It's clear that this year, Indian Summer has been chased out of the Pacific Northwest and contained on some reservation in Montana, doomed to sell its stretched-hide landscape paintings and feathered headresses in truck stop gift shops off I-80. You're bummed, I know. I hear it all around town; "Where's the sun?" "Why am I wearing my North Face rain gear and matching sad face already?"
Well, Boo-motherfucking-HOO, sissies... have you seen the hurricanes headed for the East Coast right now? These storms are not known for their grey skies and light drizzle, but rather, their huge storm surges, sustained wind, flooding and occasional tornadoes that result long after the storm has passed. Soon, my dad will have to board up the windows of my sweet, little childhood home in coastal Connecticut, fight massive lines in grocery stores that have run out of batteries (!!) and follow an evacuation route a whole 10 minutes inland to my grandma's house, leaving his life in the hands of some dude named Earl.
And so begins my annual transformation from freelance writer/service industry shlep to dedicated storm tracker. From now until November, I will spend most of my free time getting stoned and watching swirly cloud cyclones on Weather.com, rating things on a categorical scale of 1-5 and listening to hurricane-related songs. Here are a few:
Any others I'm forgetting?
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