It's Saturday Morning Post-Blackout, and this is the first time I've been able to log on in 2 days:

Blackout Festival, 2003

Where were you when the lights went out? (What an original opening line!)

Thursday, August 14, 2003, 4:14pm. We had our third Mondo Blackout in the Northeast. I was at “work”—the Chairman had been away all week and I had already typed everything. Everything. And I had typed it on Monday. So I was bored. I think I was surfing the Web, maybe not, whatever I was doing, it wasn’t important. The office lights and my screen flickered and then went dark. I thought it was the PIXies accidentally re-programming the universe again, but they seemed as befuddled as I. So I went to a window and looked out onto Fifth Avenue and couldn’t quite find the traffic light … and then I remembered what an oven my apartment is and that I had left the air conditioner on and windows closed and if the power was out and the windows were closed and the afternoon sun was streaming in my western windows … “I gotta go. I gotta go check on my cats before they suffocate.” I was halfway down the stairs before the Lone Executive on Premises even admitted to himself that this was A Blackout. So much for Miss Assistant Fire Warden (“But hey!” she lamely protests, “it wasn’t a fire.”)

The streets were abuzz with rumor: small delivery truck drivers didn’t know what was up; people interrupted cell phone conversations to tell their companions, “My sister says the lights are out in Ohio!” (Obviously, these people did not use AT&T cellular service, or else they would not have been talking to their siblings, they would have been cursing at their unresponsive communications device.) “I hear Detroit is blacked out, too!” Are the bridges open? The tunnels closed?

I was home in 15 minutes; the act of my opening the door and marching my human-sized carcass all over the place probably did more immediate damage the ecosystem in my apartment than did the initial power outage. The apartment was cool and comfortable. “Hi, Mommy! You’re home early! Scratch my ears! Rub my tummy!” The cats were fine. I called my mother. She was fine, too.

I pulled out my Walkman and tuned in 1010 WINS: Detroit, Toronto, Ottawa, Connecticut—all out. Whee! Just like when I was a kid! I opened up the windows and closed the curtains against the direct afternoon sunlight (the room actually seemed fresher for a moment). I packed my shoulder bag: camera, notebook cellphone (useless) and left the apartment. I noticed that there were emergency lights on on every floor. How nice! I went and sat out by Worldwide Plaza and started to draft this account.

The kids from the gym were doing due diligence at the Mexican café; a gaggle of idiotic young professionals walked up to them, seeming to be surprised that the gym (3 floors below street level; artificial light and air circulation, electronic bicycles and treadmills, etc.) was closed, and walked on, long-faced. Kinda reminded me of myself … at 7¾ … thinking the light in the refrigerator would still be on. I was tempted to meander down to Port Authority and watch people work themselves into a froth over something that, well, just happens sometimes.

But I decided to behave myself and walked back towards my apartment. Two of my neighbors were sitting on the next stoop up from our building, so I joined them. I’ve always been the sort of person to nod pleasantly in passing, so it was good to sit and hang out and watch the blackout with them. I brought down some folding chairs. After a bit, the neighbors moved on to a bar up the avenue, and I moved my folding chair two doors down, next to bench outside The Nook, where I met just about every tenant in that building. I made new friends as the sun went down. Hell’s Kitchen was The Place To Be this Blackout. Everybody was out, and everybody was groovin’ by on Ninth Avenue: two guys from work, Leigh and his friend John, more neighbors (I made mental—and later actual—notes of everyone’s name and which apartment they lived in, so I can be a better neighbor in the future than I have been in the past). I decided to turn in early, at about 10:30. I thought I’d turn in early, take advantage of the absence of TV and PC, and go to bed at a reasonable hour; but the headlights from the cars and buses, the police vehicles cruising down the avenue with their floodlights; and most of all the noise, kept me awake. The noise: I was annoyed at it … for about three minutes. Then I got into it. It wasn’t a too-many-loud-drunks-on-the-sidewalk kind of noise, even though there were a lot of loud, drunken people on the sidewalk. It was joyful, like a pagan festival: people were howling and cheering and laughing at everything and nothing; there were fireworks (where did those come from?); I heard a human-megaphone-of-a-woman announce: “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have stars! Look up into the sky and you will see stars!” and then everyone on the avenue applauded the stars.

It must have been at least 12:30 or 1:00 before things quieted down; I fell asleep with a special smile in my mind. I used to think that the city should brown-out on New Year’s Day: anyone who wasn’t in bed with a hangover was probably religious/spiritual enough to appreciate a nice quiet day of reflection. But now I think that day should be in August, when you can sit out under the open sky, maybe visit with your neighbors, maybe walk over to the river or hang out on your roof under the stars—and leave the hangover part for another day.