I'm blogging today from a midtown Starbucks, where every available electrical outlet is being used by displaced downtowners. The atmosphere around me is probably like rush-hour in Calcutta. I want to thank my colleagues, all of whom have electric power, for doing such an amazing job yesterday and today. And my love to New York City, which has instantly plunged me from the developed world into a pitch black and increasingly cold Halloween. I keep saying to myself: It Gets Better.
Well, it cannot get any worse, can it? Can it?
Sullivan has recently moved from the "developed world" (and I'm not sure if, to Sullivan, that's D.C. or P-Town) to the wilds of NYC. Poor dear is having a difficult adjustment.
And I just love that description of the undue hardship he's having to endure in the aftermath of Sandy. I can't remember the last time I read something that reeks of privilege like that, unless it was the last time Mitt Romney opened his mouth.
Snotty asshole.
Via Tom Levenson, who sums it up nicely:
Dude. Your new home town just experienced a four meter storm surge on top of a full-moon high tide driven by hurricane force winds sweeping through a low lying port. That doesn’t happen very often. When it does bad things follow…but it’s not personal. God—not yours, not anyone’s—doesn’t actually care about you enough to gin up a regional disaster just for the comedy gold to come from watching you kvetch about New York.
'Nuff said?
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