Tuesday, August 28, 2012.
The Book Of Isaac, Chapter 1.
When New Orleans awakened this morning, there was no doubt that Tropical Storm Isaac was headed here. It was now a matter of a) how strong it would get, 2) where exactly it would go, and iii) how quickly it would do so.
Most people--including the weathercasters--focused on a). The data indicated that the storm would reach Category 2 Hurricane, with winds over 100 miles per hour at the center.
But at nightfall we saw a disorganized storm, bands of dry air spiraling into its core. It didn't achieve even the minimal requirements for hurricane status.
Mindy, the producer of my radio show, called in mid-morning. She had been told to go home, and she wanted to make sure I got the word that we would not go on the air today. I figured as much. All six of our Entercom stations united to simulcast WWL's coverage, as we routinely do during hurricanes.
The rules have changed. The station's management--steeled by its much-lauded experience with Katrina--has a tighter regime. One had to volunteer at the beginning of the season to be part of the on-air crew. In past hurricanes, I gave the WWL news and talk staff a break by broadcasting from my home studio to do four or five hours, usually on the overnight shift. I guess they didn't need me this time. This is mildly disappointing, but I certainly understand the preference for their regular news staff.
So the Marys and I sat comfortably at the Cool Water Ranch. The air conditioners ran and the television alternated between The Runway (for the Marys) and the constant coverage of the storm by the three major local stations (for me). Mary Ann made a tray of finger sandwiches. I whipped up a batch of hummus.
While eating the hummus with three-year-old pita chips MA found in the back of the freezer, the desire for a martini surfaced. MA encouraged me."Hurricane martinis are a tradition for you!" she reminded me. In flight from Katerina, we evacuated to MA's niece's house in Atlanta. She told me that I should help myself to the gallon of Beefeater's and vermouth under the sink. "It's for my father-in-law, but he only comes once a year and he was just here," she said. So I had one, and a few more while watching CNN's reports on the horrors. Powerful association, that.
It soon became clear that we were facing a new kind of threat. Although Isaac had not become much more powerful, it had grown much broader, with clouds and rain bands extending almost all the way to Florida. That would not have been too bad a deal for New Orleans were it not for the anticipated track of the storm: more or less parallel to and to the west of the Mississippi River.
That is a worst-case scenario. To make a long story short, that route not only puts the most insistent rain and wind right over the city, but the winds would be from the east and south. That pushes water into Lake Pontchartrain. A high lake water level is the single greatest threat a hurricane can hold for the New Orleans area. It doesn't take a strong storm for that mechanism to do its dirty work.
That last sentence would prove to be the bitterest bile we'd get from Isaac.
We went to bed around eleven. I got up every couple of hours to see where the storm was. It actually didn't look so bad. But one piece of the puzzle was yet to be seen: iii) above. A less serious but more personally vexing issue occurred at 5:28 a.m.: the electricity went out. That was inevitable, but no less disappointing for that.
It's over three years since a day was missed in the Dining Diary. To browse through all of the entries since 2008, go here.
