Doppler Mama

First order of business this morning was folding up all the plastic drop cloths covering our computers at work. They hadn't been needed. Our area received not one single solitary drop of rain from Hurricane Rita. My son in Indiana saw more Rita rain than we did.

Second order of business is kicking the Weather Channel habit. For the last month I've spent way more time in front of the tv than normal, mostly looking at reporters wearing hooded raingear and standing knee deep in dark, oily liquid.
It never occurred to me while perusing the Occupational Outlook Handbook in the early Seventies that live disaster reporting would be a growth occupation.

I look at these soggy cub reporters saying, "I can barely see my hand in front of my face," and, "we've been unable to verify the reports of a downed street light in the next block," and wonder what special qualifications they have. Do they just show up for the job with a willingness to have buckets of cold liquid dumped down their neck like a football coach?

I grew up with Barbie dolls and Dare Wright's books about the Lonely Doll. For better or worse, these still influence me.


Houses, hotels, pets, automobiles, and ships were all caught up in the disaster.

This is not a comment on the Halliburton subsidiaries' lucrative contracts to clean up after Katrina, even though it is "Monopoly".

Who is this chicken? Is he here for a photo op?


Back to you.