Irene’s just a tease, I hear Katia moves fast

So I had a lot of time to ponder while nervously awaiting the oncoming apocalypse last weekend.  I of course refer to the mighty, ferocious Irene that tore through New York City delivering inconvenience (What do you mean no subways?  Can I at least find a cab?), annoyance (I ordered my General Tsao’s an hour ago.  What’s the hold up?) and a little bit of rain to its inhabitants.

But between growing stir crazy in my StarKist, Poland Spring and Duracell stocked apartment and now hearing all this news on Katia, got to thinking – why is it that hurricanes are the only natural disaster named after people - I mean, it’s called the “1906 San Francisco Earthquake” or the “Great San Francisco Earthquake” not “Earthquake Coco” – and beyond that, when did this whole naming Hurricanes after people thing begin?

The deal with hurricanes (as opposed to say tsunamis, tornados, earthquakes) is that they rarely strike unexpected, and they typically go on for an extended period so you’ve got a little forewarning – and with forewarning you’ve got time to deal with the essentials – like choosing the name of the destructor. 

(Yeah yeah, there is actually a system to this choice.  Or if, rather, you now have the hankering to rewatch this …)

But this whole modern system of Atlantic hurricanes being named exclusively after people began in 1953 – at which point Atlantic hurricanes began to be named not only exclusively after people but exclusively after women.

Alice, Barbara, Carol, Dolly, Edna, Florence, Gail, Hazel – cute as a button waitresses at the local Soda Fountain?  Nope. Not so much girls next door as femme nikitas:  In the early 1950s these were the original hurricanes.

As time went on some saucier gals did finally enter the mix -  Francelia, Gabrielle, Claudette, Kendra – much more suitable names if you ask me.  I mean, you’d expect Edna to make a crackerjack peach cobbler, but you’d expect Kendra to blow like a champ.  And in 1979 at long last the boys were invited to the dance and the he-hurricanes joined the party.

“Oooh – a man – a man.  Finally a man!” Ana and Greta and especially that hussy Flossie just cannot wait.  After all this time, at last there’ll be a man on the block.  Strong, sexy, enigmatic, and just -  manly.

And who enters the scene? The eagerly awaited very first he-hurricane?  This epitome of suavity, mystery and might?

Bob.

The schlubby, impotent Hurricane Bob (I mean, he only kept it up for a week).

Sorry, Flossie.  But hey – later that season you’ll have Frederic to look forward to (20 days and nights.) And in years to come some of Bob’s more studly, worldly bros will join the festivities - Marco, Jose, the dearly departed Klaus – I mean, it’s like a carefully assembled soccer team!

Oh how progressive and welcoming we’ve become.  How diverse our hurricanes have grown.  I must admit, however, that as an African American I do feel a bit neglected.  What’s the deal?  We’ve got a black president but apparently the world’s not quite ready for Hurricane Leroy ….