We are on the fringes of Storm Central Mode. In case you’re not sure what Storm Central Mode is, you can read about it here…or not. As stated in the article that you have no intention of reading, we here in Maine are experts at storm preparation, and hurricanes are no exception. So, when I descended the stairs this morning, I knew at once we were on the verge of something big.
The sister had been listening to the news again. I hate when that happens. I’d rather she rely on me to filter through the fluff and alert her of anything I deem important, but I digress. She had seen the weather report warning us of the possibility of hurricane Earl landing in our front yard, several days from now.
Far be it for me to question the sister’s actions, but I think evacuation plans are a bit premature at this point in time. Don’t misunderstand. We are well trained in survival techniques, thanks to the nephew and his “tsunami and devastating natural disaster” drills. We have each been assigned our roles and responsibilities, although no one can explain to me why I have to transport the cat that is buried out in the back yard. I think the little guy slipped that one in.
Anyway, five or six days out, we are set to spring into action should the need arise. The vehicles are gassed up. The meeting spot is agreed upon, should any one miss the wagon train. The survival packs have been dusted off, checked, and rechecked. My hair straightener has been removed (again), but thank God no one has found my J Lo Miami Glow. We are ready for Earl and whatever wrath he delivers.
So, what’s the problem? I’ll tell you what the problem is. Every news channel in the house is tuned in to Earl up-dates. I am being inundated with Earl. Earl is just east of Zimbabwe, Earl is strengthening, Earl is a category two, no, he’s a three, Earl, Earl, Earl. Does anyone wonder why people become immune to weather warnings? The minute the media sniffs out a possibility of a hurricane, an especially on this fifth year anniversary of Katrina, they take it upon themselves to save us from our own stupidity.
Already, there are reporters descending upon the path of Earl. A stampede occurs when the first six inch wave crashes to the shore. They examine the devastation of the angry sea. When things get really nasty, it’s a given that some reporter grasping a mike with one hand and a flagpole with the other will be in the midst of flying debris measuring the wind and telling us to hunker down and stay inside. The other reporters, not being able to find another flagpole still intact, will be standing on a beach somewhere, getting knocked around by waves while warning us to steer clear of the shoreline. These people drive me crazy.
I understand that you, Mr. Weatherman and Ms. Weatherwoman, are only trying to show people of the seriousness of the potential situation. I get it. But you must understand that there will always be dopes you will not be able to convince, and your hypocritical preaching only pisses them off and makes them more determined to prove you wrong.
I can’t comprehend why some people endanger themselves and their families by “riding out the storm”, but it is what it is. I listened to an old coot in the Florida Keys tell a reporter he had survived every damned hurricane so far and the one a’coming didn’t scare him. Well, I might have mentioned the law of averages to the old fool, but what do I know. He wanted to save his home. Uh, the man lived in a trailer, sturdily wired to a tree…on a beach. I wondered if he’d ever been to Kansas.
So, I appreciate the warnings, weather-people. I want the warnings. I depend on them to advise me of updated information, but mother of God, stop with the blow by blow every three minutes, and start practicing what you preach. I don’t care if the wind speed goes up a notch from 81 mph to 82 mph, and I can see what it looks like outside. Take your own advice, ya dopes. You’re defeating your purpose.