattan looking at the stars.
Lots of cabs -- they'd been in hiding earlier -- start appearing. But they're all "off duty." No meter. $50 dollars per person for five people crammed in to go to Larchmont NY. Wonder if, after paying the fare, one of the rider reports the driver's badge number; the hack would lose his license.
Some guy starts yelling at a cop. Must have had a couple on the way over and he's old and tired and it's hot and he's thirsty and can't take the hard pavement. The cop just yawns and she directs him to some guy who's supposedly in charge, over in the triage area. We're thinking, yep, this bozo's gonna make them take some action; turn on those damn lights already. And sure enough, he has an effect. The bullhorn finally comes out and the Metro North guy announces, "We will run the trains all night to get everyone home. When the lights come back on, it will take one hour to power up and begin moving trains out." People applaud. My friends and I are furious. This is bullshit on several levels. One, he's basically saying he has no idea when the power is coming on. Geez, that's useful information. Second, what about the diesel locomotives? It is still pitch black throughout the city; if we're waiting for the power to come back on, we're not getting out of here for hours if not days.
At 2AM, intermittent sleep (now I know why the homeless sometime seem to sleep all day -- they can only get it 5 minutes at a time, before a truck or a jerk makes a noise to wake them up). Then it happens; the defining moment -- a Mr. Softee truck rolls up and parks at Vanderbilt and 45th, and the driver jumps out and screams, "Ice Cream, get yer Ice Cream!" Hundreds of people queue up for soft ice cream cones. I'm thinking about one of their tastey milkshakes.
Friend of mine decides he needs to micturate, as they say. Decides to try the nearby Roosevelt. Comes back a few minutes later. The lobby has light, they let people in, the bathroom is open (though water isn't pumping), and they're giving out ice water in the bar (I was desperate for more from the bar, but the Makers Mark was behind lock and key and the ice water was very, very nice). I will write a letter to the management thanking them for the hospitality.
An hour and a half later, someone announces that Metro North trains were running. Had been for an hour. My friend and I left the hotel; turning the corner on Vanderbilt, where thousands had been when we'd gone to the hotel, the street is empty except for the newspapers and empty water bottles. Oh, there must be chaos in the terminal, I thought. Nope. The dark terminal practically empty. It must have been pretty insane getting on the first few diesel-powered trains, but now I walk on one -- an express to my stop -- and take a seat. It doesn't leave for an hour and a half, at 6:30 am, but the engine and the a-c are running and it's pointed east. The conductor had started the shift the day before at 5:30 am.
The only thing I'm sure of, it's Gray Davis' fault.
Certainly not this guy's? He can hardly be bothered. The political football has been kicked off, but fixing the grid's antiquated systems are a long way from ever being improved.
posted by John at 3:19 PM
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