LOWS

• We lost power.
• Our day at Kings Island was cut short.
• We didn’t get any $&%@#* free Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.

HIGHS

• We got power back in two days.
• Our house sustained no damage.
• The items in our freezer are no longer invitations to marital dischord.

LOWS

• The neighbors across the street with a four-year-old and one-year-old still don’t have power.
• They sit out on the porch with a single candle and pouty expressions, staring bullets of guilt into our soul.
• Someone spray-painted ELECTRICITY HOGS on the side of our house last night.

HIGHS

• We learned what it meant to live without for a few days and glimpsed an inner simplicty of the soul.

LOWS

• Inner simplicity of the soul is no match for flippin’ cold showers.

THESE WERE LOWS TOO

• Scooter Thomas has watched Rambo: First Blood six times this week.
• Peter Bronson apparently thinks Cincinnati is ready to take on a hurricane.
• Cincinnati.com chose, for reasons unbeknownst to us, this picture to accompany the lead blackout article on its homepage today.

There is no caption or explanation as to who this woman is or why she is symbolic of our good city as it recovers from Blackout 08. We are left to guess at the meaning here: CINCINNATIANS LIGHT CANDLES TO COMBAT DARKNESS. Or maybe, TIE-DYE SHIRTS NOT ENOUGH IN BLACKOUT.

A HIGH

• This blog is not based out of Galveston or Houston, or — for that matter — Baghdad

A LOW

• This blog is not based out of Bermuda.

MORE PICTURES WITHOUT CAPTIONS ON CINCINNATI.COM THAT WE ARE GOING TO SUPPLY CAPTIONS FOR

Deborah Hildenbrand, right, excoriates a Duke Energy employee who has not slept for three days because the Hildenbrands lost a Honeybaked Ham to the blackout.

Randy Rosenberg does the heavy lifting cleaning up after the storm, while his mother, Hilda, rakes the same pile of leaves for an hour before going inside to make more Crystal Light.

In the contest of Tree vs. House, Tree imposes its will on weaker competitor.

Great, the pool party is cancelled.

These people need better reasons to party.

Now that power has returned to the Vore residence, Voreblog turns its attention to others in the tri-state area still in need and examines the blackout fallout. Today: Spoiled food.

SCENE: The Vore’s kitchen.

[BEN and ERIN open the fridge for the first time since the power came back on.]

ERIN: All right, time to start from scratch. [She opens freezer.]

TWIN SIX-POUND BAGS OF COSTCO STRAWBERRIES (in unison): Hi guys! No need to throw us out! We stayed plenty cold!

BEN: I don’t believe them.

ERIN: If we keep them, we’re going to continue arguing about how we ended up with two bags in the first place. I’m not going down that path again.

STRAWBERRIES: But we’ve been in here so long that we were basically just freezer burn until the power went out. Now we’ve defrosted back to delicious, harmless Costco strawberries!

BEN: I still don’t believe them.

ERIN: In the trash you go.

STRAWBERRIES [plummeting through air]: Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

[Scene.]

——————–

[Health inspector Dale Grigsby] advised consumers heading to restaurants and stores that were closed during the power outage to ask staff how they handled spoiled food.  – “Spoiled food a menace,” Cincinnati.com

SCENE: LaRosa’s Restaurant.

[BEN and ERIN are led to a corner booth by MICHELLE, a waitress.]

MICHELLE: Here are some menus for you to look over. Can I get you started with something to drink?

ERIN: Actually, we were curious how you handled your spoiled food during the power outage.

MICHELLE: Oh, sure! Everyone has been asking us about that. You don’t have anything to worry about.

BEN: You didn’t really answer the question.

MICHELLE: Excuse me?

ERIN: My husband’s right. You sort of dodged the question. I asked how you handled your spoiled food.

MICHELLE: Well, let me assure you we took all the necessary precautions.

BEN: Does LaRosa’s have a written policy on disposal of spoiled food?

ERIN: And may we see a copy before we order?

MICHELLE: I, uh, assure you we serve only the freshest, highest quality ingredients–

BEN: I asked about a written policy though.

MICHELLE: Well, to the best of my knowledge we don’t, but trust me –

ERIN: Michelle, we’ll tell you where trust got us. We just went to Krogers and Jim in the deli assured us the potato salad was fine, so we took his word on it and bought it and went home and put it in the fridge. Then, a few hours later, we opened up the fridge and lo and behold–

BEN: –the potato salad was holding up the ketchup with a gun!

ERIN: Do you get it?

BEN: The potato salad went bad.

ERIN: It’s our favorite Far Side cartoon!

BEN: We laugh every time!

MICHELLE: (speechless)

ERIN: I’ll start with a Coke.

BEN: Same for me. Thanks, Michelle.

[Scene.]

——————–

[SCENE: The first presidential debate. JIM LEHRER is moderating. JOHN MCCAIN and BARACK OBAMA are onstage.]

LEHRER: Now, my final question for the evening. What is the number one menace facing our country today — terrorism, Al-Qaeda, nuclear proliferation, climate change — and how would your presidency address it? Senator Obama, you first.

OBAMA: Jim, with all due respect, while the items you ticked off just now are serious threats to our short and long term national security, I would have to say that the number one menace we face today is spoiled food.

MCCAIN: And I don’t mean to interrupt my Senate colleague, but I whole-heartedly agree. Please, Barack, continue.

OBAMA: Thank you, Senator. Some politicans might use the words “annoyance” or “inconvenience” to describe this epidemic, felt recently in such heartland cities as Galveston, Houston, Chicago and Cincinnati. But I respectfully disagree. Spoiled food is a menace. We must gauge our response accordingly.

MCCAIN: I agree with everything Senator Obama just said. I would like to add that I would follow spoiled food to the gates of hell.

OBAMA: I might consider negotiating with spoiled food without precondition so long as it would not concede any issues that are in our long term national security interest.

MCCAIN: I might quibble with the Senator’s wording there, but we’re basically in agreement: Spoiled food should not be taken lightly.

OBAMA: Agreed.

MCCAIN: Strongly agreed.

OBAMA: On this we agree.

MCCAIN: Hear hear.

LEHRER: I quit.

[Scene.]

——————–

If the power comes back on a weekend, that could be difficult, since the inspectors work Monday through Friday, [Grigsby] said. — Cincinnati.com

SCENE: DALE GRIGSBY’s living room.

[DALE is sitting in his favorite comfy chair with chips and a beer. His alma mater, Ohio State, is on television.]

[The phone rings.]

DALE: Dadgummit. [picks up phone] Hello? Yeah, hey Jim, what’s up? A food emergency? In Indian Hill? Well, I’m glad the power’s back on but it’s Saturday, Jim. I’m not inspecting nothing until Monday morning at nine-oh-clock. Well so what? You tell him it can wait until Monday. He said what? That lousy cur. Listen, Jim, I really wish I could — OH HE DROPPED IT! Criminy, Jim, the Buckeyes are on and I’m missing the game. If thousands die because of food poisoning this weekend, it’s not going to be on me, no siree. I told you, the power coming back on on a Saturday could be difficult. That’s just how it is. I’ll be reporting for duty Monday morning, but until then, don’t call me again. [DALE slams phone down.]

[Lights down. Lights up on DALE in bathrobe, leaning down to pick up his morning paper. He unfolds it and looks at the main headline above the fold: THOUSANDS DIE IN LOCAL FOOD POISONING EPIDEMIC. Close-up of DALE's face. A single tear trickles down his cheek.]

[Scene.]

Our cat Scooter Thomas is an occasional guest blogger and was the only one home when power came back on in the Vore house early this morning. He filed this report.

Monday, September 15. 9:14 p.m.  My pansy owners have fled north where pockets of electricity have returned to select neighborhoods. They are staying with family tonight, and are fortunate enough to enjoy a hot meal. But am I not family? Do I not deserve something fresh out of the oven? Not that I eat anything but my IAMS Weight & Hairball Control dry food, but I take umbrage at the implication I am sub-family, someone to be abandoned in trying times, left to fend for himself. Woe to us felines! Woe!

10:31 p.m. Someone is shooting off firecrackers in the street. Trees are still down in our neighborhood. Power lines remain slack. I sense we are a razor’s edge away from martial law. I should probably apply face paint and round up some firearms.

11:10 p.m. I am camoed out. I have a bandana on my head and black streaks below both eyes. Some of it got in my whiskers though and I’m a bit pissy about that. I keep my paw on the sawed-off shotgun I found in the basement. The safety is off. To borrow a phrase from my favorite military thriller writer W.E.B. Griffin: Retreat, Hell!

Artist’s rendition of Scooter Thomas in Commando mode. Cat pictured is 1/20 of scale.

11:13 p.m. I am extremely tired. The Apocalypse is wearing me out. I’m just going to close my eyes for a second. No harm there.

Tuesday, September 16. 2:02 a.m.  I bolt awake at the sound of the house humming to life. Lights pop on everywhere. The fridge whirs. Central air vents click awake. I am sweating profusely, clutching my shotgun close in a death grip. I saunter upstairs to the bathroom and get a look at myself in the mirror. Getting all this paint off is not going to tickle.

9:01 a.m. Seven painful hours later I am scrubbed clean. But my tongue feels like sandpaper. I will never lick again.

9:08 a.m. The male walks through the door, eager to see me. He has no idea. The contempt I feel for this coward defies description. Last night I stared into the abyss and it stared back. He probably watched the Cowboys/Eagles game on cable and had a fresh cup of coffee when he woke up.

     I head upstairs to reapply the face paint.

From Cincinnati.com. (Look closely and you’ll see that the tree in the second photo is smoking.)

Damaging winds from Ike swept through the tri-state area yesterday and wiped out power to over 700,000 homes in the greater Cincinnati area. Voreblog reporting for duty, on one of five functioning PCs at work!

Sunday, September 14. 1:31 p.m.  It is Procter & Gamble Dividend Day at Kings Island, meaning P&G employees and families have free run of the park. Ben, Erin, Ellen, Eric & Bevin all cash in by riding The Vortex twice in twenty-five minutes. The first time up, we note it is especially windy at the altitude of one hundred forty-eight feet. This, along with the fact we all feel nauseated and Ben has the theme park version of meat sweats, does not prevent us from riding again.

2:35 p.m. It is very windy. Signs are getting blown over. We think about heading home,  but not until we’ve horded the free P&G product samples they are giving out in tents circling the mini-Eiffel Tower.

2:59 p.m. “Please step away from the tent!” the man at the Old Spice free sample station yells. “It is not stable right now!” Dozens of people holding trash bags full of Tide, Swiffers,  travel coffee mugs and Pringles Stix stare longingly at the Old Spice kits just feet away. “What if we just make a run on one of the boxes?” Ben asks. The Old Spice Sample Man will have none of it. “You must step back farther!” he shouts. We back into the hundreds of other trash bag-carrying consumer zombies. Their strategy seems to be, “If I just stand still, surely someone will start moving soon.” “I’m going to kill someone,” Erin says.

3:03 p.m. We cut our losses and head for the exit. The wind snaps part of the Gillette tent off and a cardboard cutout of Tiger Woods is somersaulting toward an unsuspecting woman. Suddenly we find ourselves in front of the Dunkin Donuts sample tent. There are boxes and boxes of free coffee within grasping distance. A cop is blocking our path. “No samples, folks,” he says. “Please move on.” We strongly consider defying his order. Ben is about to alert the cop to the rogue Tiger Woods assaulting an innocent bystander when he sees Tiger has face-planted to a complete stop. The cop is giving us a look that says, “Is free coffee really worth being tasered?” We move on.

3:21 p.m. We are on 71 South watching trees bend and leaves funnel up and away. “Can you believe we were on a roller coaster two hours ago?” Erin asks. We find the Bengals game on the radio. The Titans block a punt in the endzone to go up 24-7. “Why are they playing football right now?” Erin says.

4:01 p.m. Tree limbs and branches scatter our yard. One has taken out the power line two houses down. There is another tree down across the street at the house with five cars and nineteen people living there. Had our Suzuki been in the driveway, it would’ve been crushed. Miraculously, our house is untouched, though we see shingles wave at us with each strong gust.

5:15 p.m. Everyone on our street has taken this opportunity to bond. Ben talks with Marvin, who lives across the street. Marvin is worried that with the electricity out, his sump-pump won’t work. Marvin has a finished basement where he keeps his model trains and — he Vs his right hand — “my Star Trek collection.”

6:18 p.m. We assess the state of our refrigerator. Thankfully we have not bought groceries in a week, although we still stand to lose a lot of food, including twelve pounds of Costco strawberries that have been in our freezer since the dawn of time. Mention of them instantly provokes an argument. “I can understand one bag,” one of us will say. “But two?? Why did we buy TWO??” Thankfully we will never have this argument again.

6:33 p.m. We set out for food. All of Kenwood is closed. We get word from Tad Smith that some of the Rookwood area has power. “And you should see how crazy the drive-thru line is at Popeye’s!” Tad says. This is the first and last time that statement will ever be uttered in human history.

7:41 p.m. Sated by Potbelly, we are driving home when Ben has a sudden craving for french fries and a Frosty. “Do you think Pleasant Ridge has power?” he asks. “Doubt it,” Erin says. Regardless,  Ben exits off 71. As he winds around the ramp, his cell phone slides from his lap into the cup of water sitting between his legs. Erin frantically dries it. “Let’s keep our finger crossed,” she says as she hands it back to Ben. In the industry, they call this foreshadowing.

8:08 p.m. Exhausted, and without power, we decide it’s time to turn in.

Monday, September 15. 12:47 a.m. Ben awakes to his phone ringing. TAD is making an incoming call. “Hello?” Ben says. “Hello?” “Huh? What?” Erin says groggily. “My phone said Tad called, but nobody was there.” The phone rings again. Still no Tad. Then Ben’s phone apparently dials TAD itself. (“Why were you calling me at one in the morning?” Tad will ask the following day.) “What’s going on?” Erin says. Menus start popping up on their own. “I’m not touching anything,” Ben says. “What do you think Tad was calling about?” Erin asks. “I don’t think Tad was calling,” Ben says. “Well, your phone rang,” Erin says. “It’s also on the fritz,” Ben says. “Do you want to use my phone?” Erin asks. “I don’t think Tad really called,” Ben says. Erin calls Ben’s voice mail to check his messages. “You know,” says Erin, “There’s a reason I didn’t sign us up for the extra five dollars a month insurance for our cell phones. I told the man we were responsible.” “Do you think I meant to drop my cell phone in a glass of water?” Ben asks. “I know you don’t like putting lids on your to-go cups because it threatens your manhood or something like that, but I think you should consider doing so from now on,” Erin says.  Scooter Thomas jumps on the bed, trying to ease the tension. There is no message from Tad. “Do you think his dish is empty?” Erin asks. “I’ll go check if you give me my headlamp.” “I’ll give you your headlamp if you promise you’ll use a lid on all your cups from now on.” “May I please just have the headlamp.” “Do you promise?” “Yes, I promise. May I PLEASE have the headlamp now.” Headlamped Ben goes downstairs and finds Scooter’s dish is empty. We might not live through this.

8:27 a.m. Ben and Erin get out of bed, get dressed, and go out to scavenge for coffee. Ben’s phone appears to be functioning normally again.

8:54 a.m. Someone from Duke Energy is on the radio saying power could be out for up to a week. Then on the national news we hear Texans could be out of power for up to a month. This puts everything in perspective.

9:11 a.m. The line at the Rookwood Starbucks is out the door. Once inside, we see that it snakes all the way around the store. We are told it is a forty minute wait. We are long past the onset of caffeine addiction to even consider getting out of line.

9:49 a.m. Erin and Ben, venti drinks in tow, leave Starbucks, proud of their accomplishment, still without power, but ready to face the day.

Coming soon: When will the power come back on? What will Ben & Erin argue about at one a.m. this time? Will we brave a trip to Kroger or gnaw our own limbs off first? Stay tuned!