As a kid growing up in hurricane country, I was obsessed with the ne’er do wells on the news weaving in front of their trailer park with a beer, their panties blown over their face, hollering, “It’s just a little weather, I ain’t a’gwyin’ nowhere!” There weren’t many hurricanes at all back then, but those that showed up were destructive as hell. Melting down crayons for candles and telling batshit ghost stories was a good as it got.
Since becoming a Californian eons ago, I always have my doubts when LA forecasters predict anything but cool nights and sunshine. Ask anyone here. You look at your phone, it says, “80% chance of rain,” you go, “Yeah, sure,” and get on with your day.
So when the partner texts me at midnight last night, my heart skipped a beat: “Have I found myself on one of those sketchy news outlets or is there an actual hurricane headed our way?” he asked. I was sure it was the former so I turned out the light and waited until morning to check it out.
I still find myself moving from webpage to webpage as I don’t trust what I’m seeing: Hurricane Hilary is headed for Southern California and is expected to become a Cat 4 storm. The last time a tropical storm officially made land in California was when The Wizard of Oz, Gone With The Wind, and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington were playing on local screens. Wrap your head around that. Because of the cooler Pacific Ocean temps, the worst it could probably do is bring lots of rain to stave off any scary wildfires or knock out some power (or ‘current’ as they say in the south) here and there.
As stated, when it comes to weather, I’m a jaded Los Angelean. Nothing will come from it, of that I am sure. But just in case, I’ll be sure to have some beer in the fridge and a clean pair of panties. I aint a’gwyin’ nowhere.