We live in the age of the 24-hour news cycle. There used to be a day when, if there was anything notable going on in the world, we would hear about it on the evening news (or in a special bulletin if it was sufficiently history-altering). This is still somewhat the case today, and the advantage of a 24-hour news cycle is that, if anything earth-shattering does happen, there will not be much of a delay before we all hear about it in more detail than we care to know.
But thanks to the 24-hour news cycle, the networks must keep our attention if they are to keep their ratings up. And since there is only so much interesting news in the world, this means in turn that if there is a shortage of interesting topics, the networks must make something not so interesting as interesting as they can, or risk going off the air (which is hardly a viable option).
Which brings me, rather belatedly, to my main point. Today is January 7, which is smack-dab in the middle of winter. In winter, the weather is cold. I shall pause here while the one person who has lived under a rock his whole life runs to notify the Associated Press with this breaking news. It may surprise everyone else that this is indeed worthy of wall-to-wall news coverage in the city where I live. This sounds (I repeat) unbelievable to some of my readers. Alas, it is all too true, as I shall explain.
I live in the Houston area, which lies far enough south and close enough to the coast to come under the category of being in a “sub-tropical” climate. In our region, our summers are hot and our winters are, well, not summer. Snow is looked upon by the natives as an object of extreme strangeness, the sighting of which is akin to seeing a UFO or perhaps a Houston Texans field goal. It is worthy of wall-to-wall news coverage.
So, too, are hurricanes, but this is legitimate, since hurricanes are destructive of life and property. But today something is happening that you would think is like a hurricane in January. It is getting cold. But not just any cold. We are witnessing the historic “Arctic Blast 2010”.
Now, any time a Houstonian hears the phrase “Arctic Blast” spoken breathlessly by their trusted news-hunter-gatherers, it is a certain signal to go into “full panic mode”. Nothing short of that will do. The reason is that, when temperatures in Houston are set to plunge all the way into the lower 20s – even though millions of people in America experience this regularly during winter-time without bodily harm – this means that we are literally all going to die. It is a foregone conclusion. Why, if you knew you were going to die, would you not go into a full panic mode?
I realize that it sounds strange to more Northern ears that what they would call autumn weather is such a deadly threat to the minds and bodies of Houstonians. You see, we are not used to wearing more than a jacket and – perhaps – a skull cap in winter. We are the type of people who think it is fascinating to be able to see one’s breath (and we have even been known to make a game of it, trying to see whose breath “smokes” more). But when the mercury dips below freezing for an extended period, all jokes, games, and wild-eyed fixation is over. It is now time to concentrate on survival.
And this we do – nay, must do. Some simple-minded people may object that all one has to do is to turn one’s heat up a little more than they are accustomed to, and then stand by the window to watch it get cold outside. Why, this is even the same argument one might hear during a Houston summer, when cold air-conditioning units would, one would think, insulate most people from having to experience (with the exception of perhaps having to walk to and from a vehicle) the torch we call outdoors. But this approach is all too simple, and in any event, if taken seriously by too many of the right people, it would deprive our local news-hunter-gatherers of anything interesting to talk about. And we can’t have that.
And so, today on our local news, we are hearing about how we are all going to die. Not just the homeless people (who, by the way, are really in a bad spot when the weather gets cold). Not just the stray cat down the street. Not just our pipes (which burst at the very mention of the word “ice”). Not just our plants. No – all of us. We are all in mortal danger because the weather is unseasonably cold.
With the definite exception of hurricane season or a flood event, there can be no better boon for the news-hunter-gatherers than an Arctic Blast. They try to duplicate the drastic gravity of the situation when the temperatures go above 100, but it is hard to actually find anybody who is panicking when it’s that hot; after all, they are all in their air-conditioned houses. Besides, you can’t go killing the reporters by having them exert themselves in those kinds of conditions (at least without supplying them, intravenously, with plenty of Gatorade). Snow comes somewhat close to the magnitude of this event, but, outside of reporters from the Weather Channel, it is hard to find anyone panicking when it snows (they are too busy making snowmen and women). Never mind the driving issues when it snows. We can’t drive anyway in Houston, and snow actually makes us slow down to stare.
And so, an Arctic Blast is truly a news event. In fact, the whole corps must be called in to the front (no pun intended; or maybe it was). The weatherman (the one who got national recognition for calling nine out of the last five hurricanes correctly) is literally on 24-hour standby. He does not know when he shall be called upon next to scan the output from the National Weather Service and then come on the air to claim that he has personally been monitoring the weather conditions (while being IN them, mind you) and can now make a new personal, original forecast (which, by the way, is a full two degrees worse than Joe’s on the other station).
That’s not all. The various reporters must be scattered far and wide to stand in hopelessly frigid conditions (facing near-certain death, all for your sake) in order to tell you, firsthand, why you really mustn’t go outside at all (even to get the newspaper) until at least a week from next Sunday (when, knowing Houston weather, it will 75 and sunny). Then there are the special reporters whose duty it is to find the one family in the entire viewing area who is in positively the most dire straits when the front arrives (you know, the one with no heaters and practically no clothes and only one wall in their house). There are also the people who station themselves at little television screens, monitoring the traffic (even though everybody has been warned to stay put indoors). And at the head of this army are the several anchors, who must grimly coordinate and present to you, the viewer, all of the sordid details of this catastrophe.
And so you will not be surprised – perhaps saddened, but not surprised – if this, my first blog entry of 2010, is also my last ever. One hopes that he will emerge alive, though barely (I shrink from uttering the word “unscathed”), from such a situation, which cannot but be described as DEFCON 1, Code RED, and Full-Blown Crisis all wrapped up into one very frigid package. I have already written off most of my teeth, which will be knocked out by their chattering. I will probably lose the use of my fingers from frostbite. I may even have to set my new room on fire to keep warm. But I am determined to emerge from this alive, if I can. Until then, I remain, as always, obediently yours.
