A skittery, erratic attempt at a weblog. Rambles will be indulged and depths will be plumbed. Who knows what I'll come up with?
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| Fragments A skittery, erratic attempt at a weblog. Rambles will be indulged and depths will be plumbed. Who knows what I'll come up with? |
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Sunday, August 17, 2003 Weather: Cooler, less humidity Listening to: Joe Canada, The Rant Not doing: thank you letters, drama night prep, anything for Meducator, phone calls I promised to make weeks ago.... Blackout diaries Thursday, 4:10 pm Having been let out of work early, I walk into the corner store at Sheridan and Dundas to buy my customary after-work slushee just as a large *phhw* accompanies the darkening of the lights and the shudder-to-silence of the aircon. "I didn't do it!" I remark, trying to get the deadened slushee machine to dispense with little luck. The owner smiles as she looks down the street. "No, it looks like it's the whole block. Try the ice blue -- I think it's a bit more melted." So I grab and pay for my ice blue raspberry slushee -- not the flavour I wanted, but the last REALLY cold or hot thing I'd have for over 24 hours. Thursday, 4:15 pm The sudden loss of all traffic signals has made Dufferin and Dundas kind of dangerous. After nearly losing my life trying to cross, I make it onto a northbound Dufferin bus. The next traffic signals are out, and the ones after that, just hanging silently over the roads which have erupted into semi-chaos. Thursday, 4:30 pm A TTC rep in a blue shirt and orange security vest takes advantage of a couple of minutes' peace from the throng of frustrated/annoyed/hot/curious would-be subway passengers, slips back into the overhang at Dufferin station, and lights up a cigarette. I almost hate to disturb him. "Power's out across the entire city," he informs me in a tired voice, "Missisauga right over to Scarborough." For how long? He doesn't know. He also 'couldn't tell ya' when or if they'll get bloor shuttlebuses up and ready, and I figure he has a long enough day ahead of him without trying to plan me a route home. Luckily I have my ride guide in my backpack.... Thursday, 4:45 pm Idiot and idiot's girlfriend in a souped-up black sports car go tearing through an intersection beneath blackened traffic lights, muffler-less engine roaring a very clear "Fuck you" in response to honks, shouts, and squealing tires. Thursday, 4:50 pm Back on another northbound bus, I stare out the window and confirm that the TTC guy seems to be right; there are no traffic signals, neon signs, or store lights anywhere, on Dufferin street at least. Huh. I wonder how many of the people on the bus realize that there's no power anywhere in the city. Usually a news junkie to the highest degree, my mom likes to spend nice days like this out on the patio reading the paper with my dad. They can't even hear the phone ring in there. Maybe they haven't even noticed that all our lights and appliances have been converted to large pieces of dead weight.... Thursday, 5:00 pm A St. Clair streetcar stopped in its tracks, completely empty. Thursday, 5:20 pm Travelling west aboveground is not something I'm really used to. It strikes me that I really don't know what my city looks like from up above. It also strikes me that I've now travelled across a large part of the city, and there are NO LIGHTS HERE EITHER, and it just looks so strange I'm not sure what to think. People out onto the sidewalk, looking up and down the street in astonishment. The doors of stores flung wide open, looking defunct and abandoned, neon OPEN signs a dead gray. Pandemonium in the intersections beneath the dullened signals. Buses packed to the hilt with floods and floods and FLOODS of people, looking like evacuee trains. I'm sure I've read this somewhere before -- Girlfriend in a Coma, maybe? Or 28 Days Later? Thursday, 5:30 pm A guy stops his bike on the sidewalk, runs into the traffic fray that's formed in the intersection of Eglington and Royal York and -- bless his heart -- begins orchestrating traffic as if it's a piece of performance art. Thunderous applause and cheers from the bystanders waiting for buses, which increases when a worker from a nearby construction site tosses our impromtu hero a reflective orange vest, and when he receives a bottle of water and an emphatic thumbs-up from a passing green minivan. I'm almost sorry when my bus comes. Thursday, 5:45 pm Finally home and trudging up my street, I hear it -- the roar of my next-door neighbour's gas-powered generator. Oh. I'd forgotten about that. The behemoth yellow box turns itself on with a rumble whenever the power goes out and once a week just to check that it still works. It drives us all crazy. Guess that's on for the duration... Thursday, 5:46 pm Mom: The power's off everywhere. New York, Cleveland, Ottawa...the whole eastern seaboard. Susan: PARDON ME? Mom: Yup. Everywhere except for next door. Thursday, 10:30 pm I walk outside to look at the stars minus light pollution...and there they are, spread out on a velvet sky -- constellations and stars and planets and the milky way, twinkling away quietly. I think, "WOW!" -- and *BANG*, on come all my survivalist next-door-neighbours' night floodlights, bright as a fluorescent interrogation lamp. Yeah, screw you too. Thursday, 11:00 pm Walk up to Humber Valley School in the pitch dark, away from Disneyland next door. I'm not missing this -- this is a one-time shot to see the heavens from my own neighbourhood, and Mars isn't going to look like this for another 60,000 years. I'm irrationally surprised at how silent shooting stars and satellites are; I'm expecting the self-important bang of fireworks and the roar of a jet engines and instead I get this silent, almost secretive display, brief flashes and tiny moving stars. The shooting stars are beautiful, but the satellites nearly break my heart for some reason -- that's a long, long, lonely way out there for us to send our voices and pictures and music and words. Thursday, 11:10 pm My favourite sight of the whole blackout: looking down to the downtown core and seeing only the thin thread of winking red and white aircraft lights marking out the top of the CN tower, nothing more. Guess the city's finally asleep. ~SM posted by susan | 10:47 PM |
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