Alive And Blogging

Which is more than I can say for this poor SOB-SUV, even if it could find the petrol to blog.



My situation is the following:

We in my part of South Florida got power yesterday, huzzah!

First of all, since I get no signal in the computer lab where I am at, I didn't get my mother's frantic calls to my mobile, notifying me that Florida Power & Light (FPL) had reconnected our area.

LOTS, and I do mean lots, of people all over South Florida are still without this all-important necessity: power.



The myriad of tie-ins to electricity in our common lives is truly mind-bending. That's what keeps the soi-disant Developed World humming, and producing, after all.

Secondly, we can now go to the supermarkets and re-stock, since unless you made provisions for your, erm, provisions, everyone lost their refrigerated items in TOTO.

My entire condo dumped the contents of their fridges this morning, and consequently, not only is there a stench I will not forget any time soon (as in Katrina), now the dread raccoons are having a feast downstairs! How raccoons got into this area, an island, I'll never know. Maybe they jet-skied on over...

Thirdly, the queues to get petrol in the stations are OVERWHELMING.

I saw FIVE separate rows of cars in one station, tailing back two blocks away, which a very organised proprietor was taking names of each driver, so no one jumped the queue!

Now that's a savvy businessman, brother.

Another petrol station wasn't so thorough, and obviously, this resulted in a bit of road-rage:



Listen, I have to be allowed a wee joke to take the edge off, right? Thanks.

So I can take a hot shower, eat hot food, watch DVDs, and style my hair with my blow-dryer -- but I still don't have 'net access or digital cable television access.

At least, when I left home.

Now I'm about to return, to brave the manic roadways ahead, during rush-hour traffic, but content in the knowledge:

There really is no place like home.

UPDATE: The rake-thin girl in front of me in the Publix supermarket queue this morning had on a white tee with the word MOTHERF*CKER on it in red-and-blue sequins; was sporting an orange feather boa that kept getting in my mouth, making me Pffut! everytime she moved her neck (she was at least, 1.85m), and got endless calls in French on her mobile from a person called "Minouche". If you are reading this, and you are that girl, dude, your seams were crooked. Get that fixed before Elaine Ford sees you.

H/T for the Post Title: My blog-buddy, Ron.