Must-see television? That's the Weather Channel this week.
The Carolinas drew the short straw this time. With Hurricane Florence bearing down, news outlets struggled to describe the coming damage; "catastrophic" sits at the top of the charts, but officials use the same word for Category 4 and Category 5 storms — the most severe — as if the language can't quite keep up with nature's intensity. What's worse than catastrophic? Apocalyptic?
This frightening verbiage is aimed at scaring the bejeezus out of those in harm's way, to convince the ride-out-the-storm crowd to get the heck out. But it's also a reminder of just how helpless we can be against whatever nature happens to whip up. All we can do is try to run away.
Scary stuff. And thoroughly riveting.
I've been hooked on TV hurricane coverage for years, and I'm not alone. There's a familiar, dramatic rhythm to it, beginning with early reports from sun-splashed shorelines and suddenly quiet towns in the storm's path, counting down the hours. It's hard not to look past the reporters on screen at the scenery behind them, wondering how ravaged it all might look a few days later.
Then come the darkening clouds, the turbulent waves and the gusting winds. There's a sense of growing dread, and as the storm roars ashore those same reporters are being buffeted by massive winds and cutting rain. Somehow those images always seem to come across at night, amid power outages, lit only by a camera crew's portable equipment. We see so little, but it says so much, as the unseen terrors in the dark lurk beyond. What will daylight bring?
The storm passes. The sun rises. Suddenly it's an ordinary day again – until we see the devastation. New Jerseyans will long remember the first aerial images along the shore the morning after Sandy, when we realized for the first time that the storm had been every bit as bad as we feared – and worse.
The video coverage is compelling, darkly entertaining and … unnecessary? Journalists have been doing this for decades, venturing into the heart of the tropical beast to bring a personal touch to an impersonal threat, putting themselves in danger and giving viewers a taste of it so that — the argument goes — others won't be foolish enough to do the same. But critics have increasingly mocked the entire exercise. They say it's all about ratings and showmanship, without journalistic value.
I'm not buying it. I understand the argument, but it minimizes the bravery and dedication involved. Truth is, I want to keep watching those reporters and meteorologists fighting the wind and the rain. I want to feel the storm, to experience it in some tiny way through them, as it's happening — from the safety of my living room, of course. I'm not quite sure why, exactly. But I'm not alone.
I'm also not an idiot. What I see this week will again remind me to keep my fingers crossed that the next storm that brews in the Atlantic doesn't come for us in New Jersey. Or the next one. Or any of the ones after that.