As we all hunker down in our apartments, surrounded by our stockpiles of water and batteries and bacon—yes, bacon, lots of people stockpiled bacon because there was NO BACON at any of my local stores, clearly no one in Brooklyn knows what the word “non-perishable” means—it is important to remember that, no matter how big and bad Hurricane Sandy looks to be, New York has survived stormpocalypses before. And we will survive them again. Unless you’re in Zone “Toxic Shitstorm” aka the Gowanus Canal. In that case, there’s a good chance you will get cholera and superstrain gonorrhea and your odds aren’t so great after all.
However, it’s easier to keep Hurricane Sandy in perspective by looking at hurricanes and blizzards of years past. And since most people don’t have ancient New York City-born grandparents to relate stories of walking through miles of windy, snow-strewn streets, I will be your grandfather today. I will not however be my grandfather, who actually was a lifelong New Yorker and a completely amazing guy who constantly regaled me with great stories of old New York. But, no, I will not be him today because he drank non-alcoholic beer. And, on a day like today, I will be drinking fully alcoholic everything.