I seem to recall that I was going to regret commuting into work this morning. I had no idea.
I left the saltmine in downtown Narlins at 10:30 a.m. I arrived home, approximately 80 miles later; at 6:30 p.m. That's about 10 miles per hour, although there was a four-hour stretch in there from Metairie to Kenner that was closer to 1 mph.
Every eight minutes, the disembodied radio voices reminded me Ivan was coming up through the Gulf, right behind me, at NINE miles per hour. I figured at that rate I was a goner. On a different eight minute cycle, they warned me that evacuee traffic out of the Emeril City was (get this) extremely heavy and that I should expect delays.
About noon, the A/C in the schmedmobile sent its last vestiges of the old kind of freon out into the upper atmosphere to kill some ozone in a sacrificial effort to force the hurricane away, so I rolled down the windows. With all the big fat clouds floating in the sky, not a SINGLE MAMMYSLAPPIN' ONE OF 'EM moved between me and ol' Sol.
I've got the loveliest truck-driver tan on my left arm and side of my face.