Blackout

6:30 pm

Reporting live from New York City. I just walked three miles to get home -- thank goodness that I did not go to work in NJ today. So far, people are being very cooperative and friendly. There are just about no D batteries left in the city, but I think everything will be mellow until they start running out of bottled water. Cell service was spotty, and everywhere people were staring in disbelief at their useless phones, then queuing for the pay phones on every corner.

No trains are running, either the subway or the suburban commuter lines. I walked past Penn Station, and the huge, block-long steps in front of the main post office looked like bleachers with all the stranded commuters sitting there. From about 42nd to the mid 50s, Eighth Avenue was closed to cars and sweaty people were walking and talking along. I was riding a bus for a while, but then the driver announced that they were told to stop service because of the danger of running when the traffic lights were out. Some police were directing traffic at really big intersections, but I think they are focusing on bigger concerns. In midtown, the Guardian Angels were doing traffic duty, and some other volunteers were trying to wave cars through.

Sounds of sirens and helicopters in midtown. Uptown much quieter, I walked through the park where it was cooler and rather cheerful. Now in my neighborhood, people are starting to settle in for the night. Neighbors are checking on each other and sharing batteries and candles. The hardware store had a long line out front as people waited to buy supplies. I made a street deal to trade C batteries for Ds to run my boom box. I can hear somebody strumming a guitar next door, singing "Wish You Were Here."

The pizza places with their gas ovens are doing a huge business, and the bakery cafe has taken over the sidewalk tables to sell food out on the street. Here on the Upper West Side, it is all about getting settled. Down in midtown, it was more survivalist, with people clamoring for cold water and one small shop doing a huge business selling sneakers for people who realized they must walk home.

So far, this is not looking too bad. I hope it doesn't rain tonight.

11:30 pm

The neighborhood is still pretty quiet, though there are still sirens every so often. I sent out some email reports and talked to mom on the phone. I figure she is the person that people will check in with. I took a few pictures but mostly it is too dark to register anything except when the fire trucks return to the firehouse on my block. The mayor is on the radio saying (sensibly for once) "Treat it like a snow day."

Carol called up and invited me to come down and have some beer with her and another neighbor, Pam. She braved my stair well with a tiny mag light to come fetch me after walking down ten flights of her own. My own block had quite a lot of beer drinking going on already -- people are really partying here. Around the corner on Columbus things were quieter, with fewer people on the stoops but more walking around. The best invention I spotted was the wine glass-as-lantern. With a votive candle in the bowl, the stem remains cool enough to hold comfortably while the candle is shielded from the wind.

There were flares up at the bigger intersections, and some buses seemed to be running, especially the crosstown. Nice that people did not have to walk through the park when it was so very dark.

Pam met us back at Carol's stoop. Her building is bigger and fancier than mine, and the neighbors outside were a good deal quieter. We went across the street to sit on the benches by the museum. It was much cooler under the trees. Carol had a six pack, and Pam had brought crackers, cheese, apples, and a little cutting board and knife. We had a nice midnight snack while we chatted with the dog-walkers passing by. The most amazing thing was seeing all the stars from the middle of New York City. Even though the moon was nearly full, we could pick out constellations from the street. Beautiful.

Carol and Pam walked me back to my building. I usually feel like I am safe once I get into my own lobby, but I think Carol's street smarts won out. Even with my flashlight, it was creepy in the pitch-dark stair well, and I was glad they waited in the lobby until I called down to them that I had made it to my front door. The door to the roof was open, and I could here music and laughter up there, but I just bolted my door, listened to a little more radio news, and got ready to sleep on the couch where it was cooler.

2:00 am

Hard to sleep. The couch is narrow and lumpy and it's very hot with no fan, though there is a bit of a breeze. Mostly, though, I have woken up because I can hear the party upstairs getting really wild. There is a rhythmic chant, complete with clapping, that seems to get faster and louder and then die off in a big cheer. I keep telling myself that it is just people chugging beer. As the chanting gets wilder, I keep visualizing the closing scenes of Last Exit to Brooklyn but I will the image out of my mind. Eventually my brain manages to substitute a more benign picture along the lines of Cher's Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves, which is enough to placate me a little. The street below now seems completely empty, so the partying must be up on a nearby roof. I realize that this is exactly the sort of edgy behavior that the police are too busy to worry about. It is probably nothing, but it seems on the verge of spinning out of control. I find myself wondering if this makes me an old fogey. Ten years ago, would I have gone up to find the party?

The main thing I am worried about is the potential for fire. All these people using candles seems like a recipe for danger. I have put my well stocked purse right next to the front door, along with a bag containing a set of clean clothes and some basic toiletries. I'm not sure where I would go if something did happen, but it makes me feel better to have some sort of plan.

6:00 am

The first thing I see upon waking is the green light blinking on the VCR. Power is back. The radio says that subways are still out until afternoon, though, and continues with the snow day analogy. Still deeply groggy, I stumble back to my bedroom and lie back down in front of the fan that is now whizzing merrily beside the bed.

Hurrah for civilization. #