Small Shelly Fauna

Here I Am (dun dun da da dun)

Hola, amigos. Sorry it's been a while since I rapped at ya, but I've been busy with a little something called being rocked by an infestation of hurricanes the likes of which tear the very firmament asunder. Okay, so I wasn't personally rocked by any of those hurricanes, but I certainly felt their effects. Immediately following Hurricane Frances, I went down to the homestead in South Florida, anticipating doing my part to get the storm-ravaged neighborhood back in shape. House repairs, clearing out felled trees, that sort of thing. Little did I know how much the lingering effects of Frances (::Pee-Wee Herman voice: "FRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANCIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSS!"::) would task me. Oh, how they tasked me! The core problem was the lack of power--all other ills, in one way or another, stemmed from this. I truly have no idea how people survived in South Florida before the advent of electricity. Being thrust back to those dark ages was an unpleasant experience indeed. Obviously, no power means no AC, and no AC means having to endure 95 degree nights (I kid you not) at nearly 100% humidity. Telephone lines and precious internet were also cut off, and because our well has an electric pump, we lost all running water (not that those with city water fared any better, as their supplies were contaminated following the initial floods.) Speaking of floods, these caused the neighborhood septic tanks to overflow, and let me tell you, there's nothing like the ripe stench of raw sewage being cooked at 98 degrees under a blaring sun. Without running water, toilets could only be operated by bringing in tanks-worth of water for each flush, necessitating frequent trips to the pool, our sole source of water. Despite becoming infested with creatures (peaking in size at rats, although I personally held out hope for some gators), it still functioned as our only stopgap for washing dishes and ourselves, as the power/water outage lingered for over a week. As the days went on, the huge amounts of standing water left in the hurricane's stead began to release their vile spawn: a whole fruit rainbow of mosquitoes, noseeums, and biting flies--even larger and more vicious than usual, and lacking the temporal qualms that characterize the usual dipteran menace. As the local paper said, "these strains will bite day and night." And they did, fueling the constant mental battle over whether to open the doors and windows, hoping for a breeze, or fry in a closed-off house that was at least relatively skeeter-free (although still infested with many others kinds of insects.) Finally, in an effort to prevent looting that amounted to little more than twisting the knife in the hopelessly wounded heart of the populace, county officials declared an 8 o'clock curfew and a complete ban on alcohol until all power was restored. This resulted in no small amount of furor on the part of the locals, and this ban did end up being lifted before power was fully restored. A man can handle many troubles, but apparently prohibition isn't one of them. As the days passed, hope turned to crazed desperation, as we rocked in corners a la Bart in Kamp Krusty, muttering to ourselves, "Power is coming...power is coming...power is coming..." To further demonstrate Heaven's spite on our land, we watched as gradually, every neighborhood but ours was restored to functionality. Then, we gnashed our teeth as people mere blocks away were seen frolicking in the calming fluorescent glow of electrification. When at last it returned to us we were as a people reborn, counting our blessings that we dwell in a country where such hardships are an irksome aberration. We were still pretty peeved at the power crews for coming to our neighborhood so late, though. When I finally left Florida, the streets were once again under water, inundated by wayward bands of then-tropical storm Jeanne, the resuscitated version of which now threatens South Florida anew. If (and at this point, it seems more like when) it hits, it will be the first time in recorded history that the same state has been hit by four hurricanes in a season. Now, I am no fan of the state in particular. Indeed, it is a baked fen of infinitely evil ants where the elderly go to meet their end. But all the same, no state deserves this. One hurricane, to bring communities together in the face of overwhelming adversity? Okay. Two hurricanes, to stick a little fear of God into the complacent populace? Er, all right. Three hurricanes? Now you're pushing it, but four? At that point no one cares, they're just bored and want to crawl into their ditches and die in peace. And there's still two months of hurricane season left! Take a break on Florida, o storm gods, and take your wrath out on Myrtle Beach for once.