I Can Write!

One might say that my arrival to Florida was poorly timed. I would tend to agree were it not for the plethora of knowledge I obtained during the weather phenomenon known as "Frances," which I can now attest is not just a talking mule. As a public service for those who might have to withstand future hurricanes (and Ivan's right around the corner), I now present my Ten Steps Toward Hurricane Survival:

1. Show up to the exact part of Florida where the hurricane will eventually touch land. If you don't do this, you may not have to endure a hurricane at all and thus, how could you ever survive one?

2. Timing is everything: Be sure to arrive in Florida the day before evacuation is to commence. This way, all of your belongings will already be packed and you'll also be able to assist your friend in nailing several large pieces of ridged metal sheeting to his windows and doors. Luckily, your friend will live on the first floor.

3. Travel inland to stay with your friend's friend's friend. Find out she's pretty cool, enjoy her company for several hours; make her a pot of your famous chili. When you discover that her computer is infested with spyware, have her flip her lid and blame you for it, even though you couldn't possibly be responsible for it. Try to explain that you have with you the software that can eliminate this very common threat; when she refuses to let you get a word in, get kicked out of her house just as the winds start to pick up.

4. At the last minute, have your friend's friend call another friend. This will be about 2am. When the new, good friend accepts you and your friend and your friend's friend with open arms, marvel at the assortment of candy bars and potato chips he has stockpiled for the upcoming ordeal. Also, take note of all of his electric appliances, stove and oven included.

5. The next day, meet the final guest -- the one who was originally supposed to be the only other person staying here with the good friend. Find out he's in a "program," and has been sober for an undisclosed but presumably lengthy amount of time. Laugh at his genuinely funny jokes. Listen to his mediocre guitar playing. Discuss philosophy and the wretched state of popular music today.

6. Later, when it is only you and the guest and everyone else is in bed, notice erratic behavior on the part of the guest. His zombie-like trance, feverish pacing about the living area, chain smoking, and an entirely eerie manner of flipping channels constantly while staring at his crotch. He will also begin taking objects that belong to your friend -- cell phone, money clip, etc. -- and relocate them around the house. Once he passes out, take a sip out of his Coke can. The liquid inside will taste like Southern Comfort. Alert the good friend by waking him up at 2am for the second consecutive night. When you and the good friend return to the guest's inadvertent place of slumber, witness him slide from his chair to the floor, knocking over a small table and shattering the glass objects upon it. This will wake up everyone else, who will eventually gather 'round to hear the now less-passed-out guest's awful, drunken renditions of Dave Matthews songs.

7. Wake up with no electricity. Discover that the good friend's pre-meditated stove surrogate is a small bonfire in the garage made of bricks and junk mail. By the time you are done preparing tuna salad, you will be shocked to see that the damn junk mail thing worked. Coffee and soup will accompany your tuna salad.

8. The next few days will seem like one big, long day in which you happen to sleep a lot. The air will be stuffy, the windows will be covered in sheet metal so everything's dark, everybody will be chain smoking and you will generally not be frightened of the loud noises outside because now you're just annoyed by this stinking thing and wish it would go away.

9. Lose your will to survive as each of your battery-operated toys loses power. Your video camera will go first, followed by your laptop. Read a book with a flashlight in your mouth. Realize you have no concept of time. Eat another Milky Way.

10. Go home. Wait several more days for power, and a few more days for internet. Delete 578 bulk mail messages and assure people you are still alive. Contemplate getting out of Florida before the next storm hits or you commit hari-kari, whichever comes first. Oh, and start working on that damn webcomic, finally.

Posted by kyle t. at September 10, 2004 09:45 PM

---