Where Is Jim Cantore??

In the panic and paranoia that precedes a hurricane like Gustav, it is easy to get lost in the endless and diverse predictions about who is going to suffer death and destruction. After all, the National Hurricane Center issues hurricane warnings that stretch for hundreds of miles--they can't even tell you where the storm will hit, and preface every one of their discussions with a statement to that effect. And even if "Hurricane conditions are expected within 24 hours," there is a big difference between 74 mph winds and 140 mph winds, between a six-foot storm surge and a 25-foot storm surge. Who's going to get it?? It may be easiest to believe that one pundit who brings the storm to your backyard--because paranoia likes being right--but if you really, really want to know where the storm is going, you need only ask one question:

"Where is Jim Cantore??"

That son of a bitch from the Weather Channel is the goddamn right hand of Satan. About 24-36 hours before the storm hits, Jim meanders down to some little coastal town and hunkers down in a hotel. And then he waits for the storm to come to him.

And it does. Like some kind of hurricane whisperer, Jim coaxes these little cyclones toward his cameras just so he can perform his award-winning ,"Macho Weatherman" type of journalism. Jim duly notes the passage of the storm as the world falls apart around him. He will masterfully watch the storm surge sweep away Chevrolets ("The tide is a bit higher than average!") and he will give due consideration to the hotel that collapses beside his bunker ("We have debris!").

My advice for getting through tropical events is simple. Don't panic, don't be paranoid. Unless you see Jim Cantore at your local supermarket. Then you should run like hell.

Why are you smiling, Jim??