Blackout

Preparing for a blackout

The heatwave is putting some serious stress on the New York City grid.

All of the East Village, Union Square and Gramercy Park, including Peter-Cooper and Stuyvesant Town, have been browned out. We just had someone from the administration knock on our doors to alert us that there may indeed be a blackout in our area.

I live two blocks away from the 14th Street ConEdison plant. I just saw a note posted next to our elevators that MetLife is shutting down one elevator in all their buildings and are denying people access to the laundry rooms in order to limit energy consumption within their properties.

I would not mind if this meant that we'd need to go up and down the stairs. Unfortunately, we live on a 12th floor.

If brownouts and blackouts only meant disruptions in electricity, I would not have a problem. I mean, I have a gas stove. The fridge, as long as it's closed, can ride out a few days of no wattage.

The problem we have in New York City is that brownouts and blackouts also mean potential water supply disruption. I learned this in 2002 during the blackout. I was out at a playground relatively close to Avenue D and from there we heard the boom and saw the plume of steam that signaled when the turbines screeched to a halt during during the blackout. We ran home and found almost a dozen elderly neighbors waiting to be helped up to their apartments. Since ours is the last floor, we helped them all. Once up, one of my next door neighbors and a native New Yorker commanded me to immediately fill up every pot and pan available as well as the tub. "In two more ours, the water will be off too." And what do you know, she was right.

So here are Liza's to-do's during a brown/blackout :
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Lying on my cot, I came to the point that many people reach in a situation where they stop what they’re doing and say, "Wait a second. This is bullshit. This isn’t right." Two guys in our battalion were dead, two families ruined. And try as I might, I couldn’t figure out what the purpose of that was.

Things that had been welling up inside me all summer suddenly exploded in my head like a dozen Roman candles. I hated the president for his ignorance. I hated Donald Rumsfeld for his appalling arrogance and his lack of judgment. I hated their agenda. I hated Colin Powell for abandoning the Army—for not taking care of his soldiers—when he could have done something to stop these people. I hated them because the Army had seen this insurgency coming. I hated them because they didn’t listen to the people who told them this was a bad plan. I hated them because now, it meant that my guys could be next. It meant that I could be next. And I didn’t want to die like this—not in a confusing mishmash of ideologies, purposes, and bullets.

I felt like we had been taken advantage of. We were professionals sent on a wild goose chase using a half-baked plan for political reasons. Lying there restlessly, I was reminded of a Schwarzenegger line in one of his movies—when, after being used and lied to, his muscle-bound character had expressed perfectly what was now on my mind: My men are not expendable. And I don’t do this kind of work.

I longed for the clarity of purpose we’d had in Afghanistan.

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