Well, not so live, a little late, but here it is …

A hurricane coming ashore is an event of both sight and sound.  The wind whips at a variety of speeds, but there is this basic pulsing feel along with the gusts that let you know how badly you’re about to get whipped.  The howling sound is an eerie thing.  The first time I heard a hurricane wind, I knew why the Irish called some winds the howls of the Banshee.

So, I didn’t get to live blog to you because I’m still attached to Entergy New Orleans and just trying to afford the solar panels to get me completely off the grid.  But, hopefully you’ll find these better late than never.  I haven’t slept very well for the winds, the rains, and the complete lack of either last night.  The kathouse is happily air conditioned again.  Last night I slept on the sofa up front and left the door wide open.  It was unbelievably hot and stuffy.  I was awakened frequently by blue flashing lights  and the sound of humvees patrolling the streets.  Most of the time I was drinking martinis and eating various grilled things with my neighbors in the bar down the street.  This is that most Gulf Coast of rites… a hurricane party.

Karma (the yellow dog) and I were caught walking after dusk last night. Since we are both such suspicious sorts, we were told to go home immediately.  My neighbors rode the entire hurricane out on the front porch. The national guard came by several times, offering to take them to the convention center.  Yeah, right, like they were going to let THAT happen.   So, unlike our Mayor’s speech of “fema trailors flying thru the sky, worse than katrina, mother of all storms” description, this has been one fairly uneventful hurricane, thankfully. All of our politicians should quit patting themselves on the back because, really, it wasn’t that bad. Maybe the Mayor finally took his meds.  Hopefully, he’s gone back to his house in Dallas where he can damage the city in a more minimalist way.

I will say one thing for all those folks out of town now … they’re creatively looking for ways to guilt trip FEMA into paying for their hotel rooms in Florida.  Now, that’s what I call the American Entrepreneurial spirit.