Before Ivan / After Ivan
The kid in me likes the tasty frosting, but the grown-up in me thinks that erring on the side of caution can sometimes be an expensive, futile pain in the ass.
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my favorite report on last night’s nonevent was the following from the T-P:
“Less than an hour before Hurricane Ivan’s gale force winds
and flood waters were expected to blow into Jefferson Parish,
Emergency Management Director Walter Maestri, awestruck and
smiling, described the storm’s path.
“‘If you can see this on the computer right now, it’s almost
like the hand of God,” he said. “‘It’s like God has stuck
his hand out and the bands of rain are just going around us,
like the hand of God is sitting there protecting metropolitan
New Orleans.’”
(from http://www.nola.com/newslogs/breakingtp/index.ssf?/mtlogs/nola_Times-Picayune/archives/2004_09.html#033213)
guess God was using His other hand to scoot Ivan over towards Mobile Bay, huh?
We’re God’s chosen ones, Jonno.
“Ms. Marybelle De l’Eau, director of Emergency Services in Orange Beach, Ala., said, dejected and frowning, “It’s almost like God unzipped, whipped it out, and pissed all over us, then kicked us in the side of the head while we were down and pissed some more, like he didn’t like us and wanted to punish us for going to Church every morning, instead of having a morning beer like they do in the Quarter. God would definitely like to party in New Orleans, I’m sure of it.”
I would point out to everyone who thinks that evacuation was incorrect to look at the times-picayune’s coverage of the storm damage in Alabama and Florida. We came very, very close to being hit hard, and it still might happen this season. And if you really want proof of what you barely missed, try visiting the Flora-Bama lounge.
Aaron, dear, no one here–least of all me–questions the importance of evacuation, even in close-call scenarios like the one we just experienced. What I meant to convey in my perhaps too-snarky post was that hurricanes are a disruption to daily life that many of us could do without.
P.S. No one likes a Cassandra. Ask Margaret Orr.