50 things to do if Hurricane Sandy knocks the power out
If Hurricane Sandy's winds take down the electricity in your area, here's a guide to surviving a world without power.
Mon Oct 29 2012
As we've previously posited, NYC is addicted to social media and the electronic trappings of 21st-century life. So if, as feared, the gale-force winds of Hurricane Sandy knock out power lines and you're plunged into the dark ages, here's how to cope and pass the hours.
1. Celebrate! Chances are you're working from home—now that the power's gone out, there's nothing you can do. Paid vacation!
2. Panic! Like all New Yorkers, you're defined by your job—why else would you work long hours for such little pay? Find a mirror and scream "Who are you?!? Who are you?!?" at the reflection.
3. Take a deep breath. Reassure your roommate/loved one you're OK.
4. Pick up a smartphone/tablet/laptop for solace. You were smart and charged the battery. Bask in its sickly glow.
5. Do not use the device you're holding. It will only drain the juice, and you don't know how long you're in this for. Sit and stare at the power bar and watch it disappear.
6. Wonder why it's taking so damn long for the power to drain when you can't go half a day without having to recharge the damn thing.
7. Steadfastly refuse to realize that it's because you compulsively check your social media site of choice.
8. Check your social media site of choice just in case.
9. Stare blankly at the "Can't connect to the Internet" message.
10. Wonder what Pat Kiernan's doing right now.
11. Have a sexual fantasy about Pat Kiernan.
12. Fondly remember all your past sexual fantasies about Pat Kiernan.
13. Realize that instead of defiling Pat Kiernan in your mind, you could be defiling the loved one/roommate you're with.
14. Make a move on your loved one/roommate.
15. Have a post-coital smoke in bed/on the couch/on the kitchen sink (wherever you did it). No one can exile you and your filthy habit to the fire escape now—how could they put in you in harm's way like that?
16. Ponder whether that's ironic. Decide you don't care either way.
17. Marvel at how many children named Sandy will be born in nine months' time.
18. Think about how much worse Park Slope will be in nine months' time.
19. Return to one of your screens and try to post No. 16 on social media.
20. Weep that your insight in No. 16 will never be shared with the world.
21. Tell the person you're with your insight.
22. Hide your disappointment at their reaction. Not even a thumbs-up.
23. Plan how you would murder them and make it look like an accident.
24. Do not murder them.
25. Go to the window. It's much like a screen.
26. Get bored with reality. Swipe to the next screen.
27. Break down at the futility of that gesture. Scream: "Why have you forsaken me, Jobs?!" at the heavens.
28. Tell your loved one/roommate that you're fine. Really.
29. Decide to read a book.
30. Rue the fact you only own E-books.
31. Read the instruction manual to your E-book reader.
32. Resolve to get a print subscription to Time Out New York, you cheap bastard.
33. Decide to play a board game.
34. Realize that you only play virtual games now.
35. Fashion a chess set from household objects.
36. Play two hours of chess with your loved one/roommate.
37. Get in a screaming match over whether the salt shaker is the Queen or a pawn.
38. Draw parallels between what's happening to you and the show Revolution. Tell your English loved one/roommate that they'll die within the first half of the season. In dramatic circles, an accent is synonymous with the Sword of Damacles.
39. Work on your plan for survival and eventual dominance of this electricity-free world you find yourself in.
40. Design the color scheme and insignia for your militia.
41. Wonder why you watch that show—it's awful.
42. Realize that you would sacrifice your loved one/roommate here and now to watch one more episode.
43. Make a pots-and-pans drum kit. Play it until your neighbors threaten you.
44. Disassemble your drum kit in case the neighbor makes good on their threats and you need to defend yourself with the pots and pans.
45. Design a haunted house in your candlelit apartment. You take the bedroom and bathroom, your loved one/roommate takes the kitchen and living area.
46. Remember the beer—dear Lord, the beer! Drink all the beer before it gets warm. Don't let the gods think you're the English (see No. 38).
47. Write the next 50 Shades of Grey by candelight, using your loved one/roommate as your guinea pig.
48. Get a headache from writing by candlelight.
49. Go to sleep, remembering to untie your loved one/roommate (unless you find sobbing soothing).
50. Repeat 1 to 49 until the power comes back on.
Give us your tips for getting through a blackout in the comments, or—if the power goes out while you're reading this—just shout them from your window.
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