The still-dark website of Paul Frankenstein is not matched by his winking cable modem, and so we were able to get a blog entry from him in the heart of Manhattan via the wonders of iChat. I recieved this from him less than one minute ago, and he may have more:

Well, as I write this, some twenty-five-and-a-half-hours after the lights first went out, things still aren’t entirely back to normal in the big bad city. Part of the city are still without power, and, more importantly, I still don’t have email or a website.

I left my office at about five, after some 50 minutes or so of trying to figure out what was going on. Terrorism was the elephant in the living room — no-one was talking about it, but at the same time, everyone was thinking about it. My co-worker lives up in Connecticut, and he was short of cash. I loaned him some money, either to get a hotel room or to try to get a taxi up to Greenwich.

I just assumed (correctly) that the subways were going to be out of service. Walking up Park Avenue, I saw men in very expensive suits holding up manila folders with the words “Westchester — Will Pay Big Bucks” written across them in bold marker. Traffic northbound on Park was at a standstill — a police SUV eventually gave up and headed up the wrong side of the street, siren bleating.

Central Park was strangely quiet; people were lolling about in Sheep Meadow, throwing footballs and frisbees around. After leaving the park, I stopped by a car that had it’s radio on. They were talking about a power failure up in the Niagara-Mohawk area that cascaded across the region. I got home and stomped up eight flights, flashlight borrowed from the super. Then I took a shower. I tried calling my family, but the phones were not really working.

I went back downstairs. A tiny little blonde girl who lives in the building was standing out by the front door. It was her twenty-fifth birthday. There had been plans for a big party. I told her that at least her twenty-fifth birthday was a memorable one. The bakery next door was giving out free cupcakes.

… and here’s part two:

I walked down Columbus. The doorman at my parents’ building told me that they were out. Down at 57th and Ninth Ave., a lone soul was bravely trying to direct traffic. I jumped out into the middle of the intersection to give him a hand. A guy from the deli came out and gave the two of us bottles of water. You guys are New Yorkers of the month, he said as he gave me the water.

Drivers would come through the intersection, and give us the thumbs up. A lost trucker came through and asked me for directions to the George Washington Bridge. The hardest part of the job, aside from trying to avoid getting killed, was directing pedestrians. They don’t listen to anyone.

A woman came up to me in the middle of the intersection. She said she was a reporter from Ohio. She tried to interview me while I was directing traffic. I suggested that she talk to the other guy, as he’d been there longer. It was a bit distracting trying to talk to her and not get hit by cars barreling down Ninth Avenue.

Later, a fella on rollerblades came up and asked me if I wanted an orange vest. I said sure. He pointed out that I looked a bit like a pedestrian.

There’s a lot of non-verbal communication that goes on when two guys try to direct traffic. The other guy’s name was Nick.

Occasionally cops would come roaring through, sirens on high. They would slow and make a point of tipping their hats to us. I figured that they were off doing more important things.

The guy with the rollerblades came back later. By then, my arms were getting tired. You try holding up your left arm for 45 minutes. He had bright orange life vests. Turned out that he had participated in the dragon boat races out in Flushing last weekend, and just happened to have them around his apartment. I put one on, and he gave me a note with his name and address, so we could return them later. Then he shot off, looking for more people

My brother showed up not long thereafter, bearing more water. That was a good thing, as I’d gone through that first bottle rather quickly. People walking by stopped and took pictures of us.

After about an hour of standing out there dodging and directing traffic, some auxiliary police officers — in uniforms and everything — showed up to supplant the civilian traffic control. A guy with a red mustache and a mike came up and interviewed me. I noticed that Nick had a small gaggle of folks with small digital video camcorders surrounding him. I sauntered over there. As the cameras turned to me, Nick slipped away, glad to be away from the limelight. I guess I now know why athletes always repeat the same cliches over and over in locker-room interviews after games. I just said that I was just trying to help out as best I could.

After mumbling some more platitudes, I said that I had to go; time to return the life vest, time to go home.

Way to go Paul! “New Yorker of the Month!”

And now, the thriling conclusion to Frankenstein: New Yorker of the Month:

After stopping off at my parents’ apartment (14 floors, and I don’t need to tell you that down is much easier than up), I went home. I hung out downstairs, talking with the other folks from the building as dusk settled over Manhattan, waiting for someone with a flashlight to go upstairs with me. I’m not afraid of the dark; I’m afraid of falling down a stairwell in the dark and breaking something important for locomotion, like an ankle or a leg. Once inside my nearly pitch black apartment, I found some matches by the light of a cell phone, and lit a couple of candles.

I heard an echoing guitar somewhere, so I grabbed a still-cold six-pack of beer and a candle and headed off in search of it. A kid was playing in the stairwell, taking advantage of the echo chamber. We drank our beer cold and just hung out, not saying much.

The lights came back on at 5:32 in the morning. I know this because I left the lights in my room on — I wanted to reset my alarm clock so I could get up in the morning and go to work if there was power. I had heard the mayor suggesting that power could be restored by 2 or 3, which is what gave me my ill-fated idea. Of course, the heat and the helicopter hovering right outside my window didn’t provide much in the way of a restful rest.

By 7 a.m., the radio was reporting that parts of Manhattan had power (which was obvious to me, since I was listening to an AC-powered radio), including parts of midtown, but that the authorities were urging people not to come to work if they had to. The subway system was down (and would be down until “six-to-nine hours after power had been fully restored to the entire city”); commuter rail was out completely; buses were running, but on limited schedules.

I got to work by 7:45 a.m. on my bike, only to find out that the entire east side was still without power. There was no work to be done though; the entire building my office was in was closed. I waited outside the building, sitting on the ground. A couple of other people from the office showed up. Small talk was made. We saw some buses go by on Third Avenue; they were all stuffed to the gills. I finally went home at about nine, concerned about the increasing rush-hour traffic and the increasing temperature.

A restaurant up the street had a blackout special: $10 all-you-can-eat eggs, bacon, and french fries. It was pretty tasty. Naps were taken, and once my cable modem returned, websites were surfed (Amy Langfield’s tale of being trapped in the subway is a must-read). And now, thanks to future California governor Mike Whybark, tales are told.

There you have it, electricity fans!

Look for Paul to pick this up when and if he ever returns to the air, er, packet-switched network data transmission network.

The Illuminated Donkey: back on the air.

Ken called me from his work this morning to note that while HIS power was back on, sections of Manhattan remained dark.

This means that as of that time, Paul Frankenstein remained offline. I’m not sure if Paul self-hosts or if hs hosting provider is out as well, but it’s well within his technical capacity to be hosting his own website. The situation appears to be the same now, a few hours later.

More trivial updates concerning the personal activities of pals in the Great Northeastern Blackout of Ought-Three as they come in.

Ken’s reportage has been highlighted in several locations, such as The Fat Guy, who coined this site’s new official designation for the event, the Great Northeastern Blackout of Ought-Three; at Amy Langfield, highlighting Ken’s pithy commentary on his experiences at home; and at Kofuzi, where I am referred to as “this guy,” as is Ken.

As we finished expunging typos from the previous entry, the preternaturally cheery Mr. Goldstein telephoned with an update, barely understandable due to spotty cell-phone reception.

Listening hard through the static, we made out the following phrases:

“I’m in my room it’s dark.”

“I had to use my cell phone as a light to walk down the hall.”

“One or two buildings across the street seem to have power.”

“It’s dark.”

Then, the phone went dead.

Roving reporter and East Coast Whybark California Gubernatorial Campaign Chairman Ken Goldstein was reached via newfangled wireless telecommunications device and filed this eyewitness report on the largest electrical blackout in history:

“The area I am in – It was sort of amusing to me at least – I actually left work early for a dentist appointment.” Goldstein recounts. He’d left work early. “I was at the dentist until 4, the blackout came at 4:10. I got in to my car and put in a tape, and didn’t realize anything was wrong until 5:10. There were traffic lights out, but I didn’t think ‘oh, the whole eastern seaboard is out.’”

“I turned on the radio and heard static,” he says, “But I just thought it was just a problem with the transmitter.”

Goldstein left the city without incident and made his way to Central New Jersey, where he stayed for a period of time. “Central NJ has power, so I was hanging around there with some people I know,” he notes, speaking from his car. “Right now I’m gonna head back to my place, which could be a problem, because I live right near the Holland Tunnel, and they had announced they were going to close the Tunnel.”

As he spoke, he noticed a sports stadium that was illuminated. “I’m passing by the minor league stadium for the Somerset Patriots – and the stadium lights are on! The crowd is pretty sparse.” Pausing, Goldstein continued, “Life appears in this area to be – ah – going on as per normal.”

The deceptively youthful-appearing copywriter had heard that “NJ Transit has sent every available bus into the city. I dunno how they are going to get back into the city. NJ Transit just stopped the trains, at the next station, so there’s a lot of people probably just standin’ around.” Again pausing for a moment, he continued, “I was gonna say, I should probably just swing by and see if someone needs a ride in towards New York.”

Asked about circumstances in the city itself, Goldstein reports, “Manhattan is – is – well, you can imagine. It’s just massive amounts of people with the vehicles tryin’ to get somewhere else. I mean, I saw some pictures of the crowd.”

Continuing, he then provided a layman’s explanation of the breakdown: “When that power plant went, all the energy went on down the line, like a circuit breaker.”

“People are golfing on the golf range,” he observed, passing the establishment. “In my area, I appear to be very fortunate. I haven’t heard any wild stories or rumors or anything interesting. You also have to remember the area I was in, it really hasn’t hit. Hopefully Jersey City is not affected.”

“I’m not gonna make a great on the scene reporter,” Goldstein concluded, “because I’m not really on the scene. It’s kind of like being in the middle of a massive power failure, except the lights are on and everyone is going about their business.

But my dental work went well.”

Mr. Goldstein may call in further updates as the situation progresses.

Power Outages Reported Along East Coast

Power Outages Reported Along East Coast

By THE NEW YORK TIMES

Power outages were reported today throughout the Northeast. Blackouts were reported north to Toronto, south to Maryland and west to Cleveland, Detroit and Toledo.

Guess it’s New York’s turn! I tried calling Ken but the lines are all busy. Also: DETROIT?! Geez.

I’d like to take this opportunity to note that as Governor of California, no further giant blackouts of the Eastern Seaboard would be permitted, as I would incorporate legislation against them in my state vehicular procurement requirements.

Dear readers:

I read the papers. I listen to the radio. Sometimes I even watch television. I even, God help me, read the blogs.

While it is true that my long-time residence in Seattle’s harmonious and bustling Capitol Hill neighborhood has kept me from spending as much time at my primary residence, in Laguna Beach, California, of late, I have never considered my dwelling in Seattle, as deeply connected to the place as I am, as my primary residence.

No, from the first day I stepped into my beautiful wife’s parent’s charming basement guest room, just blocks from the glory of the Pacific Ocean, I knew I had come home. Truly home. It is in the small, low-ceilinged room, modestly furnished but carefully tended with all the hard-working virtue that immigrant Americans bring to our great country, to our great state, that my true home lies.

Therefore, just as I can tell you my true home, I tell you that my true heart sings with the timeless truths of the obligation to seek public service.

Therefore, given the successfully mounted effort to recall Governor Gray Davis of California and the subsequently well-documented rush to run what will certainly be remembered as the California Marathon, it is my patriotic and sacred duty to declare my candidacy for the Governorship of California.

However, in an effort to demonstrate my fiscal probity, I have declined either to raise funds or to file as a registered candidate. I can declare that my current campaign warchest contains twenty-three cents, a Canadian penny, two green rubber bands, and the tattered remnants of my recently-washed telephone list, a circumstance that helped clarify my position on fundraising.

It should further be noted my current status as a permanent resident of California – that is to say, the California state of mind – has been called in doubt by virtue of my long-term physical residency in Seattle. I come before you on this day – this great and glorious day – to dispute, refute, and rebut these scurrilous charges. My argument presented a moment ago is sufficient to prove my legal eligibility for the position, of that I have no doubt.

However, I feel strongly that a case should be made to my beloved constituents – my fellow Californians – that I am sufficiently acculturated to the California lifestyle and way of thinking to provide the quality of leadership that the Golden Bear state has always sought. I lay before you two arguments. The first is the simplest.

California has always been synonymous with change, with creativity, and with doing things your own way. Is not declaring my unfunded candidacy from the keyboard of my computer in Seattle consonant with these values? To paraphrase the campaign for the presidency of Barry Goldwater, in your hearts, you know I’m right.

My second argument, is, I think, the most elegant. I will conclude my remarks to you this evening with the pithy words that express it as succinctly as it can be said.

Dudes, hang loose.