Tuesday, April 25, 2006

I bet that fancy weather camera would give a great colonoscopy

It's storm season in Oklahoma, time for our dedicated local weather forecasters to earn their pay for the other 10 months of chanting, "It's going to be windy tomorrow. And dusty, in a reddish sort of way. Also hot."

I sympathize with their boredom, truly, and I can see why they become excited when actual weather appears and their little instruments start beeping and flashing--but must they then inflict boredom upon ME? Because I really, really do not need TWO FUCKING HOURS of coverage for every storm that farts across the state. No, really. If a tornado forms or plague-like hail appears? Please break into my local program to advise. Totally need to know that, thanks. But the epic drama of the Killer Storm of April 2006 that you produced last night will never sell to a broader audience, because it was FUCKING BORING.

The first hour consisted of shot after shot of wall clouds in various places. They weren't hurting anyone, just hanging there ready for their closeups, preening at all the attention. Every few minutes the giddy forecasters would break away from riveting cloud footage to babble in front of their radars and point and click and scribble like John Madden on Monday Night Football. They clicked and zoomed and colored so many incomprehensible things so quickly that we had to use the pause button to stop the stupid map long enough to find our town on it.

Then the unthinkable: One of those cheeky wall clouds spat a funnel! (Me: "Oh, SHIT, now they'll never shut up.") It banged up some planes at a small airport where, thankfully, everyone had already gone home to have dinner and watch clouds on television so no one was hurt. End of story, right? All's well that ends well!

Of course not. Cue SOLID HOUR of OHMYGOD DIDYOUHEAR ATORNADOCAMEOUTOF ONEOFOURCLOUDS!!1!!1! More pictures. Amateur viewer video, quickly downloaded and sent to the station, making me wonder why I thought the expanded availability of technology was a good thing again. Then--I kid you not--a good twenty minutes of gazing at radars and talking, with naked disappointment, about how the storm "really did a number on us" by falling apart so fast. Yes, storms that fail to hold together long enough to allow for, say, four hours of blithering nonsense. Those are the ones that really suck.

Meanwhile? The rest of the civilized world is watching The Apprentice, which is what I showed up for. And do you know what those MORONS did? After showing not one second of The Apprentice? They sent us back to regularly scheduled program at 8-fucking-55. At 8:55 I was programming my DVR to record the CNBC rerun of the episode I had just missed because it was more important to televise a giant circle jerk of weather forecasters. Suddenly, the colors and lines all disappeared and I was looking at Trump's boardroom, where Trump was ripping a hole in one of his wannabes big enough to hide from storms in. Which means I now know: which team lost the task, which team members ended up in the boardroom, and, most likely, which one of them was fired.

Are they kidding me with this crap? Was that the punch line of the whole ridiculous evening's joke? You've been jerking off all night AND YOU CAN'T HOLD OUT FIVE MORE MINUTES??

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