I am a refugee.

Okay, that is not true. But I was a refugee.

All right, that is not true, either. Would it be fair to say that I now know what it feels like to be a refugee?

No, it would not. Refugees are not typically able to find their refuge in the nearby apartments of loving boyfriends.

I will just tell you what happened.

Last night, Rob came over, and we watched an old episode of "Trading Spaces." Afterward, we turned off the television and were lying around when the lights started flickering, and we heard a commotion outside. Firetrucks were pulling up, and we heard someone say that there was some sort of electrical fire under the street. Smoke and fire were coming up through manhole covers in front of my apartment and in front of the synagogue a few doors down.

Since we had to walk Goblin anyway, Rob and I decided to go out and see what was going on. Bands of firefighters patrolled the area, and clumps of neighbors gathered to watch and gossip. The air smelled like burnt insulation. Our little trio had no sooner made it out onto the sidewalk than a terrific explosion rang out directly across the street! I saw the burst of smoke and sparks in the same instant and instinctively ducked for cover. Nobody was quite sure what had happened. The firemen began to discuss getting the onlookers off the street. Someone said that perhaps a tire on a parked car had become superheated from the fire below and exploded (there did seem to be some damage to the car; we later learned that a metal plate on the street had exploded upward and hit it).

In any case, Rob and I decided that, since my apartment is technically below street level, it would be a good idea to transfer ourselves over to his for the night. He remained on the sidewalk with Goblin while I ran inside and decided what to bring.

Here is the part that made me feel like a refugee: standing alone in middle of my home trying to figure out what I should take in case the whole place were to blow up. In the end, I just settled for my laptop computer, my wallet, and a couple of letters I had forgotten to mail earlier in the day. Even though my possessions are not insured, I do not have that many, and the most important things in my life were already out waiting for me on the sidewalk.

So out I went, unsure as to whether I would be able to return. And of course, I was. When I got back this morning, there was not the remotest amount of damage, except for some yellow "do not cross" tape where the metal cover exploded. I still do not know what the actual problem was.

The interesting thing about the whole experience was to notice how I could keep my head in a possible emergency, probably an important skill in modern-day New York City. Even during the explosion, I felt calm (I did duck because I was startled, but I did not worry for my immediate safety or that of Rob and Goblin . . . I was able to gauge even in the heat of the moment that it was not that big of an explosion). I quickly made the decision that it would be prudent to leave, and I was able to do so fairly efficiently, despite the slim possibility that my building would be destroyed.

Still, it was weird.

Goblin and I have received numerous requests for advice in the past two days, and we will be responding to them beginning tomorrow. It will be a regular advice fest. A festival of advice. A feast of wisdom. Knowledge on parade. A—

Okay, okay. Goblin is calling me to watch "All My Children." Tune in tomorrow for a regular advice fest. A festival of—