Lemme Blow Your House Down, Anna Mae

There is no reason for Miami to exist in August and early September. Either we get hit by hurricanes, or we get near-misses, and we spend the whole period wondering if we’re going to have to lie on sweaty sheets and live on warm sandwiches and hand-wash our underwear again. It’s too bad the whole town can’t just disappear on August 1 and reappear in October. In fact, that’s almost what happens. This place is empty in August. Everyone who can afford it is in North Carolina or Europe. We’ve ruined North Carolina. There are so many of us up there, it’s not worth going.

Hanna is taking a nice pounding from wind shear, and because it developed where it did, it’s facing steering currents which should curve it out to sea until it either vanishes or hits another state as a weak storm. It looks like the Bahamas got a break, which is nice, because Bahamians never shift out of first gear. Getting things done in the Bahamas is not easy. Imagine living on a Bahamian island where half of the houses need hurricane repairs.

I want to be fair. It’s true; some Bahamians are businesslike and efficient. They’re called “Americans.” They all moved here, years ago. Okay, not all. But a lot.

I remember spending time in Nassau in about 1991. Aaron was there. We were on my dad’s boat. Somehow, we had managed to dig the props into some coral, and my dad and I had to roam around the city looking for someone to true a shaft. Think about this. The town depends on the sea. It’s jam-packed with yachts and cruise ships. In Miami, which is also a bad place to be when your boat needs work, I can drive to Miami Propeller, drop the stuff off on Monday, and pick it up on Friday. Big props, little props, big shafts, little shafts; doesn’t matter. But Nassau had one guy, with a name like “Winkie.” He worked in an open shed. All he could do was heat the shaft with a torch and bang on it and then turn it in a jig to see if it was true.

I don’t know what the deal is. Maybe it’s hard to open a business over there, but I somehow doubt it, because Bahamian life does not seem highly regulated. Of course, I suppose that if I were an enterprising Bahamian with a business idea, my first move would be to buy a ticket to Florida.

Fun place, the Bahamas. Too bad it’s not a state. The economy would go insane.

Ike is looking pretty scary right now. It’s expected to be a Category 3 on the way across the Bahamas, and the current Cone of Death is suddenly centered directly over my head! Not again! How many hurricanes have hit me since 2000? Four? I can’t even remember. Katrina, Wilma, Rita…three? I am now officially competing with Ward Brewer for the title of Hurricane Magnet of the Decade.

Josephine is the only storm that really makes me happy at this point. It’s weak, it’s far away, it’s expected to go to the middle of the Atlantic, and it’s named after the world’s most famous exotic dancer.

The bizarre fact that keeps me afloat these days is this: the appearance of several simultaneous storms does not mean the rest of the season will be bad. This has happened before, and it happened during perfectly ordinary seasons. So we shouldn’t count on one storm a week for the rest of the year. I don’t think we’ll be dipping into the Greek letters again. Nonetheless, I grudgingly admit that Al Gore and the Global Warming fans are getting some nice breaks here. And I may be in for a lousy week.

When you have storms out there, it messes up your life. The weather here gets drippy and nasty, so you don’t feel like doing anything outdoors. Fishing is out of the question. Going to the range is not easy. You just feel like slumping on the couch and waiting for things to clear up. You can’t go anywhere, because while you’re gone, a storm could go crazy and make a beeline for your house. Now that I think about it, it’s odd that people feel brave enough to go on vacation in August.

Pray that Ike breaks up and heads out to sea. I would not wish an August hurricane on Michael Vick.