Hurricane Punch

Gobble, gobble! The time has surely come when our thoughts turn to food, folks and fun, and so it behooves me to send out a whole cornucopia of good wishes for the holiday, and I would be remiss without adding, all the trimmings. While the Holiday Police may scoff, I still say there's no wrong way to celebrate this auspicious occasion - which in fairness, to an alien landing from a far distant galaxy, would appear to be a holiday dedicated to nothing but vast quantities of food, marathon shopping, and non-stop football on every side. So as a reminder for all of us, and whatever alien visitors in our midst, it is important to keep in mind that we have much to be thankful for, and not lose sight of those less fortunate. In this season of giving thanks, we are all Pilgrims in our own way, offering hospitality and welcome where it's needed, to one and all, all for one, one for all, and not to mention, one-size-fits-all. So in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, and foul-weather conditions of all sorts, here's one of my all-time favorite storm-related stories from "Dave Barry's Complete Guide to Guys," and it goes without saying, "I'm not making this up." ================================ Chapter 9: Guys in Action I want to talk about some of those unsung guys. I want to start with the absolutely true story of a guy I happen to know personally, and how he came through in the clutch during what could have been a serious natural disaster. I'm going to call this guy "Wally" and his wife "Lynne." I am giving them aliases because this story involves the use of marijuana. Let me stress for the benefit of any impressionable young readers out there that marijuana is very, very bad. Medical research has shown that people who use marijuana are more than eight times as non-users to eat raw cookie dough. And the figures are even more frightening for pepperoni. But there was a time, not so long ago, when many people were unaware of these dangerous side effects, and it was during this time that Wally and Lynne used some marijuana in their home in Miami. Then they decided to spend the evening lying in bed, watching the Mel Brooks movie The Producers on TV. This happened to be powerful marijuana, and Wally and Lynne were extremely wasted. I am certain that you, like myself and Bill Clinton have never been in this condition, but we know from reading medical journals that a person under the influence of powerful marijuana is comparable -- in terms of alertness, reaction time, problem-solving skills, and overall central-nervous-system functionality -- to linoleum. A person in this condition is not capable of quick thinking and effective decision-making. People in this condition can take upwards of two hours to open a can of soda ("Do you realize that this pop tab -- Just this pop tab! -- is actually billions and billions of MOLECULES??" "My God, you're RIGHT!" That is the condition that Wally and Lynne were in, watching The Producers, when suddenly the show was interrupted in midscene by an alarmed-looking announcer with an Urgent News Bulletin: A major hurricane was heading directly toward Miami. A moment or two passed while this information worked its way into what was passing for Lynne's and Wally's consciousness. Then: "Oh my God," said Lynne. "Oh my God," agreed Wally. "Wally," said Lynne, (Who somehow had the presence of mind to use his alias) "what are we gonna do?" So there it was. Wally was in the ultimate guy pressure situation: There was trouble on the way, big trouble, and his woman was looking to him to make a decision. Wally knew, even in his severely impaired state, that he had to act. The hurricane shutters needed to be closed. The yard needed to be cleared of loose objects that could, propelled by hurricane winds, become deadly missiles. Emergency supplies needed to be gathered. It might even be necessary to evacuate, as Wally and Lynne lived in a low-lying area, near the water. And there wasn't much time: The TV was now showing satellite photographs of the monster hurricane, moving closer, closer. Wally looked at the screen, then at Lynne, who was watching him anxiously, waiting for him to say something, depending on him to come through. Fighting to clear the dense fog from his brain, Wally considered the situation, and, finally, he made a decision. "Lynne," he said, "We're gonna die." It seemed like a solid decision. There was no way, in their condition, that they could evacuate. There was reason to doubt that they could, without assistance, remember how to open the bedroom door. On the screen, the TV news people were sounding more and more urgent. In the bedroom, Wally and Lynne were becoming more and more distraught. They wanted, desperately, to act, but they were hopelessly nonfunctional; all they could do was wander back and forth in front of the TV, Lynne in tears, Wally tugging helplessly at his hair, both of them watching the increasingly grim newspersons deliver the increasingly bad news. "We're gonna die," Wally repeated, so as to keep them focused on the issue at hand. Nobody -- especially Wally and Lynne -- knows how long they spent in this agony. But then, suddenly -- and this is why I am darned proud to be a guy -- Wally had the glimmer of an idea. Call it an inner reserve of guy strength; call it instinct; call it the Will to Live. Whatever it was, something deep inside told Wally that things could not end this way. Somehow he knew there was an answer, and if he could just concentrate hard enough, he would be able to dredge it up from the deep recesses of his brain ... If he could just remember what it was ... Wait a minute ... YES! That's IT! He turned and faced Lynne. She looked at him, tears streaming down her face. But something in his look told her that maybe -- just maybe -- they had a chance. "Lynne," he said, "we're watching a tape." He was right. They had forgotten that they were watching a borrowed videotape of The Producers. Unbeknownst to them, it had been recorded as Hurricane David approached South Florida; since this event had occurred several years earlier, the danger now posed by Hurricane David to Wally and Lynne, was, mathematically, quite small. "My God, you're right," said Lynne, and in her eyes there was love, and - yes - worship. And why not? They were going to live. Her guy had come through.