Current mood:	relieved
Current music:	"Power Mad," by Primus, on "Antipop"

"No machines and no power makes Ryan something something." "Go crazy?" "Don't mind if I do!"
Black.

I was, to no one's surprise, on the computer when the power went out. One feature of a good LCD screen is that it looks hi-tech even when it's off -- its blackness is deeper, richer than those ashen cathode ray tubes. For once, I didn't notice it. The power was out and I was … relieved, actually. "Wow! How often do you manage to save right before the power kicks out?"

I knew it wasn't a computer problem -- the heat of the day had already begun its slouch into the room as the fans lay dead. Fans, computers, A/C, fridge, all running at the same time -- sounded like a circuit breaker problem to me. I was a bit perplexed that the entire apartment would be on the same breaker, but not surprised -- the Bronx is not known for efficient wiring. This factor seemed to be confirmed when I asked Christina how we could check out the breaker -- it is apparently located in someone's apartment.

We went outside so that we could circle around to the area. In a stunning display of security, the electric locks on the front doors hand no backup and they sat open. That was out first hint that something bigger was afoot.

Hints two through 39 were supplied the moment we stepped onto the street. 187th usually has all sorts of people milling about, but then it was packed, blinking residents stepping out of apartment buildings, laundromats and pharmacies, talking excitedly among themselves.

There are no traffic lights. No traffic lights? Don't they have some kind of backup? Guess not, or maybe the backup's out too. How far does this go? All the way down that road, and down that one, too. I hear the whole Bronx is out! The whole Bronx?

I was … relieved again. At least this wasn't something I would have to deal with by dragging some woman out of her apartment or trying to pin down the landlord. This was a case for the authorities, and so the power should be back soon.

Christina wanted to go to the gym, land of air conditioning.

"You want me to drive in New York City with no traffic lights?"

"What else are we going to do?"

Good point.

We rolled slowly through the easiest route I could think of to Pelham Parkway, The complicated system of communication through the use of car horns New Yorkers have developed was paying off by reducing intersection chaos, and some had even rediscovered the art of hand signals.

Pelham was starting to go a bit rough around the edges, the dance between aggressive drivers and more aggressive pedestrians building up to a war. I was actually looking forward to the Cross-Bronx, which is so maddening on a normal day that at least nothing could be amiss.

Bay Plaza appeared over the hill and -- what was that? Traffic lights! Lights! We've found the edge of the blackout!

But no. We'd found, apparently, that one corner of Bay Plaza is on an emergency grid, possible for a nearby hospital. This didn't include the gym, or anywhere we particularly wanted to go.

I had no working radio; we had no idea how bad this was. So we came up with a plan: We'd drive out of the city and toward Connecticut until we found the edge of the blackout. We gave New Rochelle a try -- no lights, but at least we cold stop at a gas station and see what was going on.

The station was small and a bit run-down, but run by amicable fat guys. It seemed like any place in Saranac Lake -- one of them even looked like a Laker I knew.

You guys got power? Nope. How far does this go? As far North as Canada, and as far West as Cleveland Cleveland? Yup. Any word on how far East? Nope.

Their only soda was from vending machines, so i negotiated with the guy to pay $1.50 for a can of diet iced tea from the owner's "private stash." Meanwhile, Christina found out that her mother had power in Rhode Island, and that parts of Connecticut had power, too. The trek eastward was back on.

Until we ran into heavy traffic -- that changed the cost-benefit analysis. We headed back on the most tolerable of routes back into the city. Our destination was that magic island of power we'd seen at Bay Plaza. They had fast food.

We ate an an overcrowded Popeye's until the sun started to go down. I didn't want to drive in New York in the dark. Many New Yorkers have never really seen dark outside -- it sets them wrong.

It was dark and hot in the apartment, and getting more so. We found candles and -- bless it -- a flashlight, but no batteries. There was no way I could listen to the radio. I was in the heart of a national crisis and I had less news than everyone else, a fact that started eating my brain. I pressed myself against the window, straining for bits of news from the streets below. Parts of Manhattan had power? Bastards -- maybe we'll get it soon. Broadway was cancelled, what? I can't hear over the trains of 50 Cent! Too much.

Christina and I played a bit of Monopoly by candlelight, though we stopped when I was winning too handily to make it fun anymore. We took a brief, cold bath -- the water heater is apparently electric, and tried to get to sleep. You know its a crisis if I'm going to sleep in the p.m.

Without fans, there was no white noise to block out the sounds of the street. And there were a lot of sounds. People who've been surrounded by noise all their life seemed mortally offended by silence. Yelling, shouting, blaring music -- one girl was screaming hysterically just to hear herself make noise. With the noise playing at the edges of my consciousness and firmly in the grip of the hot, wet night, I tossed and turned until daybreak.

And still there was no power. I had expected to fly into a rage if I woke up without power, since I'd gone to sleep with a Christmas Eve "The sooner you go to sleep the sooner the power will come" attitude. Instead I wearily went into emergency mode. We need a paper. We need batteries. I headed out.

The only sign of looting I saw was that someone had smashed the grab-a-toy game outside our apartment and took all the prizes. Still, I wanted to check on my car just to be safe. I was halfway down the street when it happened.

I heard whoops, but I didn't need to. The city was breathing again -- literally. There's nothing like the sound of a thousand air conditioners turning on to make you realize that you're living in a macroörganism. The traffic lights and neon signs gleamed. I laughed and joked with an old man as someone down the street shouted "There are lights at the end of the tunnel!"

I raced home to a happy Christina. The power was on.

Finally I could post.