It was so hot this summer, the cows were giving evaporated milk. – Talk show host Johnny Carson
I remember cycling to school in the early morning in Seremban during the early 70s. It was almost always cool.
My wife remembers attending school in Malacca and having to wear a sweater because, with the fan, the classroom could get “chilly.”
Of course, Malacca had those breezes coming off the sea and that must have helped. Even so, most of us slept under fans and were usually huddled under blankets by the time dawn rolled around.
I am in Singapore now, an island where there’s supposed to be winds coming offits waters. I woke up early this morning, around 5.30 or so which is ridiculous for me, but it is what it is, whatever that means.
That’s the trouble with air-conditioning: it takes the “chill” right off the “cool” morning air.
I’d stepped out of the house only to find it wasn’t cool at all. More like another muggy morning in the balmy tropics. Balmy would work: Siri informed me it was 26 degrees Celsius “right now.”
And it wasn’t even six: It was going to be a long day.
Climate change is, apparently, here to stay. But there must be a middle ground: the truth must lie somewhere between The Donald’s sweeping dismissal of it as a “hoax” and people on the lunatic left claiming it’s so hot in the Southern United States during summer that hens are laying “fried eggs.”
That something has changed is obvious. In Malaysia and Singapore at least, we are spared earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, cyclones, or volcanoes. But the severity of such events in other countries seems to be increasing at an alarming rate.
I have a former university mate who’s settled in Tampa, Florida. He sent me pictures of his house after Hurricane Milton had torn through Tampa early this week.
Part of a tree had gone through an upstairs bedroom. Guru’s a musician with a sense of humour so he’d probably have sung Raindrops Were Falling on my Bed. But it must have been terrifying, what with the sound, and the fury, and the said drops being the size of teacups.
That’s why they should stop naming destructive storms after meek and not so great comedians. Milton Berle springs to mind….
…Guy falls down a flight of steps. Bystander asks: “Did you miss a step?”
Guy: “No, I hit every one of them.”
You get the point. Storms should be named appropriately, for all their destructive power and potential. Like Beryl (the Peril) or Cyrus (the Virus). Now, those are excellent substitutes. Even Anthrax, Beetlejuice, Mephistopheles or Cujo are horror-appropriate replacements.
There’s no end of alternative names. Starting with A, there’s Armageddon, for instance.
If you can’t spell the word, don’t worry. Neither can most six graders and, anyway, it’s not like it’s the end of the world or anything.
Having said that, people must agree on the basics. But there are still Neanderthals out there. There is Marjorie Greene, for instance, a Congresswoman who claims President Biden’s government has the power to transform a Meek Downpour into the Tyrannosaurus Rex of Hurricanes, that he created Hurricane Milton out of nothing.
And this was the fellow they’d been mocking as Sleepy Joe, the old geezer who helped draft Lincoln’s Gettysburg address!
Now He’s God?
ENDS
Speakeasy 