10-17-2006, 03:32 PM
Here's a repost of an email i sent out to some friends this morning, soon after arriving home. It's written informally, but i feel it captures my night well.
The friend Pam Lamont went to help last night was me. I owe her many thanks for being a great friend. How many people are out of bed and in their car during monsoon-like weather at midnight with out a second thought. I got help before she arrived, though i should have taken her advice and gone to her spare bedroom.
Enjoy.
In the theme of "SIGNS OF PORTENDING DOOM!" we had some amazing storms last night. Everyone was so concerned about our earthquake. This storm : 6" of H20/hour. That's a foot every 2 hours. Whoosh. Headlights go about 10' into the gloom, and wipers on max do little.
I had been at my client's house, waiting for the rain to abate so i could enter my car. I opted for beers until about 11pm. As i was driving home, muddled and tired the radio announced flash flood warnings and other doomsuch for people clearly less invincible than mineself. Just as the robotic voice prattled "Don't drown, turn around" a large bolt of lightning struck a transformer adjacent to me, a huge flash of purplish light ensues and I hear shrapnel raining onto my roof. Wow. Bah, i'm still invincible right? I've got my invincible hat on. So i continue driving home. Hunched over navigation is punctuated by huge puddles and the resulting fountains of water. I keep on going. I've been this way many times and never been stopped yet, i laugh in exhiliration. Then my headlight turn brown, weird i think. Then i see leaves floating above them. In a moment of divine composition I think, "Whoops." My car starts to sound like an outboard. I think, well, it's ony the deep spot, i'll just floor it and get through. At this point a 2 foot wave washes into my door, Crap. I try to back out... and the car dies. YES! I realize my feet are wet, then my ankles, then I notice gum wrappers floating around my shins. Dam*! At least Steely Dan is still cranking through the radio. I knew I hated them before, now I really hate them. I start calling friends realizing none of them own trucks, explaining that like my previous relationships based upon owning "the Drill", perhaps, my friends only want me for "the Truck".
Luckily, some clueless ditz drives up, tries to drive past me, ignoring the waving arms and flashing light. She insists that she can get through. I am wading in waste deep water, soaked. She backs up and I use the two tie down rachets, tow strap, and 100' of rope I luckily had in my car to get towed out. YEAH! Unfortunately, my CD's and camera got soaked, but the car is just flooded, a little shop-vac love and all will be good.
So I try a different route to my house. Nope, I find myself wading up to my armpits three times. Finally i try the really obscure back route. I find myself facing a raging river carrying trees through my neighbors lot. I can imagine my driveway 1/2 mile ahead. Well, it's 1:30 AM gotta try it. Blub, blub, blub, gurgle. Nope stuck again. Well, alright. I'll just throw everything into my wet bag ( i had my scuba stuff with me), and hump it into the darkness, I'm already soaked how bad could it be. I make it up to my neck and decide that the 2 foot standing wave of brown i see illuminated in flashes of lightning looks a little intimidating. I'd end up in the blackness, washed who knows how far into the jungle, probably bludgeoned, undoubtably punctured clinging to a drowned pig, at 2AM with no one knowing where I am. I imagine the tingling I feel through the water with each flash of lightning. With chagrine i realize that I have cell service, though no one could get to me anyway, i'm sure that the water is now much higher and impassable. I'm stranded 1/2 mile from my bed. My car is flooded up past the seat cushions. I contemplate who i should call. I think of Chris. Have i mentioned that I am laughing and enjoying myself. This is why i live here. Sucks about my car, but eh. I'm most bummed that I won't be able to go see Lina or drive Rocky around. Damn, too bad it's 4am in San Diego, i'd really love to call Chris right now. So i strike off, laughing and splashing in puddles.
Luckily I run into someone pulling chickens out of the road. He's wary, but warms up. Eddy is a neighbor, never met him. He's living here, takes care of the 100 fighting cocks his brother is breeding here. There is something beautiful about the sight of hundreds of roosters illuminated by lightning. All standing atop their little teepee-like hutches. I see another drowned chicken float by. Eddy lives in a closet sized shack. We both realize there is no place else for me to go. I am soaked, we're not going to share his bed. We decide on the tool shed. I bed down on some cardboard and smile. I'll strike out at dawn.
Roosters can be bothersome creatures. For, instance when one is hungover, slumbering peacefully and your neighbor's rooster decides to perch on your windowsill and crank out a 4am revelry, you think "I feel like chicken tonight." Amazingly, 100 roosters proclaiming forelornly, beating the rain off, and wondering what the future holds is an amazingly beautiful thing. Poor guys so proud in their plummage, tied to a couple pieces of tin roofing. Spaced like tomatoes, constantly enflamed by the insolent proximity of their mortal enemies placed just out of reach. One wonders if they aren't as excited by the proposition of an exhibition ending in a battle to the death as their inhuman captors. Betting in pidgin and phillipino. I hear one monster clearly hidden in the back of the lot. Deeper and throatier than the others, i imagine him 4 feet tall, proud and fearless like his carnivorous ancestors. I watch out he door, catching glimpses of roosters in the flashes of lightning, looking like crucifixes perched upon tombstones.
Dawn arrives.
I thank Eddy, promise him a carton of menthols, and a twelve-pack. Good ole' Eddy. He looks upset by all the dead hens.
I hump it down to my vehicle, with its nice scum line left around the window. Like line in a dingy bathtub. I get in. I turn the key. Rowr. Rowr-rowwwwrrr. Whoosh, plop. 15 gallons of water and flotsam comes out of the exhaust pipe. I think, geez if i'd collected that I could calculate teh volume of, my exhaust train.... Rowr-rumna-rumna-rumna. God i'm wet and cold. It catches!... and dies. I try again, battery seems pretty low. She catches. God i love this car.
I rev the motor watching the stream of water and plume of steam fill the surrounding acres. I look forward eyeing the stream in front of me. I notice a BBQ stuck a few hundred feet int the woods. A big-wheels, a 15 gallon propane tank. Trees on their sides. I put it in gear, pause, thinking about evolution and fighting cocks, eye the flooded road and think, how deep could it be....?
The friend Pam Lamont went to help last night was me. I owe her many thanks for being a great friend. How many people are out of bed and in their car during monsoon-like weather at midnight with out a second thought. I got help before she arrived, though i should have taken her advice and gone to her spare bedroom.
Enjoy.
In the theme of "SIGNS OF PORTENDING DOOM!" we had some amazing storms last night. Everyone was so concerned about our earthquake. This storm : 6" of H20/hour. That's a foot every 2 hours. Whoosh. Headlights go about 10' into the gloom, and wipers on max do little.
I had been at my client's house, waiting for the rain to abate so i could enter my car. I opted for beers until about 11pm. As i was driving home, muddled and tired the radio announced flash flood warnings and other doomsuch for people clearly less invincible than mineself. Just as the robotic voice prattled "Don't drown, turn around" a large bolt of lightning struck a transformer adjacent to me, a huge flash of purplish light ensues and I hear shrapnel raining onto my roof. Wow. Bah, i'm still invincible right? I've got my invincible hat on. So i continue driving home. Hunched over navigation is punctuated by huge puddles and the resulting fountains of water. I keep on going. I've been this way many times and never been stopped yet, i laugh in exhiliration. Then my headlight turn brown, weird i think. Then i see leaves floating above them. In a moment of divine composition I think, "Whoops." My car starts to sound like an outboard. I think, well, it's ony the deep spot, i'll just floor it and get through. At this point a 2 foot wave washes into my door, Crap. I try to back out... and the car dies. YES! I realize my feet are wet, then my ankles, then I notice gum wrappers floating around my shins. Dam*! At least Steely Dan is still cranking through the radio. I knew I hated them before, now I really hate them. I start calling friends realizing none of them own trucks, explaining that like my previous relationships based upon owning "the Drill", perhaps, my friends only want me for "the Truck".
Luckily, some clueless ditz drives up, tries to drive past me, ignoring the waving arms and flashing light. She insists that she can get through. I am wading in waste deep water, soaked. She backs up and I use the two tie down rachets, tow strap, and 100' of rope I luckily had in my car to get towed out. YEAH! Unfortunately, my CD's and camera got soaked, but the car is just flooded, a little shop-vac love and all will be good.
So I try a different route to my house. Nope, I find myself wading up to my armpits three times. Finally i try the really obscure back route. I find myself facing a raging river carrying trees through my neighbors lot. I can imagine my driveway 1/2 mile ahead. Well, it's 1:30 AM gotta try it. Blub, blub, blub, gurgle. Nope stuck again. Well, alright. I'll just throw everything into my wet bag ( i had my scuba stuff with me), and hump it into the darkness, I'm already soaked how bad could it be. I make it up to my neck and decide that the 2 foot standing wave of brown i see illuminated in flashes of lightning looks a little intimidating. I'd end up in the blackness, washed who knows how far into the jungle, probably bludgeoned, undoubtably punctured clinging to a drowned pig, at 2AM with no one knowing where I am. I imagine the tingling I feel through the water with each flash of lightning. With chagrine i realize that I have cell service, though no one could get to me anyway, i'm sure that the water is now much higher and impassable. I'm stranded 1/2 mile from my bed. My car is flooded up past the seat cushions. I contemplate who i should call. I think of Chris. Have i mentioned that I am laughing and enjoying myself. This is why i live here. Sucks about my car, but eh. I'm most bummed that I won't be able to go see Lina or drive Rocky around. Damn, too bad it's 4am in San Diego, i'd really love to call Chris right now. So i strike off, laughing and splashing in puddles.
Luckily I run into someone pulling chickens out of the road. He's wary, but warms up. Eddy is a neighbor, never met him. He's living here, takes care of the 100 fighting cocks his brother is breeding here. There is something beautiful about the sight of hundreds of roosters illuminated by lightning. All standing atop their little teepee-like hutches. I see another drowned chicken float by. Eddy lives in a closet sized shack. We both realize there is no place else for me to go. I am soaked, we're not going to share his bed. We decide on the tool shed. I bed down on some cardboard and smile. I'll strike out at dawn.
Roosters can be bothersome creatures. For, instance when one is hungover, slumbering peacefully and your neighbor's rooster decides to perch on your windowsill and crank out a 4am revelry, you think "I feel like chicken tonight." Amazingly, 100 roosters proclaiming forelornly, beating the rain off, and wondering what the future holds is an amazingly beautiful thing. Poor guys so proud in their plummage, tied to a couple pieces of tin roofing. Spaced like tomatoes, constantly enflamed by the insolent proximity of their mortal enemies placed just out of reach. One wonders if they aren't as excited by the proposition of an exhibition ending in a battle to the death as their inhuman captors. Betting in pidgin and phillipino. I hear one monster clearly hidden in the back of the lot. Deeper and throatier than the others, i imagine him 4 feet tall, proud and fearless like his carnivorous ancestors. I watch out he door, catching glimpses of roosters in the flashes of lightning, looking like crucifixes perched upon tombstones.
Dawn arrives.
I thank Eddy, promise him a carton of menthols, and a twelve-pack. Good ole' Eddy. He looks upset by all the dead hens.
I hump it down to my vehicle, with its nice scum line left around the window. Like line in a dingy bathtub. I get in. I turn the key. Rowr. Rowr-rowwwwrrr. Whoosh, plop. 15 gallons of water and flotsam comes out of the exhaust pipe. I think, geez if i'd collected that I could calculate teh volume of, my exhaust train.... Rowr-rumna-rumna-rumna. God i'm wet and cold. It catches!... and dies. I try again, battery seems pretty low. She catches. God i love this car.
I rev the motor watching the stream of water and plume of steam fill the surrounding acres. I look forward eyeing the stream in front of me. I notice a BBQ stuck a few hundred feet int the woods. A big-wheels, a 15 gallon propane tank. Trees on their sides. I put it in gear, pause, thinking about evolution and fighting cocks, eye the flooded road and think, how deep could it be....?