Getting flooded by 'cane coverage
By Beth Teitell
Tuesday, July 12, 2005

By 8 a.m. yesterday, here's what I knew about Hurricane Dennis: It had strengthened over the Gulf of Mexico but weakened as it came ashore. Some areas in the Florida Panhandle saw uprooted trees and washed-out roads, but the sheriff of Escambia County felt that Pensacola ``got lucky on this one.'' I also knew that shelters were about half full, and that the wind carried a vending machine from a gas station and flipped it over.

Here's what I knew about the weather where I live, and where I send my kids out to play in the park: virtually nada. I turned to my in-house weatherman: ``Honey, have you heard if it's supposed to thunder this afternoon?''

Dennis marks not only the start of the dreaded hurricane season, but kicks off the dreaded hurricane-reporting season, too. Just as the storms wipe out entire neighborhoods, so do the endless stories engulf more interesting and informative articles or broadcast segments. Hurricane coverage is the rice cake of the news world. It's filling - and occasionally tempting when you're bored - but in the end, leaves you with nothing.

Better you should spend your time reading about Paris Hilton. At least she'll be around for a while (and her little dog, too).

When a hurricane's starting to whip up, good luck trying to get news about anything else. You turn on the TV, and even if you've blocked the Weather Channel, there's Tiffany or Madison or some other hurricane hogging airtime on the regular channels.

cw3 All you see are endless Doppler radar images, with those swirls that mean nothing to me (or most other civilians, I'm guessing), and, of course, the reporters. Sometimes they're standing in the middle of 500 mph winds, forcing worried viewers to wonder about their station's catastrophic health coverage; other times, when the hurricane is tardy, they're stationed by the ocean, with the camera panning to slight swells. ``By tomorrow,'' they intone, the wind wreaking havoc with their AquaNet, ``these will be 10 feet high.''

cw2The ``we can only hope'' part is left unsaid.

By the end of the hurricane season, people who will never go anywhere near Florida know the name of every county in the state, and recognize FEMA officials by sight.

This blanket hurricane coverage is part of a disturbing larger trend that's seen weather, even routine weather, become the stuff of national news. You may not know whether a state legislature way across the country has voted to increase school funding or OK the death penalty, but rest assured, if the Rockies see an early-season snowfall, you'll hear about it. Relentlessly.

I have a suggestion for all those protesters who rally against global warming and free trade and equal rights for schnauzers, who hold viewers' attention for only a scant slice of the newscast. Hold your next gathering during Hurricane Edna or Morton or whatever. You'll be in the spotlight for days.