My father had asked me to keep a journal during the hurricane. He requested that I document the storms progress each hour and then send my full report to him at the end of the night. I obliged, but being that the hurricane was a total fluke, the journal does not contain much storm reportage. My father is away in Cape Cod with my mother, and was sorely disappointed at the prospect of a hurricane hitting Manhattan in his absence. Storms excite him. Well, not just storms, but the destruction they bring. He once burned down a whole field in Newark Jersey (where he grew up) just to "see what would happen." Surprise! The field burned down, engulfed by hot, magnificent flames, and the police caught him at the scene of the crime, staring placidly. Being just a small boy, his punishment was to ride around with the firemen for a week. This was not much of a punishment at all, but more of a reward. He told me the firemen were unanimously understanding of his crime, some even admitting to having committed similar transgressions when they were young.

Pyromaniac fire fighters, it makes sense.

But my father is not a pyromaniac; just a destruction-maniac with a focus on so called "natural occurrences." His desire to watch things burn, collapse, explode, and be torn apart is wide ranging. He has a fascination with "the sublime." So when we heard a hurricane might hit Manhattan, his excitement over the phone was practically palpable, and our conversations came accompanied by lengthy email instructions about keeping the air pressure stabilized within the house, filling up a bathtub with water, turning over the porch furniture (etc.) and finally, keeping a storm reportage journal.

Here's where things get interesting.