Horny for Hurricanes

Way to strike while the iron is hot, Lando.

Talk about RELEVANT!

Maybe you can make it in this business after all.

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Ahhh Florida, bath salts, and ice baths. Is this anything?

You know, the state gets a bad rep but if you can bear the absurd property prices, comical rates of insurance scams, and the actually deadly levels of humidity, it’s not a bad place to live.

There’s a geographic tradeoff for living in any state. If you live in California, you enjoy the Mediterranean climate, but your apartment building can come down on you during an earthquake. If you live in Wisconsin, the temperature is perfect for three-quarters of the year, then kills you for the remainder. If you live in Florida, you get the sunshine and beaches, but every now and then Mother Nature throws a giant fuck storm in your direction.  

You only need to live here for a year to recognize the typical weather small-talk pattern that occurs during and immediately after summer. It’s either “Fuck it’s hot” or “Are we going to die?”

As I sit here on a very non-ergonomic chair, typing away on a very outdated computer (two facts completely irrelevant to this piece), one of the largest hurricanes in recorded history is barreling its way through the “sunshine” state.

Millions of people are on the path of the storm. Property damage will likely be in the millions. And many are in immediate mortal danger.

So why am I a little excited about it?

Don’t leave me hanging, someone please relate.

There’s this unique feeling that comes with tracking a hurricane heading your way. Its equal parts fear, anxiety, and…arousal? Not like “I want to fuck that hurricane” type of arousal, but a very specific kind of anticipatory giddiness.

What is that feeling? – That morbid excitement of seeing a natural disaster heading in your direction.

I know I can’t be the only one because I feel it around me. If you don’t live in a hurricane zone you might not be able to relate, but when something like that is happening, it is literally the biggest topic of conversation. Everyone at the store is buying supplies; your neighbors are looking at each other’s houses to see who has put up shutters and who clearly can’t afford the mortgage payments; and suddenly half the people you know apparently have a meteorology degree.

I have a couple of friends like that. Otherwise normal people, who reveal their hidden weather kink when a hurricane is on the way. They start talking about spaghetti models, barometric pressures, and wind speeds with such confidence, that you almost forget they believe in astrology.

My friend Mike for instance; if he told me he stops watching porn before a hurricane because he masturbates to Jim Cantore’s shiny dome instead, I would believe him.

I’m not sure what it is about hurricanes in particular that elicits the type of excitement I sense in myself and in the people around me. Could it be some evolutionary psychological response to danger that helps make us more alert and improve our chances of survival? Could it be a person-specific manifestation of fear? I think it has something to do with hurricanes just being kinda cool.

Here’s a sentence: Hurricanes are by far my favorite natural disaster. 

They’re unique in that you can see them coming. A fire can spring in seconds and wreak devastation overnight. You may only have a few moments’ notice before an earthquake brings down your home. A tsunami can develop in minutes!

But a hurricane? It lets you know it’s on the way.

You get hour-by-hour updates of a hurricane’s development from a middling baby storm to an “OMG will anyone be able to afford homeowner’s insurance in Florida ever again”-level cyclone.

You have time to see it grow, you’re aware of how strong and large it’s going to be, and you always know its exact location as it heads in your general direction. There’s a certain nobility to that.

That’s why some part of me thinks we secretly like hurricanes.

You know how they say that in a farm you should never name livestock because you’ll get too attached, and it’ll hurt emotionally when you have to put it down? 

Well, we name hurricanes.

We discourage naming the cow that will feed a family. But I have a Milton heading my way that will end families.  

It’s like we want to get attached to these things. And for the few days before they arrive, we sort of do. 

Look, I’m no hero. I don’t think of myself as a maverick for admitting I’m a little horny for hurricanes (oh shit! There’s a title). I just want to know I’m not alone and want you to know you’re not alone either.

Stay safe Florida.