Tag: National Weather Service

An ode to the word flavor of the month

Screenshot
A ‘derecho,’ disguised as a big thunderstorm, is about to roll in. (National Weather Service photo)

Warning: Old Man rant ahead.

I’m not really a Get-Off-My-Lawn! guy, but sometimes things really bring out the Geezer in me. And chief of among them are hip new words or phrases that come into vogue out of nowhere.

Derecho, for instance. I’ve already debated this on the 3 Old Geezers podcast with my fellow cohost, whom I will call “Geezer Steve.” Steve argues that derecho has been in play for years and I just haven’t noticed.

I object to that, because it’s only in the last, maybe a year, that I ever saw or heard the word. And I consume a lot of media.

If you are like me and confused as to what a derecho is, think of it as a big thunderstorm. That’s what we called them back in my day.

“Wow, look at that line of clouds, I’m pretty sure a big thunderstorm is about to hit.”

But, nooo. Now it’s a derecho, defined as a widespread, long-lived wind storm that is associated with a band of rapidly moving showers or thunderstorms.

Although Geezer Steve has been sending me links to stories that make reference to derechos, I contend that it’s the word flavor of the month.

There are many others, of course. Let’s start with “haboob.” It’s a big sandstorm, and back in the day they were known as “sandstorms.”

Screenshot
A sandstorm rolls into Guymon back on ‘Black Sunday,’ April 14, 1935

I wonder how many Western Oklahoma farmers during the Depression ran into their house shouting “there’s a haboob” about the hit? None.

See what I mean? Thunderstorms evolve into derechos and sandstorms become haboobs.

Want more? Bomb cyclone. Polar Vortex. Atmospheric river. Flash drought. I could go on all day.

It’s not all related to weather, of course. In the NFL, we have “edge rushers,” when in the old days we had defensive ends. In baseball, it’s all about launch angles today.

In popular culture, we’ve got FOMO and ghosting and Finstas and Karens and Stans and on and on.

When you’ve reached the Old Man stage like I have, there’s so much to get riled up about. And one of them is KEEPING THOSE PESKY KIDS OFF MY LAWN.

So, I’m headed outside to police my neighborhood and keep an eye out for a dreaded derecho.

Show me the radar! A digital tale from 2004

Screenshot

Whenever weather threatens OKC or western Oklahoma, our local TV stations abandon network programming and go with wall-to-wall weather coverage.

My family tunes in every time, and not just for potential life-saving information. We’re fascinated by the combination of theatrical performance, legitimate weather warnings and relentless self promotion.

“We’re declaring a News9 tornado warning for you folks in Custer County!” weatherman David Payne practically screams as he directs Val and Amy into the path of the storm.

No waiting on those slackers at the National Weather Service.

It’s like passing a car wreck on the Interstate, you can’t NOT look at it. Everyone has their favorite/least favorite TV meteorologist. Our go-to weather Drama Queens happen to be from Channel 9.

Anyway, it seems like programming has been interrupted every other night this Spring, but I would never suggest that it’s related to climate change, would I?

As we’ve watched the powerful color-coded radar scans and learned that we’re seeing details THAT NO OTHER STATION IN OUR MARKET CAN PROVIDE, the whole scenario got me thinking back to something I wrote about two decades ago.

Today, we’re in a digital world in which we can track incoming storms on color radar not only only our television screens, but on our phones, computers and tablets. That was all just emerging in 2004 when I was a Business News reporter at The Oklahoman who embraced the digital life.

Not all of my colleagues were ready to move on from their analog past, so I wrote the following column as an ode to the great digital divide:

It is autumn 2004, and a pair of coworkers are sitting in opposite cubicles facing each other. One has his back to the window. His name is “Digital.” His co-worker goes by the moniker “Analog.”

Digital: Hey, there’s a weather alert crawling across the bottom of my computer screen!

Analog: (looking out the window over Digital’s shoulder) It looks sunny to me. There’s a little cloud to the south.

Digital: Yeah, but the color-coded radar I’m looking at on my screen shows a major thunderstorm headed this way. It’s just north of Chickasha.

Analog: I trust my eyes. I’ll worry about the weather when I look out this window and see a big black cloud.

Digital: You are so 1990s. (picks up the phone to call his wife) Hello, honey, you better monitor the weather, it’s looking rough outside. Where are the kids? Outside playing? Well, bring them in. The radar on my computer screen is showing a big storm just north of Chickasha, and it’s headed this way.

Analog: I still only see blue sky out the window.

Digital: (still speaking into phone) I don’t care if it’s sunny out, I’m telling you my radar is showing a big storm brewing just south of here. I’ll call you with further updates. Bring the kids inside! Call my cell phone when you have them rounded up (hangs phone up).

Analog: I think you are scaring your family for no reason. You should trust your eyes. Look out the window! It’s sunny.

Digital: I don’t need a window! I’m wired into the weather service right here. I can zoom in on the screen and see within a half mile where the storm is, which way it’s moving and what the temperature is. See, it’s 62 degrees outside.

Analog: I can just walk outside and get a feel for the temperature.

Digital: Then I assume you aren’t concerned about your family’s welfare. They won’t be ready for this one when it blows through town.

Analog: We have a “safe room” in our garage.

Digital: (wireless telephone rings) Hello. You’ve got the kids? Good. Now, what’s your plan for when the storm hits?

Analog: My eyes are telling me it’s still sunny outside.

Digital: (still speaking into phone) Will you have time to drive to the community shelter? Yes, I know it’s still sunny outside, but the radar shows the storm has moved closer to the metro area. Herd the kids to the hall closet if you need to. OK, love you. Bye.

Analog: Hey, I’ve got to run out on an assignment. I’ll be back this afternoon.

Digital: Well, let me have your cell phone number so I can contact you in case there’s a weather emergency or something.

Analog: I don’t have a cell phone. Never had a need for one.

Digital: (head bangs against desk; heavy sigh) I give up.

Analog: (starts to walk out of the office) Later.

Digital: (jumps up and runs after Analog) Here, take my umbrella just in case.

That’s how we rolled in 2004. It was a different era. Pre-iPhone. Pre-News9 tornado warning.

Any resemblance to actual people is mere coincidence.