Snor'eastercane, Chapter Three: Turnip Squaller

10.28.12

Ugh. Dan is driving me fucking cray these days. It’s like, I have to do a little office dance every time I hit the copy machine, just to avoid him. I seriously want to punch him in his gigantic schnoz whenever I see it peeking around the corner, like, what the eff are you smelling with that thing, buddy? It’s probably your stank cologne, which makes me gag, btw. I just might do it this week (punch him, that is). Good thing I carry my bail bond certificate with me everywhere I go :-)

Also, called mom because she’s paranoid about this hurricane coming up. She went around tipping over all of the lawn furniture, like as if we get hit with a real hurricane, that’s going to be enough. I remembered when we were kids and there was a tornado warning, she came and picked us up at the school, and Ter and I spent like three days locked in the laundry room. He was a pretty good sport about playing with the Barbies, as I recall. God, I was such a bitch of a sister. I’m surprised he hasn’t developed serious psychosis from growing up with me.

Anyway, I went to the store and bought a shit-ton of supplies, just in case things get nuts and we lose power or something. Better safe than sors, right? A couple gallons of water, some batteries, Spaghetti-o’s like a cray homeless person, and chocolate, obviously. There were like a million people there, all fighting over the produce, as if that would even last a minute in a hurricane. I’m surrounded by idiots constantly. For serious. Hopefully, this hurricane will get me out of work for a day so I don’t have to see DAN GOD I HATE HIM SO MUCH

10.29.12

Merp. This storm is not looking good! I still have power now, but who knows for how much longer. The wind is seriously shaking the building, and it’s making me freak a little. I kind of wish I had evacuated and spent the night with Tracy in BK. She’s kind of a nut, but at least I’d have company. Fortunately, I have plenty of wine! :-P

I went out before to walk Jeter and there’s like two inches of water all through the street. I’m glad I have good rain boots, or I would have been absolutely miserable.

Whoops, I had to stop writing for a moment, because GUESS WHO JUST LOST POWER OMFG. I’m sitting here writing with an effing flashlight in my mouth. I suppose I could light a candle or something...meh. I don’t really care. I just hope I don’t get blown away; like I said, this wind is for serious.

Ooookay, I need to get my mind off this storm, and now I can’t watch Honey Boo Boo like I was planning (I know, I know, it’s terrible, but I work hard so stop judging me), so I need to entertain myself. Maybe I’ll just take a nap with Jeter. PEACE

10.29.12 **Later this same evening...

This is so effed up. I really should have left when I could have. Thank GOD I’m on the 8th floor. My neighbors on one are all flooded now; I can hear them in the hallways knocking on doors and asking if they can crash, but I know those people. They are druggies and they loiter on the damn stoop all the time, and they have little kids and there is NO FUCKING WAY I am letting them stay with me. They knocked on my door but I didn’t answer, but they wouldn’t go away because they heard Jeter barking. That asshole dog. For serious, if I didn’t love him so much, I’d strangle the shit out of him. Anyway, they yelled some obscenities at my door - lovely people, like I said - and eventually they left, so yay!

But then I couldn’t help feeling like a dick, and that karma would catch up to me, yadda yadda. And then of course, there was this big SMACK at my window, and clearly I needed to go investigate, because living in my LES apartment alone, I like always feel like I’m in a horror movie where I’m about to be slaughtered by some madman creeping through my fire escape. So anyway, I check out the smack, and there’s a fucking DEAD BIRD just prostrate on the AC on the other side of the window. Like, it wasn’t even a pigeon (which of course makes me wonder: where are all the pigeons and sparrows right now? The city literally crawls with them on the daily, and now they’re nowhere to be found), it was this giant black crow, like a freaking omen of death, just all crinkly looking on the AC. It made me positively sick.

Okay, and then I’m standing there, trying to decide whether or not I’m going to hurl (because if I do, I can’t flush the toilet because hello! no water!), and I spy something across the way, on the roof of that creepy Haverly Place next door. The place only has six floors, so I can see pretty well onto their roof. Normally there’s absolutely nothing there (although I’ve definitely seen teenagers smoking up there during the summer, those effing hoodlums), but tonight of all nights, there was someone or something creeping around up there. I still don’t really know what it was, because it was super windy and dark and rainy. It looked like that gremlin on the airplane wing from that Twilight Zone episode with Shatner, to tell you the truth. I mean, it was probably just some moron trying to get cell reception, but it still creeped me out, especially after that dead bird business.

Ugh, I’m just psyching myself out now. I’m gonna finish this glass of wine, attempt to brush my teeth, and sleep this business out.

10.30.12

Holy balls, it is nasty outside. It has mostly stopped raining, I guess, but from what I can see, I’m not going on any neighborhood strolls any time soon. The street I can see from my windows is basically river - I’m not joking, I saw some dude towing his kids in a fucking blow up pool. I’m sure there are a million rats with herpes or rabies or some shit floating in that muck, too. I’m glad I’ve stocked up on food and batteries and whatnot, because I’m going to have to seriously hole up for awhile.

I tried my crank radio for the first time today; I’m soooo glad Dad got that for me for Christmas (although let’s be honest, when I opened it I was all, “What the fuck, Dad?”). Anyway, it works pretty well, but they basically confirmed the fact that I’m gonna be a hermit for a bit. All of the subways are down and there’s basically no way to get anywhere, unless you have a car, but that’s probably down in the car soup at Wall Street. So I hope I’m not here for too too long, because we all know how I am when I go for too long without human contact, lol. I’m seriously ruing not going to BK with crazy Tracy, even though it would probably mean playing eight hours of Boggle and listening to straight up Dylan, yikes.

Oh. By. The. Effing. Way. There is definitely some weird shit happening on the roof of The Haverly. I don’t know who exactly is doing it, because these people are wearing giant parkas like it’s their job, but all day they’ve been like, hammering shit over there. They’re building some kind of terrace or something, I guess, and they keep bringing up these weird little green bundles all day. Like, come on. You don’t have something more important to do, like unflood your first floor?

And those damn drifters came by again, too. They were all, “We know you’re in there,” and “Share your supplies with us, dammit!” and finally I got pissed off and was like, “Go AWAY or I’ll call the COPS.” So they told me to do some pretty nasty things to myself with a broom or whatever, and threw actual SHIT at my door, the cretins, and went on their merry way. I kind of want to open the door to clean that shit, but one: my super will do it if I leave it there long enough, and two: I’m not opening my door if there is any slight chance of those freaks being out there. They’re dangerous. For reals.

10.30.12 ***Later this same day...again!

One thing I’ll say about this storm, it’s really helping me get back to writing again. Sweet!

But I did have the weirdest dream and I just remembered it and I want to write it down before I forget and it becomes just little flashes. In the dream, I’m in this labyrinth - not like David Bowie Labyrinth, but like a really pretty garden maze or something. It seems vaguely familiar to me, like I’ve been there before. And the sun is shining and I’m like smelling the flowers and whatnot, and there are these high shrubs all around me. Normally that would creep me out, probably, but there I just felt like I was home, you know? And so I’m walking, at ease, not trying to find my way out or anything, just on a leisurely stroll, and I come upon this well in the middle of the labyrinth. It’s old, and made of stone, and as I approach it, the sky gets really dark and ominous, and I start to feel like maybe this is a bad idea. But I can’t stop myself, and I bend to peer down into the well. I can’t see anything at first, but I can hear a baby cry. And I start to freak out, because there’s a baby in a well in the middle of a labyrinth and it’s about to rain crazy times. But then my eyes adjust, and my perspective shifts so it like magnifies the bottom of the well. And down there - and this is the really creepy part - is a turnip. But it’s a baby. And it’s crying. And I don’t know why, but I feel really scared all of a sudden, so I stand up and try to back away from the well, but this gnarled old turnip hand grabs my shoulder, and this voice whispers into my ear, “Hear the squall and down you fall,” and fucking PUSHES ME into the well. I woke up literally screaming, and Jeter was barking at me bloody murder. Sometimes I think I need to be psychoanalyzed, for serious.

Anyway, when I remembered the dream, I also had a weird feeling of deja vu (I never know where to put the accents on that damn word, so I’m just not going to - tah!). So I called up Terry because my phone is actually working - ta da! I told him about my dream and he was all, “Mindy, you are so bizarre,” and I said, “Terry, you don’t have to tell me because I already know.” We shot the shit for awhile. He’s doing okay, btw. He’s up in Vermont working at a fucking puppet theater, of all places, and they hardly got hit at all. Just a little rain. I miss him, I’m not gonna lie. Living here all by myself can get pretty lonely, and I’m feeling especially hard these days, being housebound and all. Sigh.

Jeter is getting pretty restless, and I really need to take him for a walk, but it is still cray out there, and like I said before, I don’t want to have to deal with my looney tunes neighbors...so sorry, Jeter, but you’re going to have to hang on for awhile longer!

10.31.12 (Technically. It’s like 2 in the mawnin!)

It is effing freezing in here right now, and I can’t sleep. Not just because it’s cold. I had that stupid turnip dream again. The SAME ONE. I’m not lying, it’s really creepy. Especially because now I remember why I was having deja vu. When I was a Girl Scout (okay, I wasn’t much of a Girl Scout because I hated those damn camping trips and I couldn’t fish or build a fire for shit, true, but I sold my fair share of Thin Mints so no judging), we used to have these epic ghost story sessions at the camp outs. I would always tell that one about the spider that laid eggs on a girl’s face, and one day she was taking a bath and the spiders hatched. Right on her face. I mean, it’s not even a real ghost story, but it’s scary nonetheless, right? I guess I was a pretty gross little kid.

Anyway, one year I remember that we were all freaked out because Allie B. told this story called the Turnip Squaller. It was about this couple that couldn’t have a baby, so they like made a deal with this gypsy or whatever, and so the gypsy gave them a turnip baby. It was just like a regular baby, except that it was a turnip. Oh, but first they had to go through this ritual or something where they planted a regular turnip, and say some devil-prayers and sprinkle some magic gypsy dust on the spot where they planted it. Then, three days later, they dug it up, and - presto! - turnip baby.

So at first, the parents at were like, “Well, this is our baby and we don’t care what he looks like, we’re going to love him for who he is, he’s our special miracle turnip,” yadda yadda. But then the turnip baby began to turn into a turnip kid, and he started digging these really large holes in the backyard. The parents thought that was a little funky, but they figured, well, he is a turnip, and he’s bound to be a little different from the other human kids. Plus, they still loved him and whatnot, so they let him keep doing it. But then the neighborhood cats and dogs started to disappear, and the holes started to fill up, because this turnip kid was “planting” them. I guess it was like revenge for having been “born” from dirt in the first place? I imagine that would probably be pretty traumatic, so, maybe the turnip kid was justified, whatever.

Anyway, the parents had their suspicions, but ultimately they didn’t do anything, because if it’s not yet apparent to you, they were pretty terrible parents and all. For serious. Well, then the turnip kid grows pretty quickly into a turnip teen, and we all know how regular teenagers are, the effing delinquents, and this teen was a turnip, so watch out. He kept digging holes, but this time they were even bigger and even deeper. And the parents had reason to worry, because then he planted them. Alive. Sucks for them. Then the Turnip Squaller - oh, I forgot to mention, that’s what they called him, because he was always emitting these really high-pitched squeal cries, so you could hear him coming from a mile away (see, this is why I always stuck to the damn spider story, because I’m always forgetting important details). Anyway, he disappears, and rumor has it that he is still out there, planting people and dogs and shit.

It’s a pretty stupid story, I know, but you have no idea just how much it freaked us out. Then of course there was this one girl, we called her Stench, because she was just so disgusting, who made it like a million times worse. During the night, she snuck out of the tent and hid in the bushes and started digging around, and a bunch of girls woke up and heard her digging, and thought, of course, that she was the Squaller. Then Stench let out a couple of good turnip moans, too, and poor Allie B., who told the story in the first place, positively wet her pants. It was a mess, as you might imagine.

Anyway, I had totally forgotten about that until I had the dream a second time. Now, I’m no Jungian dream therapist, but it’s clear to me that the reason I’m having this turnip baby/falling in a well dream now is because my level of terror at being trapped in my tiny apartment for who knows how long with only my weenie dog for company and being harassed by my hoodlum neighbors on the daily and watching this dead crow rot on my AC...well you get the picture. I could go on. Anyway, that level of terror is comparable to the terror I felt as a kid, listening to (what I thought was) the Turnip Squaller dig a hole in which he was going to plant me. Or maybe, I feel like I’m being planted alive in my apartment right now. Maybe I’ll just rot here, like that crow. Gosh, I’m so philosophical and deep this morning. Or just totally crazy. Like I said, I’m kind of losing my mind.

10.31.12 10:00 am
Update #1: I still don’t have power. Kill me now. I need a shower. And apparently, I’m a poet now, too. Hah.

Update #2: I finally took Jeter for a walk this morning. He was pretty happy to be outside, and so was I, I’m not going to lie. But the neighborhood is absolutely ravaged. There is garbage everywhere, and I was right about those rats. I saw at least two bloated, dead ones the size of cats just chilling on the side of the road. I had to practically tear Jeter away before he ripped off a tail or something. Gagging! Also, there are no stores open. Nothing. I walked past the Whole Foods because I thought, hey, maybe they have a generator going and I can maybe pick up a salad or something (no joke, I love cold Spaghetti-o’s, but I’m kind of dying for some broccoli, for reals), but they are SHUT. DOWN. Sadness.

Update #3: Apparently, I can never leave my apartment again, because those delinquents on one left me a hateful message on my door. I will not give you all the dirty details. Suffice to say that if they see my “selfish smut ass” in the hall, they will “drown [my] replusive [sic] bleach blond hair” in a “bucket of pig’s blood.” I guess they’re fans of Stephen King? Heh. Not actually funny, if you take them seriously. Anyway, I called the cops, but they can’t send anybody out because they’re all monitoring gas lines. Exciting. So I’m basically stuck in here forever and ever, or until I can find someone to protect me from those asshats. It’s days like these that I miss stupid Greg. I mean, he was a shitty boyfriend most of the time, but he wasn’t so shitty that he would have let some crazies terrorize me. Anyway, I mostly think they’re joking, but I don’t really know for sure. I think I’m allowed to be legit scared of them.

Update #4: Uhh, and The Have. I almost forgot about that bizarre biz. I guess it’s not a terrible idea, what they’re doing, if they’re actually doing what I think they’re doing. I’m watching them right now. There are three people out there, and it looks like they’re planting a roof garden. If that’s the case, I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little jealous. Like I said before, I could really go for a big plate of leafy greens. I have some Veggie Booty still, but that is just not cutting it. But I digress. The weird thing is, they’re still wearing those giant hooded parkas, and it’s actually sunny out. So...what gives? Also, it’s practically November, so why are they planting vegetables now? It makes no type of sense. Meh. I kind of feel bad, spying on them and all, but I have literally nothing else to do.

Update #5: Except I have to WORK. The office has no power, so there’s no point in going in, but Dan called me and was all, “Mindy, I’m going to need you to finish checking the numbers on our quarterly statement so we can blah blah blah.” I had to bite my tongue to refrain from yelling at him, like, how about asking me if I’m okay, or if I have power first, before you start demanding that I do YOUR busy work? What a dickface. I’m going to do it, though; my work laptop has a full battery and I am bored as shit.

Update #6: It’s Halloween! I almost forgot. Kate is going to have a mini-Halloween party, and it’s close enough that I can schlep (she lives on 57th street, so it’s a bit of a walk, but no biggie). I do NOT know what to wear, though. Maybe I’ll be a sexy spelunker; then I can wear my sweet headlamp (another Christmas present - thanks, Dad). Lower Manhattan is still dark, so that would be both cute and practical. Done, and done.

11.1.12 Waaaay after midnight. *The witching hour?*

I don’t know exactly what time it is, and I am kind of tipsy, not gonna lie. I just got back from Kate’s, and my FEET HURTTTTT. I must have walked like 8 miles total, no joke. It wasn’t bad getting there, because I popped over to Lily and Maggie’s place and picked them up and we walked most of the way together. It is really effing dark out there, though. I was so glad when we finally got to 30-something and we started seeing street lights again. The party was actually really fun, and WARM! Also, Graham was there, and he is super cute, for reals. Ugh. He should dump his stupid girlfriend and date me! Enough, Mindy. I really am pretty drunk.

Kate said I could stay the night, but I felt bad leaving Jeter all by his lonesome, so I walked back. Maggie and Lily stayed, though, so I was alone. And Drunnnk. It was probably a pretty stupid move on my part, but hey, I made it back in one piece. Boo-yah.

The only time I was a little worried, actually, was when I was about a block from the apartment. I started to think about the crazies on one, and I didn’t want to run into them, so I like really slowed down when I got to the Have. And THEN I practically PEED myself, because I heard a baby crying. I KID YOU NOT. And it was one of those babies that sounds like a cat, all yowling and shit. And I couldn’t help but think about my dreams, and that damn Turnip Squaller, and I swear I felt like I was ten again and stuck in that tent, just waiting to be slaughtered. So I just bolted home and ran up the stairs like a freaking Olympic sprinter (albeit a very drunk one), and locked the door behind me as fast as I could. I think there’s something seriously wrong with me, too, because I feel like every few minutes or so, I STILL HEAR THE CRYING. My stupid mind won’t stop playing tricks on me :-(

Oooookay. Gonna pass out now.

11.1.12

I read over what I wrote last night, and I really feel like an idiot. I should have stayed at Kate’s. I definitely will not tell anyone that I walked four miles home, drunk, and in the pitch black, especially my mom. She would kill me, or make me move back home, or make me move back home and THEN kill me. She’s kind of like that.

Also, as if I didn’t have enough to be freaked out about, someone destroyed the roof garden that those parka weirdos built at The Have. There is, literally, dirt all over the roof, and the terrace thing they built (I guess it wasn’t really a terrace at all, but like a...I don’t even know what to call it. It looked like one of those things you have at an outdoor wedding, but I don’t have power to google that term, sors!) is basically broken into a million little wooden shards. Like it exploded or something. And the door to the roof is practically off its hinges. Yikes. I bet it was teenagers, pulling some Halloween prank. I can’t tell you how much I hate teenagers, I’m not even kidding. I forgot to say that I also ran into a group of marauding youngsters last night, ALL OF THEM dressed as that killer from Scream. I almost hid in a garbage pile just to avoid them. Almost. But then I thought about the rats, and changed my drunken mind (curse you and thank you, drunken logic). Anyway, back to The Have. I suppose the parka people haven’t seen the damage yet, otherwise they’d be out there, dutifully cleaning it up. But there’s nobody out there. It’s sad, really. I’m actually getting a “maybe I should go over there and tell them about it” good citizen vibe. We’ll see. I’ll probably just end up staying here to spy on them some more. I know I’m a jerk; I can’t help it.

In better news, that dead crow is no longer on my AC. Yay! It must have blown off in the middle of the night, thank God. I was sick of looking at that, and I sure was not about to stick my hand out there and move it myself. Ugh. I get the shivers just thinking about it.

And this, too: I was all freaked out about hearing that baby cry last night, but it turns out that there actually is a newborn baby in the apartment above me. I forgot in my drunkenness that the lady in 9C was ready to pop. I’m surprised, though, that they are back here and not in a hospital with power. I mean, who has a brand-new baby and doesn’t relocate immediately? And now the damn thing won’t shut up. I’m not gonna lie, I don’t really like babies, and I like irresponsible parents even less.

Enough about that. I’m starting to feel like a shit for complaining. Still no power, and the radio says it might take a few more days. Boo. I guess I should be happy I’m alive.

11.1.12 8:00 pm

Uneventful day up until like 2 hours ago. I was reading my book (by candlelight, how romantic!), just wrapped up in my down comforter like a frigging Eskimo, when I hear a woman scream bloody murder. I practically jumped right out of my skin, and I almost knocked the candle over and lit my apartment on fire, hand to Jesus. Anyway, this woman doesn’t stop, so I go to the door and look out the peephole, and I can tell in the very low light coming from the hall window that it’s Mrs. Frank, across the hall. I don’t know her that well, actually, but she’s generally a pretty pleasant person, and she was seriously wigging out. I did a little check to hear if the hoodlums from one were around, but they appeared to have settled back into their squalor for the evening, so I grabbed my mini-Maglite and opened the door to see what was the matter.

Our exchange - and keep in mind it’s getting progressively darker and darker as we’re having this conversation - was something like this:

Mrs. Frank: (screaming unintelligibly)

Mindy: Mrs. Frank, are you okay? What’s wrong?

Mrs. Frank: (continues screaming)

Mindy: Mrs. Frank, I want to help you, but I can’t understand you. Please calm down for a moment.

Mrs. Frank: Bubba...Bubba. Bubba is gone.

Mindy: Who is Bubba?

Mrs. Frank: Bobby. Bobby is missing. Someone came and took Bobby.

Bobby is her son. He’s maybe thirteen. He’s not as terrible as most other teens, to tell you the truth. He’s actually semi-respectful, and says hi to me in the elevator sometimes. Once he helped me carry this giant stack of cardboard I had amassed from an Ikea trip down to recycling. Cool kid.

Mindy: What? Someone took him?

Mrs. Frank: YES. Someone TOOK him. I came back from picking up water and he was GONE.

Mindy: How do you know he just didn’t step out for a moment?

Mrs. Frank: He promised he would stay. He promised. And he’s not here.

At this point, I’m getting frustrated, because she’s just going on and on (this is like a fragment of her freaking out, for serious), and like, Bobby is a pretty responsible kid. But she’s not listening to reason; she’s just freaking uncontrollably.

Mindy: Okay, Mrs. Frank, but how do you know that someone TOOK him?

Okay, and this is where it gets really effed up. She shows me her door, and it’s definitely been busted open. Plus, it has these scratch marks all down the front, like some crazed wolf had tried to hack its way in. What really bothers me about this is that I was right across the hall and I didn’t hear anything - ANYTHING - because that damn baby upstairs was crying like a banshee. Then, she tries to take me inside her apartment. Eff no!

Mindy: Look, Mrs. Frank, you need to call the cops.

Mrs. Frank: No phone! Come in here and look.

Mindy: Mrs. Frank, what if someone is still in there? This is unsafe. Let me call the cops for you.

Mrs. Frank: NO - Look.

She practically drags me into the apartment, against my will. And now I join in her freaking. There was definitely a scuffle in there; there are these big, muddy, wet “footprints” - for lack of a better word, because they were more like dirty scrapes - along the floor. Her living room has been upturned, and all of her glassware has been broken all over her kitchen tile. What’s even MORE bizarre is that somehow, despite not having power, her sink faucet is running, and the sink is overflowing, and so the kitchen floor is this big soup of glass and muddy water. And it smells effing AWFUL in there. I can only describe it as rotten earwax. I totally gag all over myself.

But I somehow pull myself together and wade through the kitchen and turn off the water, and I turn to Mrs. Frank, who has resumed screaming. I look right in her eyes and say, “I am going to call the cops. You should wait in my apartment until they get here. This is not safe.” I have to say it like five times before she finally nods and follows me, and I call the cops, and they ACTUALLY SHOW UP. Gasp.

They’re over there now; I can hear them tromping all through her apartment. They took a statement from me when they showed up, and I basically told them everything that I wrote here. I don’t think they believed me about not hearing anything, though; they kept asking me over and over, and I had to keep saying, “Look, I swear I heard NOTHING because of that baby upstairs.” And of course, the baby picked the one time all day to not cry, so I sounded like a liar who definitely kidnapped Bobby Frank, or worse, some delusional crazy hallucinating babies.

Seriously, though, this is not funny. I guess I don’t really need to write that. I mean, the crazy person that took Bobby could just have easily come into my place and taken me. I’m trying not to think about it. And I’m not going to call my mom, either, because she would just make me even more scared to stay here. Poor Mrs. Frank. The cops were decent and PAID (!) for her to take a cab to her sister’s on 71st street. She and Bobby should have gone there in the first place, if you ask me, since her sister actually has power and all, but you know. People are stubborn, including me. And I keep saying it, and not actually doing it, but I should definitely take Tracy up on her offer. She has power (and I could take a shower - same poem!), and she has this cute pug, Maxie, who Jeter is totally in love with. You know, that’s it. I’m walking to BK first thing tomorrow morning, if I still don’t have power. Maybe even if I do have power.

Right now, tea time on my trusty Coleman camp stove. I am going to write my father like a million thank you notes for all this survival gear, for serious.

11.2.12 2:00 am

My hand is shaking so hard right now, I can hardly write. But I feel like I have to, just in case something happens to me. I’ve called the cops already and they’re on their way, but I don’t know if they’ll make it in time. This is really, really bad. There’s somebody at my door, scraping and banging away and wailing like a baby, and holy shit, I want to believe it’s the delinquents from one, but I don’t think it is. I think it’s whoever - or whatever - took Bobby. I sound like a fucking nut, but I don’t care: I think it’s the Turnip Squaller. I think this thing is real. I put the pieces together, so if I go disappearing, someone better look into this. That garden, or whatever, they built on the roof? Some sort of cult, with their effing devil parkas. And then, three nights later, on HALLOWEEN, I hear crying and the roof garden is destroyed. Coincidence? What about the newborn baby that happened  to move in above me? Tonight, Bobby’s disappearance? My freaky predictive dreams? Oh, and by the way, Jeter is missing, too - or anyway, I can’t find him, and if he were here, he’d be barking like crazy. My poor doggie. ALL EVIDENCE POINTS TO THE SQUALLER.

I’m sitting here with my pen in one hand and a knife in the other, crying like a bitch, writing a journal entry by candlelight, while some mad turnip is trying to bust my door in with a shovel so that he can BURY ME ALIVE. I didn’t think I’d go out like this. It’s kind of funny, even though it’s really, really not. Oh, and my power just came back on, so, great. That’s great.

Mom, Dad, Terry - I love you. Thanks for the advice and the camping gear and the puppets. Tracy, you were right, I should have come to Brooklyn. I’m sorry I said that stuff about you being crazy. I really like Boggle. Dan, I still fucking hate you. Greg, you were a bad boyfriend, but if we were still going out, I might not be on my way to being buried alive by a turnip. Allie B., I will never forgive you for this. Never.

The Girl Scouts should be disbanded, for reals.

Snor'eastercane, Chapter One: Archipelago of Despair

Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the tale
Of wind and water, death and life reborn
Of jealousy and vengeance of the gods
That came to life through the Snor’eastercane.

Plythagoran, the hero of this tale
Took tragedy into unwilling hands
He tried, but failed, to sacrifice his wants
And brought instead the slaughter to our shores.

He was a Trojan soldier, bright and proud
And fought so bravely back behind the walls
Protecting Paris, Helen, and the like
From brave Odysseus’s gleaming hordes.
But then she came to him one fateful night
The oracle of Troy, the pale-faced wretch
And spoke to him of visions she had seen
His body, dashed upon the temple steps
Once brilliant marble, now awash in blood.
She also spoke of archipelagos
A chain of wondrous islands, far away
That could protect and serve him all his life
If he defected Troy, and swam away.
He tried to shake the notion from his mind
Because a traitor’s heart he did not have
Instead possessing all great qualities
Of soldierhood, of brav’ry, and of fight.

“Plythagoron,” she pleaded, “flee from here,
And do not stay another fateful night.
For even now troops ring around the walls
In an attempt to trick all those inside,
And if you stay, you’ll surely not survive.
There is a dinghy propped along the shore,
And in it lies a man, a faméd oar.
He’ll steer you to that archipelago
And you’ll be safe, my love, forevermore.”
And so Plythagoron, a soldier torn
Impelled to leave his army or his life
Ran to the shore to board the weathered boat
That saved his life, but stole his soul for good.

The bounty of the islands filled his needs:
High island lakes provided water clear
Its swaying trees bore sweet, delicious fruits.
Plythagoron could fish all day and night
And still the meat would always grace his plate.
The soldier found companionship as well
Amongst the island fauna; wild dogs
Befriended him and guarded him at night
And in exchange he fed them fish he caught.
Along the island chain, he met the merfolk,
A kindly people living ‘mongst the rocks.
He told them stories of his life in Troy;
In turn, they blessed him with the island magic:
The power to control the wild winds
And keep the salty water far at bay.
And so the archipelago remained
The safest haven he had ever known.

But safe was not enough. Plythagoron,
A man of manly wants, needs, and desires,
Wished to be free of his beautiful cell
And scour the earth once more in search of blood.
He yearned to fight, he yearned to war again.
As lovely as the island chain could be
He knew the gods had cursed him for his choice
To flee his home instead of manning up
And fighting for his people, and his gods.

And so he prayed to them to set him free
For years and years he prayed, to no avail.
He begged for mercy, offered sacrifice
His blood, his children’s blood, were he to bear them
If he could only leave the isles behind.
His prayers, however, went unansweréd;
The gods irate at his most selfish choice
For in addition to the many deaths
Of Trojan women, children, and their men,
The temples of the gods had been defiled
And they had watched their altars burn to ash
Refusing to believe Odysseus’ men
Could be as idiotic as they were.
And so they took their wrath out on their leader
As you, dear reader, may already know;
It took him over ten years to return
To sweet Penelope in Ithaca,
But that’s another story; let’s move on.

Plythagoron did not escape their wrath;
Although a lowly soldier, he had sworn
To guard the temples with his very life,
And when he fled, his sacred duty burned
Just as the temples did without him there.
And so, although they heard Plythag’ron’s prayers
They turned their heads and smiled to themselves,
And left him stranded on the island chain.
His mis’ry fed their anger for so long
That soon their furious memories did fade
As did their mem’ry of Plythagoron.

Three thousand years and more he wasted there
Forgotten by the very gods he fled
The vision of the pale-faced wretched turned true.
Plythagoron was lost, and far past hope
Despite the pleasures of the island chain
He tried to take his life, but all in vain:
The islands granted immortality.
But little did our saddened hero know,
There was one god aware of ‘Goron’s plight -
A god that had the power to restore
Plythagoron’s desire to be free.
God of the Sea, the Earth-Shaker himself,
The tamer of all horses, wet and wild,
Poseidon, underneath the wind and waves,
Still heard Plythagoron’s desperate cries,
And had a plan to satisfy poor Plyth,
That also satisfied the god himself.

One wickedly warm day upon the isles,
Plythagoron awoke to shaking skies
And rumbling rocks along the sandy shores
Of his despiséd archipelago.
He watched, astounded, as the waves conjoined
And rose and formed the shape of watery man
His salty triton poised, his crown on high
Atop his frothy hair. Poseidon crowed:
“Plythagoron, you Trojan traitorous son,
You’ve simmered here under the fateful sun
Three thousand years, to never see the earth,
The salty water your immortal grave.
I offer now to you another choice,
A way to free yourself from this lush isle
And seek the blood that you continually crave.
T’would do you well to listen to my plan.”

The soldier, torn no more, felt his heart swell
At hearing that he could escape the isles
This archipelago of dark despair.
Not waiting to hear of Poseidon’s plan,
He shouted to the towering water god,
“Of course, of course! Poseidon, God of Sea,
Of shaking earth, of pow’r unparalleled,
I bend my knee to you, and to your plan,
For I’ll do anything to leave this place
And plant my feet once more ‘pon solid land.
I can no longer bear my idleness;
I need to fight as I was meant to do,
And join an army brave, from which I’ll not
Defect as I defected once before.
So sing to me, oh god, the choice you give,
And I’ll complete whatever task you wish
In order to fulfill my own desires
And to amend mistakes from long ago.”

Poseidon’s watery beard began to quake,
Guffaws escaping from his quiv’ring mouth:
“Your desperation pleases me, my friend,
Although I doubt it will please you for long.
The plan which I propose requires you
To craft a storm against all natural laws,
And send it swirling, to another isle.
Snor’eastercane, it’s called, and it will cause
Destruction, death, and fear beyond compare.
I would do it myself, but how I fear
I’ve lost the joy that comes with killing men.
Instead, my happiness is gained from you:
For your internal struggle brings me mirth,
To break your code of ethics makes me laugh,
And as I am immortal, I grow bored
So easily these days. What do you say?”

Plythagoron uneas’ly raised his gaze
And stared directly into eyes of foam
That bore into the very core of him.
“Poseidon,” his voice shook, “I must obey.
For I admit, I care more for myself
Than strangers on an island far away.
So tell me where to send this fateful storm
And I’ll complete my mission now, at once.
So fervent’s my desire to be free
That I care not about the ends I cause.”

Again, Poseidon chuckled. “Faithful servant,
The storm you send will crash into the shores
Of New York City, land foreign to you.
But know this of its people: they are rude,
Incompetent, destructive, and unclean.
They will deserve the wrath you set upon them,
Especially those known as “hipster folk.”
They lounge around in plaid, and wear fedoras,
In lofts above a place called Williamsburg.
This Saturday, they’ll have a Brooklyn Flea,
A thing despicable to gods and men,
And it must be destroyéd by your storm.
They also hold a feast called Smorgasburg,
Which worships gluttony instead of gods.
They gorge themselves upon the lowly pig,
Slow bar-b-qued and pulled to tenderness,
And piled in a sandwich high with meat,
Grilled onions and a spicy mustard sauce.
They never once have sacrificed to me,
Or to my brother Zeus, or any god!
How dare they fail Poseidon? For they must
Invite me to their festival of fat,
And yet they haven’t. What is wrong with me?”

The sea god rambled on, oblivious
To trembling Plythagoron below.
“I used to party day and night. And now?
Not one hipster remembers of my might.
I dine on clams alone, most every night,
And dammit, I get tired of those clams!
For once, I’d like to feast upon a pig
And wear suspenders simultaneously.”
At this, Poseidon paused, remembering
His lowly servant and his plan for vengeance,
And coughing awkwardly, he spoke once more.
“Plythagoron, you do the gods a service
By wreaking havoc upon Smorgasburg.
They do us great injustice week by week,
And now they must prepare to pay the price.
Release your merfolk magic on these brutes,
And send to them a storm they’ve never seen
So they can nevermore anger the gods.
Do this, and on my triton and my oath,
I will release you from this island cell
To claim your life once more to be your own,
And soldier on within some unnamed war.”

Plythagoron had tears within his eyes,
A joyful contemplation of his fate
Which once seemed sealed to him, upon the isle,
But now reopened, and for him to choose.
“My gods, I will do what you ask of me.
I am so grateful for this gift you give.
I promise that the hipsters will know pain
That comes from leaving sea gods invite-less.
This Saturday, I will brew up a storm -
Snor’eastercane - to take away their plaid,
Their bacon, loafers, and their stupid hats,
And wash their indie records out to sea.”
With this, Poseidon nodded, and was gone.

Come Saturday, Plythagoron was set.
He called the wild dogs and merfolk near,
And told them of his planned Snor’eastercane,
And how Poseidon, strong and super-jeals,
Wished for destruction of the Brooklyn brood.
The merfolk nodded, dogs barked their consent,
For though they knew they’d miss Plythagoron,
They also feared Poseidon and his wrath,
And heard terrible stories through the years
Of how the hipster folk had done him wrong.
“Plythagoron!” they shouted, “Fear no more!
For we will help you steer Snor’eastercane
Towards the hated hipsters of the ‘Burg.
With all our pow’rs combined, we cannot fail,
And you’ll be free to soldier on, at last.”
And so they called the winds of Eastern lands,
The waters of the South, and Smirnoff Ice,
And whipped them into freezing, frenzied fury,
Until they formed a hurricane of hail.
And then they thrust their storm into the sea
Towards the lands of the unwitting West
To wreak destruction on the plaid-clad clans
Of skinny-jean-obsessed Smorgsburgians,
Who at that very moment, in their lofts,
Were Instagramming food pics to their tumblrs.

Poseidon, overjoyed, appeared once more,
To grant Plythagoron’s desired wish.
“In just a few short hours, I’ll be revenged,
And I’ve your lack of moral code to thank.
So now, Plythagoron, where will you go?
What army will you join? Who will you slay?”
Plythagoron was stumped. “I do not know,
For as you know, I have been long away.
I’m unaware of strife within the world,
And obvs, my Trojan army is long gone.
I’d like to join an army for all time,
And prove my loyalty to it forever,
But truthfully I don’t know where to go.”

Poseidon winked, a gleam within his eye.
“If I may offer you some sweet advice,
It’s been awhile since you’ve seen the earth,
And many, many changes have been made.
There is a world above the world of men
Where warcraft reigns day after bloody day.
It seems to me that maybe there, you’d thrive,
Your thirst for blood may finally be fulfilled.
I know a guy, and I could pull some strings,
If you are interested. What do you say?”
Once more, Plythagoron could not believe
His prayers were being answered by the gods.
“Poseidon, I am in such debt to you.
This world that you describe sounds like a dream.
Please call the guy you know and pull those strings,
For I would love to live within this world,
And spend my days remaining crafting war.”

And so Poseidon called Chris Metzen up,
This nerdy dude he’d met at BlizzCon ‘8.
He told him all about Plythagoron,
And asked if Metzen could do him a solid,
Expansion-packing him to warcraft fame.
Chris Metzen quickly made an avatar
- An avatar to rule all avatars -
And lo! Poseidon with his triton took
Plythagoron to its digital depths.
And now Plythagoron spends all his days
Cavorting as a dwarf named Nematode.
His axe is always sharp, his beard unbrushed,
And he slays dragons to his heart’s content.
He rarely thinks about the outer world,
The homes that he destroyed in Billyburg,
The meals that he disrupted, or the folks
That couldn’t drink a latte for a week.
His World Of Warcraft has become his cell,
A new cell that he’s chosen for all time,
And though he hasn’t tired of it yet,
The day may come when Earth-Shaker himself
Could well appear to him within the game
Dressed as his avatar - an elf named Squeak -
And ask him to unearth another storm
That will destroy the hippies of the earth.

For now, dear readers, count yourselves as safe,
And hearken to the tale I will now tell -
The untold tales of the Snor’eastercane:
An ancient, cranky man shakes in his shoes,
His final claim to fame about to fail;
Five babysitters, set to earn some cash;
Suspicious gard’ners living on a roof;
A geeky teen who steals lawn ornaments;
A man who wants to raise his daughter up,
Instead causing a dang’rous crane to fall;
A stranded mutt who seeks a place to poo;
And trustafarians who need their joe;
The spelling champ, destined to solve a crime;
The princess of Gowanus, peddling shit;
Tea parties on the shore, to blow away;
And lo! - the hipsters, driven mad by storm,
Without a piece of bacon in their reach.