As a West coast boy, I am familiar with the phrase "Duck and Cover." It is a very handy phrase, one that works in a natural disaster (i.e. the walls are shaking, Duck and Cover) or when visiting friends in East LA and the Uncle says, "Yo White Boy... Duck and Cover." Very simple and very useful. Now what does one do when there is a hurricane? According to anonymous sources in Florida a hurrican equates to consuming large quantities of beer at local hurricane party. Hmm. The roof is going to get ripped off the house and I'm going to be so drunk I won't miss it. I'll take good old earthquakes any day of the year. Yes, they are scary. Yes, they can be destructive, but there are simple rules to remember, duck and cover. With the proliferation of Ikea, it would be better to take cover in a doorway and not under a table cause I doubt the folks in Sweden are mass producing furniture that is meant to last forever and to withstand all sorts of natural disasters.
Anyway, I had my first brush with a hurrican last week during a business trip to St. Petersburg, FL. Landing late Monday afternoon I met an old friend Dana and had a fabulous little catch-up. I am truly blessed to have friends that come and go at different phases and who, when meeting feel like you were chatting about the weather yesterday. Of course, according to one of the security guards at work, everyone is a weather expert in Florida after Andrew last year. CNN and CNN Headline News played constantly and I kept my eye on the pattern in order to determine what to do. Apparently, I had to do nothing since she decided to save me the personal story and went straight to better things. I guess my trip to Oprah with a tale of woe was a bit premature. Sorry Oprah.
Work for the week was exta hectic. End of year stuff and of course the three "official" projects I was working on and the crisis project that had to be dealt with ASAP. Luckiy, Miss Kris was able to drive down from Daytona to keep me company on my last night. She arrived and we headed to dinner and then took a little drive along the coast. The larger than life Miniature Golf course lured us out of the vehicle and the thunder and lightening almost put us back in. It would be rude of me to mention the winner ... so I'll just say the loser paid for the alligator food and we headed down to the live "educational" exhibit to give the poor blue mouthed gators some kibble from a fishing pole. I didn't realize that the little guys were jumpers and while preparing the first nibble screamed like a little girl when the gator threw himself in the air. I watch movies, I know what they want. They saw big white boy and were going for the gold, forget the kibble!
From their it was time for a little Georgie's Alibi - a family establishment. Thursdays are long-island ice tea night and we had to partake. The place was a bit surreal. Lots of women ... or should I say womyn. There was also the typical array of youngsters and oldsters, cowboys, farm hands, and the I can't stop dancing for three hours. The highlight was when Miss Kris squeeked and ran to the other side of me. A womyn of significant stature asked me, "Is that your wife?" (use a husky voice). After a few dances, we called it night.
My flights were on time and for some reason, the one-stop (Denver) included a stop in Las Vegas. I don't know if it was because of Katrina but the flights were BUMPY. Bumpy to the extent that women were crying, bellies were gurgling and I got to land and take off three times. JOY!!!!! Happy to be home in the good old 60 degree heat of San Francisco.
