The Crisis -- EVERYONE PANIC!!!

October 15, 2006

George Bush doesn’t care about upper-middle class white men traveling in Hawaii on corporate expense accounts! It’s common knowledge that he doesn’t care about black people, but I am his bread and butter. Where is the National Guard? Where is my rescue? You think after Katrina, things would be different. You think this nation’s collective anger and fervent rage would spur this weak government to action.

Alas, it has not, and I am another casualty of a nation bent on destroying lives at home and abroad. Yet it didn’t have to be like this…

Ten hours ago a 6.6 earthquake off the coast of the Big Island rattled me awake and changed my life forever. (Think “Sand Lot” FOR. EV. AR.).

With my room still shaking and the heavy steel frame of my high-rise apartment building groaning in an eerie protest, my years in ‘Nam took over. Immediately alert, I leaped out bed to find my glasses. In my heart of hearts, I just knew that it would be really cool to see the other high-rises around me sway and move. I had to act. However, Charley thwarted my recon attempts by stealthily moving my glasses into the bathroom last night—well aware of the earthquake to come.

Already in a compromised position, I knew I had to retaliate quickly. Like any good road warrior, I sleep with my StinkPad booted up, plugged in right next to my bed. “The interwebs!” I proclaim to myself. Google I need my 3,924,000 search results for “Hawaii earthquake” returned now, not it 0.0013 seconds!

I click through pages desperate to find a US geological site that will have live sensor feeds. Unbeknownst to me, at this very minute, a power outage is creeping across this isolated archipelago. I take time to put on some music. Every disaster needs a soundtrack, and luckily “Grace” by Kate Havnevik was only too happy to oblige.

I return to the Interwebs. First I see my weather update toolbar go into error mode. Then my pageloads are returning 404s. My wirelessly streamed music slowly fades away. Obviously, a massive landslide has kinked the series of tubes where my packets and bits travel. I am left in my underwear with one of the most useless pieces of modern technology—a laptop not connected to the Interwebs.

The seriousness of my situation causes dark thunder clouds to form in my mind. I don’t have any AC! My fridge—I simply don’t know if my extensive stores of bottled water (two bottles) and frozen waffles (two waffles) will last very long! Most importantly, I spent part of last night scheduling numerous shows on my Tivo—what will happen to that effort?

I am paralyzed by fear and can’t seem to think straight. “Calm down, Karl,” I tell myself “You can get through this.” With a fortitude I didn’t know I possessed, I force myself to breathe deeply and relax. In such a relaxed state, I quickly fall back asleep. Mini-crisis averted.

During these next few hours of sleep, I received 3 emails and 7 phone calls from 5 people trying to determine if I was all right. Friends and family calling to ensure I was ok? Actually, all calls were from my work—NYC, ATL, SF, LA, and Manila all called me to make sure I was alive. I don’t know what I would do without friends or family.

If I only knew the privations that awaited me, I would have never interrupted this welcome respite. The temperature in my room must have risen a number of degrees, making my clothes slightly clingy. I had to take a hot shower with full water pressure with the door open to let some light in.

And no, that is not the worst of it. I live on the 27^th floor. Do you know how many stairs that is to get to church? I don’t know either, because only one elevator in my building was working. Can you imagine that? They go to all the trouble of buying backup power generators and only connect them to one elevator!

I drive all the way to church, only to find out it is cancelled. Sure, no one bothered to call and tell me. Is it too much to think that an elders quorum president that has never met me could find the number of a guy who is not consistently at his ward and call me to let me know I don’t need to drive almost 7 minutes to find out church is cancelled? Incompetence at its greatest.

It is now almost 11 o’clock and I am starving. I might as well be in the famine stricken plains of Africa. To find food, I had to call up my friend Kim Cloward’s mom and invite myself over to their house for steak sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies. To make matters worse, I had to call twice because once, my call was dropped. Good job a-holes. Don’t you have all those commercials that says “It’s the network” with 200,000 people following a one-trick part-time actor who will never make it anywhere in Hollywood. Sure, I am with Cingular and not Verizon, the point is I expect uninterrupted cell coverage even if the power is out in a 1000 mile radius, even if the lines are jammed with everyone trying to let friends and family know they are ok. We are talking about my lunch here. For those of you over 200 lbs, you know how serious meals can be.

Life in paradise-cum-hell continues to worsen as I am chatting with Roommie (a friend, who, ironically enough, I have never been roommates with) and driving to Kim’s house at the same time. I am agog that I have to use the IM forwarding on my phone to chat with Roommie while driving—what is this, Vietnam?

As an aside, are you aware the Vietnamese currency is the dong? Totally not making this up. So next time someone special looks very attractive in a new suit of clothes, be sure to tell them they look like a million dongs (approximately US$63).

I have borne these and other hardships stoically throughout the day. After a horrible afternoon of taking lazy naps on the veranda overlooking the ocean while eating Hagen Daz ice-cream, I have returned home tired and spent. Now I know what it must have been like for the pioneers. If I had a dong for every time I thought that today.

So now by the light of an IKEA vanilla scented candle, having eaten the last of the left-over California Pizza Kitchen spaghetti, I am writing what may be my last update to this blog. All I have left is a half-box of Cheerios and one can of diet root beer.

If I survive tomorrow, I don’t know what I will do. I will probably end up surfing in the morning and afternoon and taking a nap on the beach in between—but life is so fleeting, so uncertain, who knows.

To my family, I love you all, even though you never call or write but get upset when I don’t call or write.

To my friends, we’ve had some good times. I mean, you always tell me how much fun you are having when I am not around, which I think still counts.

To my colleagues, you can cut out the middle man and send your requests directly to Manila.

To my lovers,

Let’s content no more, Love,
Strive nor weep:
All be as before, Love,
--only sleep.