The Potential for a Potentially Potential Hurricane Season - weekly column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

The Potential for a Potentially Potential Hurricane Season

I love Nature partly because she is not man, but a retreat from him.

None of his institutions control or pervade her.

-attributed to Henry David Thoreau

The buzzy words this hurricane season are the noun “potential” and its adverb “potentially.” In Latin “potential” means powerful; in modern English the meaning has drifted into a consideration of the possible. In Latin a potential storm is one that is powerful; in English a potential storm is not a storm at all but rather a weather disturbance that might become a storm.

We haven’t yet read a sentence such as “The potential hurricane is potentially heading for a potential landing on Florida’s cost,” but we might before the season is over. “Potential” is The Word; you are not going to see or hear the weather news this year without the speaker casting it about like pixie dust: “Potentially you are not going to potentially see or hear the potential weather news without the potential speaker casting it potentially about like potential pixie dust.”

Weather Underground (I don’t think they are really underground) came up with a fresh storm metaphor this year, “muscling,” as in “Hurricane Dorian is muscling its way to Florida.” That’s pretty good the first few hundred times you hear it.

Otherwise, the weather news is clotted with the same old metaphors about storms making landfall, brewing in the Gulf, building up steam, storming ashore (because, after all, storming is what storms do), lashing, pounding, barreling, reducing to rubble, battening down the hatches, wreaking havoc, leaving swaths of destruction, trees snapping like matchsticks, cars tossing around like toys, cities dodging the bullet, a street looking like a war zone, we’re not out of the woods, the eerie calm before the storm, the eerie calm in the eye of the storm, the eerie calm after the storm, perfect storm, storm of the century, in the crosshairs, fish storm, decimated, ground zero, and on and on.

Mother Nature’s Wrath and Mother Nature’s Fury used to be part of the babble, but no more. We have progressed from Greco-Roman mythology about nature goddess to Renaissance obsessions with witches. Someone must be blamed for hurricanes, and now the fault is beastly climate-change deniers instead of goddesses.

Climate-change deniers? Really?

As Henry David Thoreau said, “The wind that blows is all that anyone knows.”

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We've Ridden Out Storms of Bad Reporting Before - a column about hurricane reporters

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

We’ve Ridden Out Storms of Bad Reporting Before

There is nothing amusing about hurricanes; they are destructive and deadly. May God protect all who are menaced by them.

However, the babblings and posturings of some resume’-obsessed national reporters during hurricanes are indeed amusing. The detached observer wonders if these clevers might assume that petitions to God are addressed to them.

In reporting foul weather there are only so many ways one can say “wind,” “rain,” “tornado,” and “storm surge,” and so the keyboard commandos keep flooding (so to speak) readers and viewers with the same old metaphors and similes.

Here, then, is a catalogue of clichés to read and consider before abandoning Cyrus Heather-Shannon Trevor Neville Ponsonby of World Global Universal News Digital Cable Satellite Network to the dark waters and changing the channel to Flip this Senator off the Island:

Rain event. We’re not out of the woods. Dodged the bullet. A storm is brewing. Building up steam. Losing steam. Wreaking havoc. Left a swath of destruction it its wake. Changed my life forever. Mother Nature’s wrath. Mother Nature’s Fury. Mother Nature’s Vengeance. Decimated. Trees snapped like matchsticks. Mother of all hurricanes. Batten down the hatches. Hunker down (that always seems somewhat vulgar). Roofs peeled back like sardine cans. Cars tossed about like matchboxes. Boats tossed about like matchboxes. Boats smashed like match boxes. Boats bobbing about like corks. Rain coming down in sheets (never blankets or comforters). Calm before the storm, usually eerie. Calm in the eye of the hurricane, always eerie. Like a ghost town. Perfect storm. Katrina, Katrina, Katrina. Storm of the century. Storm of a lifetime time. Looks like a warzone. Reduced to rubble. Debris field. Fish storm. Bearing down. Lashing. Roaring. Pounding. Swirling. Spinning. Barreling. Striking. Hitting. Storming ashore (well, yes, storming is what storms do).

Finally, any meaningful reporting is frequently interrupted for the visual cliché of some stupid man or woman doing stupid things for the camera. Wearing his Baron von Richthofen goggles and with his L.L. Bean hoodie flapping in harmony with just-the-right street sign the Dan Rather manqué clings to a palm tree and gasps into a microphone the obvious fact that he is an idiot who has gone outside in a hurricane.

All across this great land television viewers are laughing at this absurd figure and taking bets on whether he will be swept away.

No charitable man or woman would ever wish anyone harm, of course, except for motivational speakers, but there can be few people so insensitive and so hard-hearted and so lacking in charity that they would not weep tears of joy to see a national network drama-mama-papa and his cosmic microphone of existential doom pressured-washed down the street for a block or two.

We can dream.

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Hurricane Preparedness Checklist - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Hurricane Preparedness Checklist

Double-A batteries, a map out of town
A tank full of gas, a mind full of plans
A flashlight, toilet paper, a radio
A can opener and cans to go, go, go

Leather gloves and duct tape, whistles
Waterproof matches, and match-proof water
Blankies and ponchos and a change of clothes
A medical kit and a pocket knife

But

No one ever lists a box of cigars,
And a Wodehouse for reading by lamplight

Hurricane Cliches - Column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
29 August 2012

Eye of the Hamster

Much national news writing is predicated on clichés, stereotypes, and hyperbole, and hurricane season is when the keyboard commandos in Our Nation’s Capital (in caps) pour themselves cups of green tea, limber up their manicured fingers, and fling filler-language as carelessly as an oil sheik throwing American dollars at luxuries.

Certain hurricane cliches’ disappear with time – “The Mother of All Hurricanes” is as dead as Saddamn Hussein. Others, such as “we’re not out of the woods,” seem to be as indestructible as Dracula, popping up out of his coffin every August and September.

Some entries in the well-thumbed dictionary of hurricane-babble include:

Rain event

Dodged the bullet

Storms that brew – what do they brew? Tea? Coffee?

Storms that gain or lose steam, as if they were teakettles

Hurricanes that pound

Hurricanes that lash

Hurricanes that pummel

Reduced to rubble

Wreak havoc – what does “wreak” mean?

Left a swath of destruction in its wake -- what’s a swath, eh?

Hurricanes that make landfall – well, what else would they make? A gun rack in shop class?

Hurricanes that slam ashore

Hurricanes that storm ashore – well of course they storm; they’re storms

Changed my life forever

Mother Nature's wrath

Mother Nature’s fury

Mother Nature's anything

Looked like a war zone – no one ever looked over the blood-sodden ground after a fight in Afghanistan and said “Gee, this looks like a hurricane zone.”

Decimated - unless precisely one out of every ten people was killed

Trees snapping like matchsticks - do matchsticks ever snap like trees?

Batten down the hatches - I forgot to buy a hatch; I wonder if the stores are still open

Hunker down

Cars tossed about like Matchbox toys / Cars smashed like matchboxes

Boats bobbing like corks / boats smashed like matchboxes

Roofs peeled off

Rain coming down in sheets - never blankets or pillow slips?

Calm before the storm – almost always “eerie”

Calm in the eye of the storm – also almost “eerie”

Calm after the storm – yes, almost always “eerie”

ANY allusion to Katrina

Perfect storm

Storm of the century

A Hurricane that defined a generation

Fish storm

In the crosshairs

From this list of fluffery one can then assemble a sentence wholly devoid of meaning, just like the networks do:

In my own personal opinion, and in conclusion, at the end of the day, the bottom line is that when all is said and done, when the skinny man sings, that Mother Nature, in the form of mighty Hurricane Gaia, the storm of the century, thundering and slamming ashore in a turbulent and fateful pre-dawn, wreaked havoc on our homeland, snapping trees like matchsticks and leaving a swath of destruction in her wake that looked like a war zone and changed our lives forever, requiring us to seek closure and healing from grief counselors.

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And let's not forget that a hurricane on its way to Newfoundland is just a fish storm because it won't hurt anyone or damage any property. Yes, a local broadcaster said that some years ago; I wish I could quote him precisely.

Eye of the Hamster

Mack Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com
29 August 2012

Eye of the Hamster

Much national news writing is predicated on clichés, stereotypes, and hyperbole, and hurricane season is when the keyboard commandos in Our Nation’s Capital (in caps) pour themselves cups of green tea, limber up their manicured fingers, and fling filler-language as carelessly as an oil sheik throwing American dollars at luxuries.

Certain hurricane cliches’ disappear with time – “The Mother of All Hurricanes” is as dead as Saddamn Hussein.  Others, such as “we’re not out of the woods,” seem to be as indestructible as Dracula, popping up out of his coffin every August and September.

Some entries in the well-thumbed dictionary of hurricane-babble include:

Rain event

Dodged the bullet

Storms that brew – what do they brew?  Tea?  Coffee?

Storms that gain or lose steam, as if they were teakettles

Hurricanes that pound

Hurricanes that lash

Hurricanes that pummel

Reduced to rubble

Wreak havoc – what does “wreak” mean?

Left a swath of destruction in its wake -- what’s a swath, eh? 

Hurricanes that make landfall – well, what else would they make?  A gun rack in shop class?

Hurricanes that slam ashore

Hurricanes that storm ashore – well of course they storm; they’re storms

Changed my life forever  

Mother Nature's wrath

Mother Nature’s fury

Mother Nature's anything

Looked like a war zone – no one ever looked over the blood-sodden ground after a fight in Afghanistan and said “Gee, this looks like a hurricane zone.”

Decimated - unless precisely one out of every ten people was killed

Trees snapping like matchsticks - do matchsticks ever snap like trees?

Batten down the hatches  - I forgot to buy a hatch; I wonder if the stores are still open

Hunker down

Cars tossed about like Matchbox toys / Cars smashed like matchboxes

Boats bobbing like corks / boats smashed like matchboxes

Roofs peeled off

Rain coming down in sheets - never blankets or pillow slips?

Calm before the storm – almost always “eerie”

Calm in the eye of the storm – also almost “eerie”

Calm after the storm – yes, almost always “eerie”

ANY allusion to Katrina

Perfect storm

Storm of the century

A Hurricane that defined a generation

Fish storm

In the crosshairs

From this list of fluffery one can then assemble a sentence wholly devoid of meaning, just like the networks do:

In my own personal opinion, and in conclusion, at the end of the day, the bottom line is that when all is said and done, when the skinny man sings, that Mother Nature, in the form of mighty Hurricane Gaia, the storm of the century, thundering and slamming ashore in a turbulent and fateful pre-dawn, wreaked havoc on our homeland, snapping trees like matchsticks and leaving a swath of destruction in her wake that looked like a war zone and changed our lives forever, requiring us to seek closure and healing from grief counselors. 

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