I suppose people want me interrupt my own desires and temporarily forgo The Ages Of Spanky to relate my experiences during the NYC blackout. Why don't you arrange your own citywide blackout if you're so fucking intrigued in blackouts. Blackout, blackout, blackout.

Sigh, okay.

Thursday, few minutes after four in the afternoon, just got off work. Cabbie rounds the corner, rolls down his driver side window and with a raspy New Yawk relic voice asks "where ya headed pal?". Head shakes unapprovingly, and suddenly he takes off, rolling up his window and accelerating at the same time. Predictable mind grump pipes in that I should stuff my aggravations and unease with my fellow man into a cardboard box like outdated holiday decorations. Start taking the subway home ya freak. Screech. Rare rush hour Midtown available taxi brakes abruptly at my feet.

Scrambling inside my hard Italian leather shoulder bag, pushing aside batteries and a pack a'gum to get to my pen. Just thought of a fucked up joke, had to record it quickly. I lose ideas faster than the main character in Memento. Jerked hard into the corner of my seat. Rubbing the dull pain away where my head tapped the inside frame, I was about to begin questioning the driving skills of my charioteer.

Mad honking. Cars weaving in and out of each other. Pedestrians jumping out into the middle of moving traffic. Finally, I notice that the traffic lights are dead. I tell the cabbie it might be a good idea to get the fuck off Seventh Avenue, since cowboy traffic laws are now in full effect.

Discover the traffic light epidemic isn't contained to any one avenue or street. The second half of my ride, I was raised a few inches up off my seat due to my glutes being clenched hard. Hairy journey. Was extremely thankful to have made it to my hood.

When I stepped out into the street, crossing over to go to my local bodega, I noticed that it was pitch black in there. The Korean owners, arms crossed in the doorway, worried and impatient looks on their faces. Oh shit, the electricity blew on them too. Open up my ears to everyone's chatter, power is out all over.

A fellow tenant, whom I've never taken the time to meet before, was pacing the stairs platform to the frontdoor of the building. Frantically trying to clear up reception on a palm sized transistor radio. While sliding my key into the lock, I tell him I just came from Chelsea and the power is out there too. Walking through the dark hallway towards the steps he says something about Canada being out. I barely break stride to trot on up to the fourth floor, I must have misheard him.

The moral of this part of the tale is: Any respectable New Yorker will continue to avoid and ignore their neighbors no matter how extreme the circumstance. A blackout is no excuse for all the sudden becoming aquainted with the idiots who live nextdoor.

Call the folks in St. Louis, figured it would be a longshot that they were home a little after three, but longshots was all I had. Break out my address book and the business cards stashed in my wallet with numbers scribbled on the backsides. NYC cells dead. Can't reach any locals, except for my pal Finn, who was curt with his plans. Understandably annoyed with talking to me since he was unable to find his wife, and I was my usual spacecake self, not relaying any information to him that was critical or helpful.

Seventh call landed. One of my St. Louis exes, Candy, caught her midtype at her office desk. I open with "you got the news on?". "Oh hi. Um, no, why?" "Manhattan lost power." Exascerbated exhale. "Okaaaay, hold on." She confirms what random fellow tenant person said, and that Cleveland, Detroit, Toronto, Ontario as well as all five boroughs of NYC are in a blackout.

I timewarp back a few minutes. Remembered that I saw black smoke billowing in the air above Brooklyn as I was walking down my block to my crib. "Do they know what's going on?" As if my tone betrayed what I was really asking she said "Mayor Bloomberg just came on and said they don't believe it was a terrorist action, but are not sure what caused the widespread outage."

Played phone number hopscotch to track down my sis, who fed me the work numbers of our folks. Ma was happy to fill me in on as much news she could dredge out of the soaked internet. Wound up calling many people out of the region for the next few hours. First thing I say being "what time is it?". Chuckles, and then freaking out since no one I know seemed to have any clue of current events until I called from the great dark.

Thumbing through all the numbers I had written down, many no longer accurate or saddled with cell banality, searching for any connection in Manhattan. Smirked, my old crew, whom I steered away from for nine months now, mostly due to my own insanity and need to flush extraneous voices from the folds of my brain. Also, trying to recover from a failed nicotine addiction and a brief aversion to escaptist solutions, which they had deep roots in. There it was, the landline of the number of the people I spent the last metrotradgedy with. Punched in the digits.

The flammable day-orb in the sky was quickly sinking below the skyline. Duskly hued faces expressing urgent concern or impish glee. Resembled a town riddled with lycanthropy and vampirism, and depending on what side of the moat you lived on, determined your mood over the waning sunlight. It was rapidly dawning on the citizenry that NYC was about to spend a night without light. What would you do?

I decided that hangin with the peeps and peeling back lukewarm firewater was in order. Watching the traffic chaos from Luke's terrace. Backs of pickup trucks packed with people desperate to cross the river, buses filled to the seams. It was decided to head to the Eleventh Street Bar.

Only automobile headlights were unnaturally illuminating the works. Approaching the corner of Houston and Allen, a pair of chicks were tossing phosphorescent glow sticks and oval rave lips to an outstreched arm crowd that was quickly forming because of it. Cautiously crossing Houston we heard the cops directing traffic say to one another "we should get some of those.".

On the way down Avenue A, cops already had miscreants pinned to the concrete, flashlights blaring in the captured faces. Protests of "I don't know where he ran to.". "But he's your boy" "He ain't my boy, I don't know that fool." Lines around the block for any scarce bravely open eatery that industriously manoeuvered falafel, egg rolls and pizza. Scoring bottles of water out a deli, you could spot sneaks out your peripheral vision stuffing goodies down their pants. A bacchanal roar erupted from the center of Thompson Square Park. The transients and gutter punks piled the metal city garbage cans up and set the trash ablaze, hooting and hollering in a primal circle. People doing faceplants into trees and tripping over kids on skateboards. My bud who was trapped in the city, and has lived in Jersey far too long now, nervously announced that he had the distinct vibe that shit was about pop off all around us.

I started shivering. I sloughed off the possibility of riots, but began searching the ether for possibilities that I narrowly avoided. Straphangers finally being rescued from their underground subway car tombs, being laboriously directed by lamps out to safety while rats clammored over their feet. Nervous breakdown of the secretarial pool suspended between floors in an ever increasingly stuffy skyscraper's elevator. Family desperately trying to transport their elderly uncle attached to medical machines to the nearest hospital.

Stumbled slightly blind up the steps to the bar. Walked to the back to procure liquids. The air hung with people. Overriding musk of others. Our own bodies releasing a cascade of loud sweat. Moved our drinking closer to the open door.

Fight stepped off outside. Pint glasses and beer bottles shattering. Looked just in time to see a candlelit jaw flap open after taking some fist music. Crowd of a dozen adrenal glands wrassling around. The local favorite was escorted inside to take a seat at the tap. Started telling the scrap play by play. Apparently a gorilla pointed his flashlight beam into some chick's booty walking down the sidewalk, asked to see her money maker. Nick, the protagonist, told him that was embarrasing. "For who?" "For you." Swing, swing, swing.

The bottled lager was brewing in rescued ice. Drained three orders. Watched Mars drift slowly away from Luna. Caught a few streaks of the meteor shower. Stared at the stars, trying to memorise the moment. Electric light pollution would surely rage too soon.

Still unaware of time, decided that the hour was late enough to head home. Frosty moonlight painted the sides of buildings and leaves danced shadows through it's milky sheet. Pleasant breeze silkenly flowed around me. Voices from undeterminable vantage points could be clearly made out. Assymetrical patchwork of windows flickering with sienna candlelight.

Had to Hellen Keller the lock to my building. Inside was cave pitched. Inched my way down the halls, feeling the walls with my palm. Sniffing out for the steps with my shell toe sneaker. Counted each flight, took for granted before that I coul read floor numbers running up the stairs. Heart thumping through my ribs, anticipating a run in with someone cowering in the dark.

Inside my apartment, which no longer jealously held onto the cool air that last sputtered out my A/C. While pounding back Budweiser....shut the fuck up, it's the king of beers and was sweet sweet ambrosia, I inventoried my crib. That tube of glow necklaces behind my foot locker! Found that treasure first and cracked the plastic seals inside the filaments so the chemicals would mix. Instant poor light. Opened every window. Wrangled together the candle herd. Cleverly, I had put cocktail candles in a bunch of coffee mugs many moons ago. Perfect recepticles with a handle to carry around lit wax. Had about nine flames going. Cranked on the shower and blasted my scalp with breath arresting cold water.

Star 69'ed my phone to see who last called, since the answering machine was obviously not in order. Candy the previously mentioned ex called. Rang her up. Opened with "what time is it?" Giggles.

The next day was also notable. I may or may not decide to spin yarns of it. Like I said, if ya really want to know what living through a major city blackout is like, move to one and set the power transformer stations afire. Just not here ya bastards. We've happily had our fill. I'm out like a Cleveland streetlamp.