• Who: Timmy D 
• Where: U Street
• What: Veggie eggwhite omelet, coffee, bloody

Hurricane Irene.

The ninth named storm, first hurricane and first major hurricane of the annual hurricane season, Irene originated from a well-defined Atlantic tropical wave that began showing signs of organization east of the Lesser Antilles. It developed atmospheric convection and a closed cyclonic circulation center, prompting the National Hurricane Center to initiate public advisories late on August 20, 2011. Irene tracked just north of Hispaniola as an intensifying cyclone, pelting the coast with heavy precipitation and strong winds and killing seven people. After crossing the Turks and Caicos Islands, the hurricane quickly strengthened into a Category 3 major hurricane while passing through The Bahamas, leaving behind a trail of extensive structural damage in its wake…

(No, I am not a meteorologist. I am not Al Roker. I got that from Wikipedia.)

This shit is intense.

On Saturday morning, the day of Irene’s anticipated North American landfall, there was no Wikipedia entry. There was no information. There was just raw, unadulterated fear taking over our nation’s capitol.

As winds gusted over the tree tops down the grounds of the national mall, visitors ran for their lives as umbrellas flipped inside out, and strollers veered off course. Gays throughout the greater metropolitan area were forced to throw off their shirts and rip off their pantlegs in order to wade through the rising waters.

In every hardware store in the city, crazed Federal workers stormed in with cases of Trader Joe’s wine and pounds of manchego cheese in their reusable bags, ransacking the stores for flashlights and car chargers for their Kindles and Ipads, taking every necessary precaution in case the predictions were right and the power was truly out for hours.

Windows boarded up. Sandbags over doorways. A nation paralyzed with fear. An economy grinding to a halt. Would we be forced to swim to our cars and drive inland to safety? Would roads collapse?  Would bridges fall? Would there even be a Sunday?

And in the wake of preparations for this crisis, there was only one thing left for Timmy D and me to do: brunch on U street at Creme. With the knowledge that it could very well be our last chance to ever taste the sweet tang of vodka infused tomato juice with an olive garnish, we geared up in our most protective clothing and headed outside through the storm ravaged streets in search of vital, strength-saving nourishment—there was no way either one of us was ending up like Mrs. Alfonsín. Irene may have taken away our sense of safety, our humanity, our faith in mother nature—but we would not let it take away our unlimited coffee with purchase of any egg item!!! No we would not!!