Death by drowning

It has been confirmed today that I will in fact die by drowning. I thank the New York Times for that. Thanks.

"How can you possibly drown, Shiny Penny?" I'm glad you asked. I can't swim. Can't as in cannot. Yes, I've taken swimming lessons. They didn't stick. My body defies the float. {See Powerful Mind entry for further details.}

But how do I know this to be my fate? Well, as luck would have it, I was perusing the good old New York Times for assistance in locating my new top secret, secret headquarters when i stumbled across this:

THE REAL RIDDLE OF CHANGING WEATHER: HOW SAFE IS YOUR HOME?

It began with the basic Al Gore mumbo jumbo (did you know I saw Al Gore's face in the sky once?). Basically our grandchildren's children are seriously fucked. Water levels will continue to rise. Low lying coastal areas, e.g. all of Downtown Manhattan, are doomed. Bye-bye West Village. Mother Nature is PMSing like a mofo. Hurricanes, people. Hurricanes.

Let's just say by page 2 I was significantly freaked out. When I commit to reading something, I suspend all disbelief. I was committed to panic. Then I discovered the very useful link to this:

NEW YORK CITY HURRICANE EVACUATION ZONES

It's a 17x22 color-coded map of all the danger zones. Basically Queens survives and the rest of us drown in flood water. I printed out three copies.

Okay, you may think I'm overreacting. I could be dead by the time my grandchildren's children get swept away but what if I'm not. What if I'm some sweet little old lady with a walker who at the age of 95 still can't swim. Can't as in cannot. Then what?

That's what I'm talking about.