ShareThisAttention, coastal dwellers: Are you tired of weathering the hurricane season?Have the constant threats of mass evacuation, supply hoarding and weeks without basic utilities convinced you to abandon your condos and town homes? Perhaps a move to the Midwest seems like a pretty good idea.Yes, the Midwest. Flat, insular, calm -- it may seem the perfect place to ride out the stormy summer season. But this little enclave of flyover country isn't as hurricane-proof as it appears. As a delightful side effect of some very damaging gulf storms, many in the Midwest have been without power for more than two days.It's little more than an inconvenience, and we're handling it fairly well. Which is to say, it's utter pandemonium over here.For some perspective, the general "Ohio-tucky" area is known for its inability to tolerate a little snow. A forecast of 2 inches is blown entirely out of proportion by a few overzealous weather persons and, unlike our calmer neighbors to the north, we completely freak out.Imagine, then, the scene after the storm. Winds in excess of 70 mph have severed branches and knotted power lines across the region. Neighbors wander to their lawns to survey the damage. Panic begins to seep in around the hedges.In times of distress, most civilized cultures band together with their brethren to pick up the pieces and share the labor of rebuilding. In the modern American cul-de-sac, we pick up the neighbor's fallen shingles and toss them out of our yard. This pretty much sets the tone for the rest of the week.After two hours without power, we begin to think about dinner. Cooking is out of the question not because the power is out -- after all, many of us have gas ranges -- but because the absence of television makes the prospect of a family meal completely unbearable. The crush of humanity at the local Taco Casa is unreal. It is every hombre for himself.After five hours without power, the average suburban house is an amalgam of a dozen scented candles. Each room is a different season -- it's Christmas in the kitchen, spring scents dominate the family room and the bedroom reeks of autumn spices.After the first evening without power, we stumble from our Hallmark-scented homes, exhausted from a sleepless night spent listening to the unfamiliar and deafening sound of crickets. Suburban Unnecessary Vehicles choke the only gas stations with power. Ice has long since sold out. Starbucks baristas stare, mouths agape, at the serpentine line of khakis and pantsuits waiting for WiFi.As a second full day ends without power, husbands and wives have nothing left to fight about. Netflix envelopes pile uselessly on the counter. A sense of ennui and dread creeps in, and is misinterpreted as hunger. In other parts of the country, a power outage is a temporary hassle. In the Midwest, it's an existential crisis.So, coastal friends, as we inlanders face another day of panic in the streets, be warned. Though a full-on storm can cause terrible damage, time in the suburban flatlands can take its own toll. Suddenly a condo with a view of the evacuation route doesn't seem so bad.(Ben Grabow writes for the young, the urban and the easily amused. Contact him at thinlyread(at)gmail.com.)(Distributed by Scripps Howard News Service, http://www.scrippsnews.com)
Powerless in the Midwest
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