Sandy’s Photo Album: With the effects of Hurricane Sandy still slowing down everything on the Eastern Seaboard, some intrepid tweeters managed to take live pictures of the storm (presumably just before their batteries died). [BuzzFeed]
Float On: Now might be the time to take up canoeing—and Art of Manliness has the four best routes to paddle. (Aside from lower Manhattan.) [AoM]
Not... Jeans: The Sandy-induced descent into chaos continues—now the Yale Club has suspended its dress code policy. [Observer]
Unbreakable Bond:Esquire talks to the man behind the harrowing stunts in the latest Bond film. [Esquire]
Labor Day weekend can be a bit of a bummer. Just ask Green Day front man Billie Joe Armstrong, who was traveling on a Southwest flight from Oakland to Burbank (that’s not the bummer) when a second grade teacher flight attendant kicked him off the plane because he refused to pull his pants up.
Maybe she was embarrassed by her appearance, all bent and bedraggled after a long night slamming The Outer Banks of North Carolina (which, according to CNN Meteorologist Chad Myers, “knocked the stuffing out of her eye.”) She seemed reluctant to arrive in Coney Island -- and who can blame her, really. She’d been stripped of the only thing New Yorkers cared about: her title. A once promising, hurricane-ic starlet was now just a run-of-the mill ‘tropical gale.’
We were thrilled to learn that an actual hurricane was headed all the way to Manhattan.
Those of us in the northeast only got the tail ends growing up – the oozing (yet benign), detached organs once belonging to Hugo and Andrew and Gloria, and so on. Kids our age in Miami and Charleston and some magical place called “The Outer Banks” were being interviewed by Tom Brokaw on the evening news while horizontal rain pelted them every which way – the type of natural disaster that looks a whole lot like the coolest water park in the world.
The tri-state area, on the other hand, was soon thereafter blanketed with five-to-seven days of non-descript gray piss – just enough to cancel a little league game or a weekend camping trip or (almost) anything else a 12-year-old boy had to look forward to at the end of the summer.