WRITING CULTURE 2012: Film, Food & Beyond

An unsearchable (via internet) deli, next door to Masjid Bab-Salam which is located at 3604 Neptune Avenue, Brooklyn, NY 11224, is reselling goods exposed to Sandy. After telling volunteers that everything must be left at the store for the insurance adjusters and FEMA, store owner Mike, has restocked his shelves with the very items once jointly floating in the waters risen by the super storm.  (more…)

OSHA has told sanitation workers to take it easy on lifting silt as cleanup efforts continue in Sea Gate. It looks like mystic fog from a distance but in truth it is the kind of nightmares. The air is contaminated in the area according to retired sanitation workers sharing information that wouldn’t necessarily be told to residents and home owners in the area. Just the same as information about the death toll came to the area long before anyone had electronic connection to the “outside world”.

One Cablevision repair team employee said “that is why I wear this mask, my boss said they don’t want to hear it if you have this and that. When I drive here (Sea Gate) there is a cloud behind my truck.”

Residents are using a logical approach so far by wearing masks outside of their homes, if they even have one anymore. Rain will help wash some of the floating danger in the air but it will more than likely re-flood basements. Occupational safety committees exist to protect those placed in such situations but who is protecting those that don’t clock out?

Once my mom said that any natural catastrophe is like a Devil, who comes, destroys, and takes peoples’ lives. So did the devilSandy. She took peoples’ lives, damaged properties, destroyed houses, and made the New York City’s norm life miserable with no mercy. What a cruelty?

After the storm Sandy, people are lived without power, gas, and hitter in cold. The super crazy Sandy shakes the comfortable world of New Yorkers and takes the revenge because of taking her lightly. After an easy experienced with the hurricane Irene, people thought Sandy will be the polite one as well. But, she was tough and heartless; she did not consider of having a quiet entry and leaving politely like a good girl rather showing her wildness.

I spend three days straight at home without school and work. Although I got some extra time to relax, study, and do my laundry, I glued my eyes on news most of the time. I constantly followed the New York Times, CBS news and CNN. I think media done a great job on covering the storm, updating the news persistently, and providing tips on what to do during the storm and flood.

I was also busy with answering phone calls that were coming from family and friends from overseas to know if I am safe, and I was. I live in Jackson Heights, Queens, where nothing seriously happened except some trees fell down on streets. I first went outside on the Halloween evening. While so many people in New York could not able to celebrate Halloween because of the Sandy, my neighbors were on streets in their colorful Halloween costumes, and went door to door for candies.

-Not the obvious structural devastation but more along the lines of physical – and mental- health deterioration. We cannot forget that the toll has not purely been on the land but on people as well. Aside from flooding there has been significant sewage back up, cross contamination and exposure to mixed fecal matter. Due to the increased number of donors – medical lingo for multiple people’s contribution, so to speak- the array of parasites, viruses and bacteria, this is bound to causes increased number of illnesses.

There are multiple health risks like Carbon monoxide exposure,
Infections and injuries from floodwaters, mold, hypothermia, contaminated drinking water, spoiled food, and Exacerbation of previous chronic health conditions as discussed on CNN.To see some factors and precautionary measures to take, please visit the Tri-County Health Department of Greenwood Village, Colorado website.

Billions of dollars in structural damage to facilities that would address the sick have been put out of commission and/ or deemed inaccessible for emergency services or limited to outpatient services such as NYU Langone, Bellevue and Coney Island Hospital. Click here for a specific example.

The extent of injuries to the body and mind are yet to be determined and it doesn’t look bright.

I was unaffected by Hurricane Sandy. This is not an attempt to pour salt in anyone’s wounds, rather it is an attempt to illustrate the first world problems of New Yorkers unaffected by the storm.

The neighborhood of Brooklyn I live in was unaffected by Hurricane Sandy. The worst part about it is, it’s not even that nice.

The only thing that was a bit of an inconvenience was the my trip to the grocery store on Sunday night. There was no water, or any tonic water for my gin. Oh the horror. The line to check out the steaks I bought was so long, I stood there sweating in my heavy winter coat for nearly an hour. It was truly a nightmare.

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Sunday Morning we began making calls again. The DHH gave me the name of the same nursing home in Carnarsie. I called and they said he was not there but at a different building a few blocks away where they have adult-day programs. They transferred me and the receptionist said he wasn’t there, but she would check to see if he was at the shelter in basement. He was there.
Minutes after speaking with the DHH a nurse called to tell me where my father was, what a coincidence.
When I heard the word “shelter” images from Katrina flashed before my eyes and I wanted to get him out of there. I planned to take him from the shelter to the respite center but when I arrived, I was surprised how pleasant the place was.
A receptionist walked me past the dining room full of adorable seniors slow-dancing to live music. This was one of the fanciest adult centers I have seen. Most are non-profits that have to fight for the small amount of funding they receive every year.
When he saw me he shot straight up in his chair, his eyes got huge. He can’t talk but he laughs. His eyes and his mouth were wide open. I gave him a big hug and he just stared at me, he speaks with his eyes. He always was a nice guy but this illness has made him less inhibited, and more of what he already was.
A lot of people say their dad is the best, but mine really is. The nurses always say he is their favorite resident. Most likely they say that to everyone, but he really is that sweet and lovable so I believe them.
Since he has been in a nursing home he has had countless girlfriends. He loves music, especially country and a beautiful ballad could bring him to tears. He often hums along hitting all the high notes. His memory isn’t what it used to be, but he remembers songs like a living jukebox.
Two caregivers from his nursing home were there and I asked what happened. One woman said the water on the first floor came up to her chest and that the ocean and the bay overflowed and became one body of water. The entire Rockaway peninsula was underwater. The first-floor generators failed because they were submerged. She covered her mouth with her hand and eyes filled with tears when she told me she is living in a shelter with her family. She is taking care of people in a shelter and living in a shelter. I’ve watched these women take care of my father for two years and I want to help them but I don’t know what I can do. The nurses believe everyone will be going back to Rockaway next week when they get the power back.
I had planned to take my father with me and asked about discharging him. I spoke to the manager from the nursing home and she said they did try to call me but couldn’t get through. The week of the storm, my cell phone service was terrible. I’m sure they tried to call. He was taken to Brooklyn Tech, never John Adams. If I chose to discharge him I would have to wait until Tuesday to get approval and new prescriptions. There is a risk that if I take him out, they may not take him back.
Nursing homes don’t want people like my father because he is too young and active, and has dementia. Most are at full capacity and have an evaluation process before they accept a new resident. Two previous nursing homes sent him to the emergency room in an ambulance and made it clear they did not want him back. Once he was so over medicated he had to be placed on a breathing machine. This is the first place where he has had no issues and is well cared for. I decided it wasn’t worth the risk of moving him.
No one could have anticipated how devastating Sandy would be and I’m glad everyone from his residence is safe. I still believe the city did an excellent job considering the circumstances.
I just wish my father could tell me what happened.

This was supposed to be a love story about how proud I am of New York City in the wake of Hurricane Sandy, but as days go by, the devastation continues to grow.
New York City has faced horrific tragedies in the past, but Sandy has affected so many people directly in inconceivable ways, everyone feels it. Sandy continues to claim more victims like struggling businesses, the New York City Marathon and Halloween. People have lost power, homes, income and in some cases even loved ones.

I was in midtown Manhattan when Sandy hit so I thought I escaped unscathed, and reveled in my good luck. For me, the preparation and waiting for the storm felt worse than the storm. As folk’s downtown suffered with no power, I enjoyed spending time with friends. I had slumber parties every night with people I hardly see as we were now stuck in my apartment because they didn’t want to go home to the dark.
Like migrant workers we slept in shifts and on air mattresses on the floor. I quickly ran out of towels and empty sockets to charge things. We watched movies, we ate and we waited.
We didn’t know anything. I didn’t know if I had class the next day. We worried if stores would get groceries. I wondered how long everyone would be staying in our apt. I calculated how much income I was losing. It was impossible to think of anything else. We anxiously awaited every press conference or any news that life would be back to normal soon.
I visited the East Village and took photos. Most people evacuated and there were few people on the streets. I knew of people that were the only ones who stayed in their building. Others were afraid to leave their apartment at night, and not only because of the dark.
It was strange to see empty sidewalks and stores closed during the day. A friends East Village railroad apt was completely dark during the day from lack of windows. I struggled to find the toilet in total darkness except for the dim candle burning on the sink.

Sidewalk vendors sold batteries. Somehow pizzerias sold pizza. People stood in line for an hour to buy coffee from a truck. A nail salon was doing candlelight pedicures. The guy with the corner kabob cart praised god for his good fortune.
The usual cab traffic was replaced by bike traffic. There were no traffic lights. No one had seen or heard from the Red Cross or the National Guard. The only sound was the growl of generators and traffic from hundreds of workers heading to the sight of the Con-Ed explosion. It was still daylight, but the East Village was dark and desolate.
I had seen enough and wanted to go home before it was any later, or darker. I stood with a group of about 30 people and waited and waited as overcrowded buses passed us by. It was completely dark by the time I squeezed onto a bus. If not for headlights there would have been no light at all. As the bus passed 34th St it was incredible to go from eerie darkness to bright lights.
Somehow through this, I felt a sense of strength in the powerless East Village. People were calm. They seemed to shrug and just go about their business of finding food or finding a place to plug in their phone. They sat quietly in coffee shops, plugged into power strips and staring at tiny screens. I thought soon enough the light would return and life would go back to normal.
On Friday night, my friends had power again and went home. Their suffering was done, but my mine had only begin.
The news was now paying more attention to Far Rockaway. I developed a relationship with the area since I moved my 67 year-old father to a nursing home one block from the boardwalk. Over the summer I loved making day trips to visit my dad and walk on the boardwalk wishing he could be there on the beach with me. At age 62, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and after two years taking care of him, I realized he needed more care than I alone could provide.
Before Sandy, the nursing home called me to let me know that they were not evacuating. They reassured me they were well-prepared, as they were last year for Hurricane Irene. The residents are on high floors and the facility has their own generators. I trusted their judgment.
In the days that followed, I heard nothing. There still is no phone or electric service in Far Rockaway. I figured he was fine and they just couldn’t call me for some reason or if something happened they would have called me. They call me when he stubs a toe, so I assumed that he was ok and in a day or two trains and phone service would be restored, or I could get over to see him.
I worried more every day. I didn’t recognize the Far Rockaway I saw on the news. The nor’easter was coming and I heard rumors nursing homes were evacuating. I started making phone calls. One place would give me the number for another and when I called they would tell me to call the first place that I had just called, if any one answered the phone at all.
A friend I met while caring for my dad manages a nursing home and she said they would not take him to a shelter in his condition and they should have his information somewhere accessible. She said no matter what, they should have called me, but they didnt.
A story in the Huffington Post said it was the city that gave five nursing homes in zone A in FarRockaway orders not to evacuate. On Saturday, The New York Times ran a similar story about nursing homes in FarRockaway.
The only resource I had to call was 311. No one answered anyplace they told me to call I. I was told you just have to keep calling and that sometimes you have to call a hundred times before someone answerers, no one did.
On Saturday, I finally got answers from the evacuation centers. They said everyone was gone but they didn’t know where they had gone. They told me to contact the Department of Health and Hygiene (DHH) and they would be able to tell me where my father is.
After several dropped calls and getting disconnected, I finally got someone on the phone. At this point, they don’t even ask for his name, just where he was evacuated from. They told me he is in a high school in Ozone Park. I was shocked, a high school. I start calling anyone I knew with a car that could take me there.
My dad has dementia but is relatively strong and healthy, but the faces of others on his floor flashed through my mind. I can’t see them lasting long in an environment outside a medical facility. I called my friend from the Ridgewood/Bushwick Senior Center to ask if she knew of anyplace he can stay after I picked him up. More calls back and forth trying to find a place with a “bed.” Unfortunately, many elderly people have been displaced, she is in crisis mode, yet somehow she finds a bed for my dad. Great! All I have to do is get to Ozone Park.
A friend will take me there since this is an emergency, but he is concerned about getting more gas. So to save gas I ride my bike to Brooklyn. Pedaling down Second Ave, through traffic on Bowery and up and over the Williamsburg Bridge the damp cold air stings my lungs, but I’m elated. I finally found him and have a safe place for him to go. I can’t wait to see him freshly showered, in his jammies and tucked into a cozy bed. My father can no longer speak. He wears diapers and eats liquefied food. I know he recognizes me and understands some of what I say, but he would not understand a crisis situation. I hate to think what he’s been through and just want to see him comfortable and safe.
I coast down the bridge full-speed and at the end I toss my bike in the back of the waiting van. I curse the open draw-bridge on Metropolitan Ave for slowing us down. We pass long gas lines that cause even more traffic. We’re almost there and I move the passenger seat back so he has more room. I can’t wait to see him and the look on his face when he sees me.
We arrive at the John Adams High School on Rockaway Blvd and all the gates are locked. I walk around the entire building looking for signs or some other entrance. Nothing.
I start asking people on the street as I dial DHH again. Someone tells me the evacuees are gone but to try the Red Cross tent-city a few blocks closer to Far Rockaway.
The closer we get to the water the worst it gets. Fallen trees, missing roofs and piles of debris line the street. It’s unimaginable what the storm must have felt like in Far Rockaway if Ozone Park looks this bad over a week later.
At a casino parking lot on Rockaway Parkway you can’t miss the Red Cross. There are dozens of police vehicles, tracker-trailers, and tents with kitchens inside of them. Moving vans have Red Crosses taped to them. The last thing on my mind was taking pictures but I wish I did because I never seen anything like it, and hope I never will again.
A police officer stops us and I tell her I’m desperately searching for my father. She says she hasn’t heard anything about evacuees but sees I’m not leaving until I speak to someone. She brings over a supervisor from the Red Cross. I tell him what happened and seeing the tears in my eyes, he hands me a bottle of water. He tells me to call evacuation centers I already called and no one knows anything. As a final attempt to help, he gives me the cellphone number of another Red Cross worker, who gives me the number to the DHH. At least I got some water.
At this point, both of our cellphones are almost dead. I text on one and make calls on the other. A smart phone isn’t very smart when you’re on hold for the Red Cross and your battery is dying. I make a mental note to buy a military issue cellphone, a wind up USB charger with a radio and a tracking device to attach to my dad.
I speak to the cop again and she tells me to call the precinct if I can’t find him, which I do. The precinct says the evacuation centers are closed and the patients from nursing homes were sent someplace else, but the police department keeps no records of where people are sent.
My friend wants to go home. We don’t know where else to go. The streets are clogged with emergency vehicles and we start to drive back toward Brooklyn. I would drive around to each possible place, but it’s not my car, and we can’t get gas.
How can this happen? I call 311 again, I call the DHH again. The DHH takes my name, my father’s name and actually returns my call. I’m shocked when they say they located him and he is in a nursing home back on Rockaway Blvd. I call immediately and they tell me he is not there but they know the place where he definitely is. I call the next place and they tell me he is not there but to call another place where he must be, he’s not there.
I call DHH again, but now their office is closed. I call 311 again and they tell me to wait until tomorrow or file a missing person report. There is nothing they can do. Defeated, I take my bike home on the subway. I’m too tired to ride.
I think about Sandy’s aftermath and its consequences. My business is out of business because of the gas situation. I’m behind on homework. I just wasted an entire day for nothing. I don’t understand how this could happen. I hope I find him tomorrow, if DHH is open tomorrow, or Monday.
As I write this post, I watch the phone and twitter. Other people’s dads are missing too. Check out @rockawayhelp on Twitter
If this “post” wasn’t already 2000 words long I would go on to rant about how the government neglects seniors or what we can do to better prepare for disasters, or how to stop global warming but honestly I’m tired.
I can think of many examples of how awesome New York City handled Hurricane Sandy but this is not one of them, nor is this the post I planned to write.
So many have suffered and lost so much more than me. I feel my rant is just whining and complaining but it’s not about me, it’s about someone I am responsible for and am helpless to help.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/10/31/rockaway-beach-nursing-homes_n_2051580.html

If there is any silver lining about a natural disaster, it’s that they can often bring out the best in folks. For many people the frankenstorm was devastating, but for me in my little corner of Bed Stuy, it reminded me that I still have many people who watch my back, despite being thousands of miles and an ocean away from home.

As news of the impending storm began to reach the UK, emails from close friends started to come in “are you getting prepared?” was a common question asked, and “let me know that you are ok” became a frequent tweet. I was touched, they remembered I was here, potentially alone. I made sure to reply back straight away, and to heed their advice, I added a few vanilla scented candles from Foodtown and a couple of free boxes of matches from Duane Read to my weekly shop as a precaution.

By late Sunday night and early Monday afternoon the emails from close friends had been replaced by new ones from former work colleagues and industry acquaintances I hadn’t heard from in months. “Hey Emmy, the news is making it look apocalyptic out there, have you survived?” I had obviously, but again I was moved. I prepared for the worst by cooking up my chicken sausages and keeping the laptop and phone on permanent charge, in case of a power cut.

Whilst TV news teams throughout Tuesday and Wednesday updated the world on the rising death tolls, the flooding and Obama flying in to survey the damage, I stayed indoors. By now I was on full update duty, the initial trickle of emails had grown into a full flood of communication which spanned the breadth and depth of my address book and I jokingly told my girlfriend it was becoming a full time job just to make sure I replied to any and everyone who inquired about my well being.

Work made sure I knew not to come in, classmates frantically re arranged study sessions so that our projects could be completed on time and old, potentially new, and sometimes forgotten boyfriends popped up to either reconnect, check in, offer to wait out the storm with me or remind me of who they were before asking about my situation. In between answering emails, tweets, Skype and Facetime messages, I kept informed of all the travel news and weather reports. “You are loved” my girlfriend said, and I felt it.

I cannot stress enough how blessed I am to be able to sit here and write this blog.  I have heard of devastating stories of families who have lost loved ones, houses being destroyed beyond repair, and thousands left to find refuge in evacuation sites.  My house lost power the first night of the storm and I am so grateful that it did not get any worse than that.  After a few days, we could no longer withstand the cold, dark nights at our home and made it to my aunt’s house which had been unaffected by the storm.  My greatest struggle for the past week has been sharing a bathroom amongst my family members.

News stations reported 24/7 coverage of the storm of the century and I certainly tip my hat off to them.  I’m sure it is exciting to be on the forefront of such a huge event but danger certainly comes into play when dealing with a storm of this magnitude.  It was absolutely mind blowing what reporters caught out in the field.  People were looting pharmacies in Coney Island, a man was jet skiing in the Hudson River, and cars being washed away like toys in a bathtub.  I was simply dumbfounded.

The hurricane certainly was a major disaster.  However, I found it to be quite the opposite personally.  After the initial shock and withdrawal symptoms of not being online or playing video games, I actually began to enjoy the powerless nights.  I am a big fan of post apocalyptic movies so I tried to imagine I was living out one of them.  I became a lot more productive after that simple perspective change.  I worked out in my basement by flashlight, cleaned my room, actually had a real conversation with my parents. It was a blessing in disguise losing power.  It made me realize how much we rely on technology and electricity to do even the simplest of tasks, how crazy people get without it, and how much I take these simple utilities for granted.

 

My life hasn’t been greatly stymied by Hurricane Sandy. At the behest of Mayor Michael Bloomberg I roughed the storm at home, maybe roughed is an over statement. I live in Crown-Heights, Brooklyn, N.Y. I almost feel guilty for not experiencing such devastation as so many of my fellow New Yorkers. Maybe it’s survivor’s guilt? I don’t know. But I do know what happened is real. My brain is still dealing with the fact that it happened here, in my town, in my city. I cringe at the photos I’ve seen, bodies dragged from swamps, content of homes piled all around what used to be front lawns resembling debris, neighborhoods destroyed. I can’t even begin to fathom what it must feel like, to lose everything you own, to have loved ones missing, to be in a shelter, to not know what comes next.

New York isn’t built for this; I didn’t expect Hurricane Sandy to be so disastrous. I thought it was going to be another Hurricane Irene, rain and wind, nothing major. I couldn’t predict this. Even while Bloomberg announced MTA would shut down by 6p.m. Sunday evening and advised everyone to stay indoors, I wasn’t convinced, “I doubt it’s going to be as serious as they’re making it to be” I told my mother. But the more I read about the possibilities of what could happen, the more nervous I became. My sister and nephew still weren’t home yet; they were on the road making their way back home from Maryland. Bloomberg soon announced the likelihood of closing bridges, “Drive with a sense of urgency but safely” I texted my sister. It took her a few hours but I was thrilled when they finally made it home.

When the hurricane arrived Monday night, October 29^th my family was prepared. My dad went grocery shopping over the weekend, stocking up on: water, food, batteries, and other supplies. My mother, a great hoarder of safety supplies placed candles strategically around the house just in case the power went out. It didn’t. Lights only flickered. I read on Facebook and on Salon how badly Sandy already affected thousands of lives. I couldn’t believe it; all I heard was strong winds and saw rain. To me it was more like a heavy rainfall. The Internet and cellphone service was in and out, which was the most frustrating for me. But at least I could watch the news on television.

After the storm passed I was anxious to get back into my regular routine but knew it wouldn’t be possible. So much had changed within a few days, crippling New York. Lives have forever been altered. Mainstream media hadn’t captured the essence of what truly has happened. Talk of power outages in lower Manhattan is no big deal compared to lives claimed by Sandy. Many homes, communities, childhood’s, gone. Dreams have died; despair has taken refuge in the survivor’s.