Of unmatched beauty and weather phenomena:

Well, I saw satellite photos of Tropical Storm Chris, though by the time you read this, it may be Tropical Depression Chris or something even less. The center of circulation was well-removed from the main line of thunderstorms associated with that little bastard, or, in layman's terms, that storm got bitch-slapped by some upper level wind shear. So, on that note, I wish a long, restful, and permanent slumber for that storm and its ilk.

In a related bit of good news, Dr. Gray, respected meteorologist, has revised down his tropical forecast, down to 15 named storms, 7 hurricanes, with 3 of those being major hurricanes. This is down from the earlier prediction of 17 named storms, 9 hurricanes, with 5 of those being major hurricanes. That said, better news is better, not necessarily good.

In my area, there are (or were until the last year or two) two storms the old-timers talked about as examples of times to bend over and kiss your ass goodbye: Hurricane Frederic in 1979, and Hurricane Camille in 1969, the sixth and third named storms of their year, respectively. 1979 was a slightly less active than normal year, with 8 named storms, with six of those being hurricanes and two of those hurricanes achieving major storm (category 3 or higher) status. Hurricane Frederic made landfall on September 12, 1979, providing but one small bit of proof that it only takes one storm to wreck lives and have the potential for widescale loss of life.

Camille, now that was a scary cunt. She was, obviously, the third named storm of the 1969 Atlantic hurricane season. In the Atlantic basin, only the Labor Day hurricane of 1935 made landfall with a lower central pressure. She made landfall on August 17, 1969, a few years before I was born. The coastal counties of Alabama are a nice stretch of highway from Pass Christian, MS, an area you may know from stories about Hurricane Katrina, though you probably don't because it's not New Orleans. Even so, I've heard some interesting stories about that particular beast. Oh, and apparently, the Richelieu Manor Apartments hurricane party is merely a persistent urban legend, though I've heard some interesting tellings of it. At this point, my point falls apart because 1969 was one of the most active seasons on record.

I started off this post angry, but now I just feel numb and with a sense of relief that I know will be short-lived. Fuck it.