This neighborhood needs a good blackout. I'm in a Chicago building that holds hundreds of people. There must be thousands within a few blocks. I barely know any of them. I've had good conversations with two in the building. A few words on the elevator with others. Not enough to make new friends.
The club of old-timers who own their unit know each other but they're the exception. They're skeptical of newcomers who won't be around long enough to bother getting to know.
Blackouts are a peculiar time when you discover what kind of community you're living in. Do people join together? Do they come to the aid of their neighbor?
I was in the Cleveland black of '03 when huge sections of the northeast lost modern civilization. There was something eerie about driving down an interstate highway through a major metropolis and barely being able to tell if I was surrounded by a city or a cornfield.
When I came home the streets were crowded. The tables and chairs at every neighborhood restaurant were taken. People shared tables with those they had only seen before in passing or not at all.
"Don't we drive past each other every morning? Where is it you go off to work in the morning?"
Some of the cafes came up with a limited menu but everyone was welcome to commune whether they ordered or not. They weren't full of people passing through. It was the neighborhood suddenly acting like one.
A little group was standing outside my apartment building. What are you going to do inside other than sit in the dark? You can barely walk around without stubbing your big toe or big head. No TV. No video games. Not even internet. You're phone might run out if you use it too much.
So some of us went outside to discover the people we live in close proximity to but never knew. No celebrity gossip is getting through. Might as well busy yourself with the available uncelebrities.
"Oh, you live right below me! Sorry if I'm noisy. Sometimes I practice my tap-dancing routine at home."
Spontaneous apartment parties break out. Suddenly, there's no hesitation to ask favors or offer help.
"Would anyone like to help us eat these cold-cuts before they go bad?"
"How much did you lose in your freezer? We had frozen stakes!"
"Does anyone need candles? We got extra!"
Of course, not all bodies go outside. Nine months later an otherwise inexplicable spike in births will occur. Blackouts are good for romance. Is it the need to feel safe together? Or the simple act of turning off the damned television that's so demanding of attention?
One or two nights is enough for a blackout. Apparently, certain neighborhoods in ComEd territory sometimes go days without power. They're doing it wrong. Spread that around and don't leave the same people in the dark for too long.
You don't want things to get ugly. I've never been in one that turned people against each other but I've heard it can happen. Perishable food items might become scarce. People could die in extreme heat or cold.
September is coming up. That's a mild month perfect for the shedding of electric shackles.
I wonder, would it even successfully break the privacy fence barriers of the suburbs? Would they stay inside to protect valuables in the McMansion? At least you'll find out which of your neighbors owns their own generator. Those things are noisy as hell but remember where you heard them.
Every major city needs a vacation from electricity once a year. Not more than that though. Someone in the utility industry should instigate a conspiracy to make it happen. Utilities would probably blame it on wind power. Bastards. They're good at making excuses. No one will suspect a devious plot to promote community by temporarily denying people the instruments of their isolation.