Everything happens for a reason.. Long Beach is that reason

Every day had been a struggle since leaving our apartment the day before the storm on August 26th. What we thought was going to be a weekend vaca in the city had turned into 8-days (so far!)  of endless commuting, sleepless nights, and room service. The last part hadn't been so bad...

Now approaching the last weekend of the summer we never had, while the city was ready to enjoy a last hooray in The Hamptons and rooftop BBQ's, we were now having to leave the hotel due to the overflow for the upcoming holiday. We packed up again and headed to Central Jersey to stay with Trav's parents. It was a welcomed break to hear the sound of the pond fountain and not the sounds of the busy streets. We were finally able to walk the dog without dodging people. Or let's be honest, in Bob's case, people dodged him, as he barelled down streets as wide as him like a bowling ball. Finally, a home. We brought in the change of pace with a nice dinner with his parents at Barts in Matawan.

We didn't know what the next day would bring as every day started with the alarm before 5 a.m, and both of us commuting three hours (one-way!) in bumper-to-bumper traffic back to what used to be our normal routine. Our days were busier then ever as we both just tried to maintain our daily duties at work. Trav's cousin Kyle helped us by walking Bob midday, or that piece just wouldn't have fit into what had become a very meticulous puzzle. We were getting back to Central Jersey after 9pm every night, not being able to even decide on cheese or no cheese on our fast-food burger for dinner. We collapsed into bed, sleeping harder then we ever have, before doing it all over again. All while our stuff sat unpacked in an apartment, no closer to finding somewhere else to go.

I wasn't handling anything very well and subconsciously must have been seeking a target to take the form of Irene so I could unleash my subdued fury. The bubbling pot boiled over one rainy & traffic-ridden morning when a woman with a shaved head, dressed in what I could only guess was a community-service jump suit, wouldn't let us merge. It was road-rage at it's fullest, when at high speeds, I was trying to climb out my window & into hers just so I could attempt to claw her eyes out. Words came out that I'd never even heard before. Some mine, some hers. And once it was over, ended by Trav trying to roll me up in the automatic windows before speeding away, it was obvious that my death wish by my supposed target was a humbling & humiliating experience. I wasn't handling this well at all and needed to get a grip or else someone was going to get a grip on me.

I needed help and reached out. I called everyone for guidance. The one thing I had learned having lived a couple of years in Hoboken was that I never wanted to go back. That was a start. We followed up with friends on both coasts to find an open door. While some doors closed, others opened, as we seemed to be guided by ever-present destiny. The suggestion to see Long Beach, New York came from Kara, the wife of Trav's boss and the suggestion to try Greenwhich Connecticut came from a chance meeting of a couple cool strangers at Outstanding In The Field, the Marcus Samuelson event. We knew nothing about either place and were frankly too exhausted to think for ourselves, so we made a plan to at least check them out. We decided to start with "Long Beach".

It was Saturday of Labor Day weekend and like every other morning, we woke up at 5 a.m. to figure out what we should be doing to make the day productive. Equipped with little more then car keys & a Tom-Tom, we headed to this so-called Long Beach. 

As we drove, I mean crawled, through Manhattan, and then through Brooklyn, while missing our turn and getting further delayed, we found ourselves giving each other the silent treatment for no reason.  We were numb.

And then it happened... After paying the $2 toll- we embarked on the bridge that led to Long Beach island.  I felt something I hadn't felt since I stepped off the plane with my one-way ticket to Manhattan so many years ago. I felt that I had finally arrived exactly where I was supposed to be. My eyes welled up with tears...again.. but happy tears of adrenaline like they do every year at Broncos' opening kickoff- signaling the beginning of football season. I was finally happy and not just happy, I was at peace. THIS was what all of the suffering had led to. I felt it in my heart and everywhere else. This place had been waiting for us. We were going to be very happy here. This was home.

We watched families with coolers and floaties, and surfers with their boards loaded onto their bikes as they crossed the street and headed to the beach. The exact thing I wished I could be doing but knew deep down, it'd be soon enough. 

We pulled into what looked like the heart of the small island, breathed in the salty air and wandered into the closest real estate office. That's where the best real estate agent we've ever met, Jon Meyers, took us in and showed us around. He wore Teva sandals, board shorts, and croakies.  This is where the love affair with Long Beach began.

YouTube Video of Long Beach & our New Place (w/sound)

(click on link above or visit:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9mTa1psoAps)

No more Irene! To read more about the adventures in Long Beach, stay tuned to:

http://longbeachishappiness-sarah.blogspot.com/

Hell or High Water

There has to be a special place in the underworld reserved for John Geltrude of East Rutherford, New Jersey, otherwise known as the slumlord of 108 Park Avenue.

I had stopped by the apartment on Wednesday, August 31st, to grab a few things before heading back to Manhattan when I decided to advise our Superintendent, Bob, of my revelation regarding the man I had still never met. Even after all of this. I also wanted Bob to know that it was my opinion that he may be joining John in Hades, as he would probably be found "guilty by association". Although a servant of "The Man", I liked Bob and wanted to make a last attempt to talk some sense into him. We were soon joined by Bob's brother Joe and then another tenant of the building that happened to be new to the building (pobrecito!). I've never had a problem speaking my mind (says the blogger), especially when I feel I've been wronged, and this was as good of a time as any. All of a sudden, a strange man walked right through my captive audience, through our private entrance, and down into the basement leve that only contained our apartment. I had a feeling this was the devil whom I had been speaking of. By the time I spun on my heels to follow, he already had his key in what was my apartment door.

"Excuse me..?!" I called out, but it had obviously fallen on deaf ears as the intruder was already in the apartment. There was no "how do you do's" at this point, he knew who I was and I knew who he was and neither one of us were interested in formalities. He wouldn't even make eye contact with me as he called out to his serpent, I mean servant, Bob, who came as he was instructed. John asked Bob question after question about the flooring, obviously having no clue about the building he supposedly owned. He followed Bob around the apartment, asking a million questions about things he obviously knew nothing about, as I apparently became invisible in a matter of minutes.

I sat back, made myself comfortable, and watched the show that neither one of them had intended to have an audience for, especially me, the unhappy tenant they were trying to screw over. John decided to make himself comfortable as well, as he ordered Bob and Joe around the apartment. Never once offering to help, he ordered them to pull up several parts of the sub floor that revealed obvious water damage underneath. His face showed the same look of shock that mine did.

He then asked Bob and Joe to pull up one of the planks of hardwood that made up the majority of the remaining sub floor. Although the 120-year old hardwood was real oak, the wood crumbled with the stroke of the hammer, just like rotted wood on a dock of a marina. The wood was completely saturated, (it obviously wasn't it's first rodeo when it came to flooding), and when removed, revealed a soaked-through piece of plywood underneath. John ordered Bob and Joe, who scurried like mice at his command, to grab the drill to see what was underneath the mystery plywood. Mind you, John had previously informed us, very condescendingly, that we were living on top of a cement sub floor, which was already not the case.

Not only was there no cement under the 3/4" plywood, there was nothing at all. That's right. That drill tip hit dirt..or should I say mud. That four-story apartment was being held up by nothing more than wooden, and obviously rotted, joists (a little bigger than 2x4's) and plywood. I wish I was joking.

120-years ago, the poor Italian families that settled in to call Hoboken home realized they were in a disasterous flood zone. To combat the issue, they dug large canyons under their homes to catch the flood water, and simply built on top of them with wood joists, and plywood. For the first time, John Geltrude was realizing that no technology created by modern man in the past 120-years had been used on his apartment building. To him, walls showing massive cracks and doors no longer seeming to close properly throughout the building, weren't signs that this place was soon going to crumble into the earth below- they were just an "insurance hassle".

After this shocking revelation, the generous man that he is, gave us two options. He knew that the only option that would keep him out of prison for being responsible for the sickness and potentially disasterous outcome of other tenants, was to pull up all of the flooring that was now showing mold and rot, and fill in the cavern below with cement to further reinforce the building and to stop the flooding once and for all. But this option came with lost rent and a higher insurance deductable so was tossed out like we were soon to be.

He calmly stated that he would give us two options that did not include the one above. He was planning on putting carpet over the mold and rotted sub floor and calling it a day. If we weren't happy with that, he would "go above and beyond" and actually sand down the remaining sub floor (how much can you sand down 3/4" plywood?), apply a layer of varnish and two layers of sealant, and THEN replace the carpet. Something he said he would let his "kids live with". But not without trying to deter this choice by advising what a messy job sanding was and he wasn't going to be responsible for moving our furniture around to avoid damage. Wow- thank you so much! After advising we had two days to make a decision, he was gone. If we chose neither of the two ridiculous options, we had 15 days to find another place and move in or he would charge us rent for a place we couldn't live in...

Awesome.

On the 2nd of September, John Geltrude received our notice to vacate. We asked that due to the circumstances, to please expedite the return of our deposit as it would be needed for the next place and soon. He stated he was within his rights to return it after 30-days which would start after we vacated. What a lovely man.

And so the saga continued...

Seek and Destroyed...

http://youtu.be/sMXJPfFMbcY

(Click Above Link To View Video of Hoboken & Our Apartment Post Hurricane Irene)

One of my clients called me resilient the other day, I surely prefer that over "unlucky".

My resilience was definitely being tested Tuesday, as well as my dormant ulcer, as my stomach churned on the PATH train headed back to Hoboken. I knew this time, it wasn't because of bad Mexican food.

Many people comment that Manhattan smells in the summertime because of the trash piled high on the sidewalks. I once compared it to McDonalds- it doesn't really matter whats in that to-go bag, somehow, it always smells the same. Today, Hoboken seemed to have the same smell except imagine that instead of trash it was sewage, yet not contained & was instead covering the city like a blanket. Like Manhattan trash, the leaked sewage due to the flooding, was now baking in the sun. It wasn't the first time I've smelled this in Hoboken, but you never get used to it. The ripe scent was my first welcome home gift as I stepped off the train.

Except this place no longer felt like home. As I wondered if it ever truly did, I couldn't help but notice that life seemed back to normal in the Boken. The excruciatingly long line of annoying tourists just waiting to sneak a peek of the Cake Boss was back on Washington Street, after only a two-day break. The mad rush to and from the PATH train, downtown's only connection to the island of Manhattan, was a steady stream of people resembling ants, not thinking, just moving.  Not only the smell, but the emergency vehicles and rescue boats parked in front of city hall were a stark reminder that this place was far from normal. The streets, that just a few days before were canals for homemade boats, were clear and dry but the sand bags that were once part of the sea's floor were still in place. Some offices had already begun the cleanup and the smell of freshly shampooed carpets offered some relief from the inescapable stench. Cars were back to being lined up on the street which wasn't surprising. A parking spot in this town would always be a hot commodity, even in a hurricane.

As I walked down Park Avenue towards our apartment, any hope I had was whisked down the drain just like the gushing water coming from neighboring buildings. Both of my neighbors' basement apartments were furiously pumping water through hoses and PVC pipes from inside their homes. It had been days since the flooding, how was this even possible?

I reached my apartment door but tried as I may, tried as I might, I couldn't get the door to budge. It had obviously swollen from the water damage. I noticed our front window was open a small amount. This was unnerving as I knew anyone else with a brain would be thinking what I was currently thinking. Without hesitation, I lifted the screen and in front of a dozen passersby, who didn't utter a word (typical), I slipped down into my living room. The floor was still wet as the linoleum, previously covered with carpet, settled under my feet. Our furniture and personal items had been carelessly strewn about as building management had tried to pull up the carpet and padding, leaving sewage soaked patches to rot where the furniture was apparently too heavy to move.

They had set up one box fan, (one we owned!), in the main room and a tiny window fan in the bedroom window where a new air conditioning unit had once been. I'm not sure what was worse, the smell of sewage left seeping into wood or the sight of sewage left seeping into wood. Just a few days ago, this had been our home. It was now unrecognizable.

Once the carpet and padding was removed, several subfloors and shoddy patch work had been revealed. At this point we could've guessed, but it didn't lesson the shock. There was gypcrete, plywood, old linoleum and hundred year old hardwood- all damaged, and previously covered up with a layer of carpet and thin padding. All was severely damaged from the flood.

I stayed only long enough to grab more clothes and dog food before getting out. My nostrils burned from anything and everything that was in the air.

In a subsequent conference call with the slumlord, he informed us that he had no intention of removing any of the badly damaged and rotting subfloor before replacing the carpet. He admitted to not actually having seen the property since the flood, but admittedly didn't care because he wasn't interested in loss of rent that would incur from any necessary repairs. He wasn't sure what he was going to cover the damaged subfloor with, carpet or tile, or "maybe even AstroTurf if [he] felt like it!". If we didn't like his proposed solution (or lack thereof) he'd "do us a favor" and let us out of our lease and not charge us for September (not sure how you charge someone who's living in a hotel due to uninhabitable conditions) but this would only be the agreement should we agree to be completely out by Sept 15- approximately 16 days...

I know none of this sounds sane but the real crazy part is that we were actually stunned. Stunned to learn what we had been living with for the last 6 months (this obviously wasn't the first time this place had suffered major water damage that was just covered up with a fresh layer of carpet) and stunned we were at the mercy of a completely thoughtless and demented human being. It was also a bit demented on our part to think we had any recourse as calls to the Hudson Housing Authority and Health Department went unreturned.

I looked like everyone else on the PATH train on my ride back to Midtown that afternoon. In a deep solitary stare with a blank look on my face. One week ago, we were jet setting off on a five-star vacation and now we were essentially homeless. What would tomorrow bring? I couldn't even venture a guess...

Every Dog Has Its Day!

Up until today, Bob has been the only one truly enjoying the "vacation" from Hoboken. For eight simple hours on Monday, one day after the hurricane, Trav and I were able to do the same.

Last April, Trav had booked a surprise for my birthday present. It was taking place on August 29th and that's all I would know until the cab pulled up at our destination at 3pm on Monday. That nasty Irene had taken everything so far but if you know me, you know better than to poke the bear when it comes to my birthday.

Only being one day after the hurricane- I was prepared for the black cloud that was hovering over me, yet not the rest of the city, to ruin the day but was still hopeful and upbeat that I might just beat the odds and have a great day.  On my actual birthday back in June, Trav had taken me to Florida for an amazing week. Unbeknownst to us at the time, it would be our only successful summer vaca so I was thankful to have that, should this day also wind up being added to Irene's Greatest Hits.

It turned out to be a beautiful and sunny day and lucky for me, I had closed my Hoboken business since my staff had evacuated and had yet to be able to get back in, so I had the day wide open for a 3pm surprise.

A pink dress and brown cowboy boots were the only thing salvaged from the Dominican suitcase. Everything else had that familiar musty smell that made us smile when in the Dominican but equated to mothballs when smelling them in Jersey. I got dolled up and forgot about the millions of things that would soon haunt me in the middle of the night.

We took a train to Floral Park from Penn Station and I have to admit, I felt Travs birthday present skills (which have been spot on! in the past) may have gotten a bit rusty as the train roared into Queens. I was quite positive, at that moment, that no one had actually chosen to celebrate their birthday in Queens. I would soon discover how very wrong I was.

The cab pulled up & my boots hit gravel, not the very familiar concrete. I looked around and saw trees instead of high-rise buildings and red barns instead of red brick, and pigs instead of, well, we actually have lots of these in New York as well. Just a slightly different variety...

Trav finally let out the secret he had been holding for four months. An amazing organization called Outstanding in The Field which specializes in "farm to table" was holding a once in a lifetime event for the hundred or so guests that had made it out to Queens Farm (excuse me, Queens County Farm Museum, as it's officially known).

One of the oldest working farms, operational since the 1600's, (in Queens!! Did i mention that already?!) kicked off their private event in a beautiful orchard. Surrounded with fallen apples, large steer, and a giant floppy eared bunny that carelessly hopped from tree to tree eating apples, we mingled while sipping cocktails and enjoyed amazing passed hors d'oeuvres like fluke fish tacos and summer corn soup with tomatillo pesto. Feeling the mud & grass squish beneath my feet and the warm 80-degree sun on my skin (my long lost friend, the sun) was bliss but I had much bigger things in store for me.

We toured the farm- oh yeah, I was fighting food poisoning from the night before from post-hurricane Chipotle. Knowing Travs restaurant hadn't received deliveries all week, I'm really not sure why I thought Chipotle would be any different. Live & learn. Or live, pay for your mistakes, and then learn. I took several breaks to sit down in the shade while the crowd learned all the workings of the farm.

All of my worries, cares, (and stomach pains) disappeared as I saw a beautiful, long table (just one!) elegantly placed in the middle of the lushly green vineyard & corn fields. We were all instructed to grab a plate and a seat as we met our new "family" as dinner was served family style. The dinner was to be cooked basically table-side by Top Chef Master Marcus Samuelson (picture below)! (I'm a huge fan!!!) WOW!!

I've been to Blue Hill at Stone Barns twice so to say it was the dinner of a lifetime would be a tough call. However, I don't think I've had better atmosphere, a better chef, or a better group of people to share it with. Immediately adopted into the family at the table, we laughed continuously as the wine flowed and dishes were passed. We had fresh corn bread with tomato jam & fresh honey butter from Bronx bees, heirloom tomato & watermelon salad- served fresh from the farm. Yard bird with mace gravy, jerk bacon and beans and corn succotash. The food was nothing short of amazing!

We dined on course after course until the sun had set and all dishes were cleared.

With tears in my eyes (happy one's this time!) I thanked Trav for yet another completely unforgettable experience. The rain stopped and the sky lit up with blue.. For just one night. Reality would be there in the morning but it could wait!

Manhattan-The forgotten City... Hoboken-The Lost City

I had heard that the beds at the Bejamin were comfy but had no idea just how comfortable till it was 9 am and we were being woken up from a deep sleep by Trav’s Dad calling to make sure we were still alive. They had been without power since 11pm the night before. It took a second to shake the latest dream and a pending hangover, from reality as we tried to come to grips with our surroundings. The room was dark, the television was still on (which meant we still had power) and Bob, the dog, was still asleep at our feet. Everything seemed completely undisrupted. How could that be? Did we just completely snore through a massive natural disaster?

It appears the natural disaster chose to bypass Manhattan. I peered down on the still empty streets below and there were no signs of damage or flooding. Not even a large puddle that the news could work with.. absolutely nothing. It was still raining but not more than usual for an August Sunday morning. I'd be lying if I didn't admit I was a tad disappointed. Up until this point, Irene seemed to have threatened to bring it on but had retreated at the last possible moment leaving a mix of emotions in her wake.

I was disappointed and hung over. Maybe disappointed that I was hung over but whatever. We had packed our entire apartment and fled into the city (which then resulted in Trav having to be called into work continuously) and wanted a little something to show for it. A knocked over tree, a little wave action from the Hudson, maybe some ya-who doing backstrokes down 3rd ave. C'mon, give me something I can write about... but nada. We hoped Hoboken had fared the same.

We reminisced and filled in the gaps regarding the night before. I was right, things got a bit crazy and a bit weird. The restaurant was still packed when I went down to grab a seat at the bar and wait for Trav who was still running all over the place. Sheets of rain pelted the glass windows and no one seemed to notice. I was engrossed in several conversations at the bar with several weirdos, none of which were staying at the hotel. The majority of them lived several blocks away- too many to walk in a supposed hurricane. I had also heard that Manhattan was under a curfew after 9pm and had even filmed the empty streets at 9:15pm to prove it, before heading down to the bar (see video below. It's dark but the sound is on so you can hear the wind and rain).  I thought it seemed odd that everyone was so oblivious to the curfew and could care less how they were going to get home. Of course all major transportation had been shut down. Cabs, if out at all, were forced to follow a strict fare schedule that included a straight fare of $10 within their zone and an extra $5 if traveling from zone to zone. Asking a cabbie to follow rules of any kind, especially in a hurricane, seemed like it would surely diminish the quantity of those willing to risk their lives driving some drunk 50 blocks in zero visibility. Apparently I was the only one concerned but as the conversations carried on through weird twists and turns, I figured, they probably deserved whatever they got. I was finally saved by one of Trav's manager's girlfriends that was also staying at the hotel. Finally feeling comfortable in conversation, the beer kept flowing until we realized that the staff was actually forced to kick out a large group of bozos after 2 am. Since the hurricane was then projected to hit around 3 a.m. , we all came upstairs equipped with glow sticks (you know, just incase), and continued the hurricane festivities. Unamused, we all decided to call it a night. I guess Irene did as well.

The broadcasters on the news never once mentioned how Hoboken had fared through the night. They were far too concerned with backing up the politicians former treatment of this storm, knowing that New Yorkers surely would want someone to hang for the anti-climatic showing of Hurricane Irene. I can only imagine the next time they try to evacuate 300,000 people for a supposed hurricane. Talk about the boy who cried wolf. To make up for it, they only covered the coastal towns that had something to show for the storm's destruction. They did make one mention that Hoboken had indeed flooded, which was treated as a normal occurrence, because it definitely is. They said that residents that did not evacuate were ordered to stay inside, don't even walk your dog, as power lines had fallen into the flood waters and there were fears of immediate electrocution. Awesome.

I had a bad feeling all morning. I thought at first it might be the Ommegang witte, steak tartare and corn risotto having gotten well acquainted in my belly the night before. But it had to be something else. I tried to find more information on Hoboken. How could it be that no one had any updated information? And then I saw it. The worst images I could have imagined but deep down had already concocted in my mind. The following were posted all over Hoboken411.com (the best and apparently only Hoboken news source) and they just happen to be taken of our street!

It’s the worst flooding I’ve ever seen and our apartment and new furniture were surely in the midst of it, if they even existed any longer. I tried to reach my slumlord and super in a panic but no answer. Maybe they had drown. Who knows. My stomach sank as I pictured my valuables that must’ve done the same. There’s no way what we had done to prepare our apartment was in any way preparation for this. Hoboken was the new Great Lakes and I was stranded on an island with no news.

I finally reached the Super and could tell by his tone what was coming next. He was truly sorry. He had worked through the night to do what he could but his efforts proved fruitless as the water came through the doors, windows and up through the floor boards to flood our apartment. He said nothing was floating but I didn’t want to hear anymore.

It’s honestly too much. I can’t figure out why that bitch Irene has it out for me. I’ve cried because I’m sad. I don’t know when we can get home or what will be there when we do. I’ve yelled because I’m mad. I’ve felt like I’ve been treading water here since I can remember and I’ve finally been drowned. I’ve drifted into blank stares because I’m numb. How much can one take?

Time can only tell

While the storm stops, a new saga begins. How do we get home? And is it even home anymore?

Manhattan- the calm before the storm

Officially Evacuated

We were officially ordered to evacuate this morning. I wish I could say I knew this was coming but every moment brings a new surprise and today it brought tears as well.

We received an email earlier in the week from our landlord advising on preparations we should take inside of our apartment to prepare for hurricane flooding. We weren't surprised that the slumlord's plan was to "take books and jewelry off of the floor".. Umm what kind of Wizard of Oz apartment do YOU live in? We had no idea that preparing our apartment's transition to the lost city of Atlantis would rival the worst moving day possible. Every closet needed to be cleaned out- yah yah, we're aware that New Yorkers don't have many of these but the ones we do have are packed as solid as possible. Since the couches had to originally be moved in through the windows, we knew that they were now permanent fixtures, so we hiked them up on cinder blocks and did our best to cover them in plastic should the windows be blown out. The televisions were moved to the main room along with picture frames and anything else of value that could be blown off of the wall or didn't know how to swim. Every bottom drawer was cleaned out and even the ones above that, just incase. We then covered the carpet in plastic and brought any soaking wet patio furniture (newly purchased!) that would fit in through the door as the rains were starting already. We hope that what we couldn't bring in will at least stay within the confines of the backyard fence and not wind up in one of our many neighbors' living room.

Afraid we would be affected by tunnel closures, we left as soon as we could. Tears streamed down my face as we left the apartment with as much as we could carry. Trust me, it's no love lost should Hoboken be pulled into the Hudson (minus some things of value that can't be replaced) but the emotions involved in days of preparing for a hurricane that just ruined my ultimate vacation, just became too much to bear for the moment.

My tears dried as the rain continued to fall. It was a day of eerie moments that were magnified with the emptiness of the Holland tunnel. Appearing to be the only ones in the tunnel at the moment, we feared NYC may not be on the other side. Lucky for us there was still an island, just not sure for how long. We pulled up to the Benjamin hotel- Trav's work- and unloaded the dog which seemed to scare the bellman more than the hurricane. "Sir, please remove the bear from the backseat"... We had the car parked in the garage which is underground. Yes, that thought is unnerving to us as well.


They gave us a giant room on the 18th floor. I get winded walking to the bathroom. I was hoping for a lower floor for when the power goes out and my lazy ass has to walk downstairs or when scaffolding decides to take flight at 100 mph but understood that they wanted employees to have the rooms with the terraces since guests seem to do stupid things while unattended. Understood.. I've been on the terrace every 10 minutes since we've gotten here.. with the dog... point taken.

By the time we were settled, Irene was 293 miles away and was beating North Carolina to a pulp. The entire NYC transit system had been fully shut down and mandatory evacuations were occurring on the lower portion of Manhattan as well as all outlying areas. For those dumb enough to stick around, Hoboken had issued a mandatory order to close all bars at 8pm and closed all streets to any moving vehicles. Newark, Laguardia and JFK were closed as North Carolina, New Jersey, Connecticut, New York, Virginia and Massachusetts were all under a state of emergency. The National Guard has now been called in for reinforcements. Even more promising is we were told Hoboken fire engines have now been equipped with boats on top of the trucks, so they can perform necessary rescues... awesome.

In the meantime, my mind is continually blown as Trav was pulled into work downstairs in the fully operational and extremely busy restaurant (that part was actually expected). His staff planned ahead and everyone is holed up in the hotel so they are able to handle the business that no one thought would be occurring in the middle of a hurricane. James Cromwell is staying here and is probably tucked in with room service watching the news while Matt Lauer just sat down for dinner at a corner booth. The restaurant's reservations started at 31 tonight, which sounded like a fair amount since people in the hotel are probably tired of being cooped up and have probably read the amazing NY Times review and/or Sam Sifton's Sifty Fifty, and wanted to try the awesome food at the National. However, in the last hour, that number has risen to 210 reservations for the evening. Who has time to eat out, never-the-less, make reservations in this storm? Not to mention, this city is empty. I just walked a 100-pound golden retriever down the street with no problems- we're talking empty. Where did they come from? And where are they going when they realize the hurricane just hit while they were finishing their creme brulee?

Not usually a storm or celebrity chaser, I think it might be wise to get showered up and head down to the National to see what's happening. I have a feeling things are about to get crazy.. or weird.. and probably a little bit of both.

Stay tuned...