Regarding Weathermen
1) When in highschool, thanks to my repeated tardiness in returning those reply cards from the BMG CD Club, I was the surprise owner of Rage Against the Machine's self titled debut. At the time, the mix of overtly political rap with heavy and fast riffage made the disc a welcome addition to Helmet and the few other records living on the angry shelf of my music library. While the smash-the-state lyrics, speed and aggression were just the sort of dance partner that my so much male teenage suburban silliness required, the liner notes' declaration that no electronic synthesis was used in the recording of the album jibed well with my grunge-infused notion of what was authentic music. More than punk or hip-hop, the rap-rock album that sailed a thousand ships was the soundtrack to anger in daddy's car. I knew every note and, significantly for someone who doesn't pay much attention to lyrics, I knew every word.
Being as immediate, universal and, well, dumb as they were, I also understood the meaning behind all of them (contrasted to the Beastie Boys, many of whose similes, though equally juvenile, remain cloaked from my understanding). There was, however, one simile on that record of the burning Buddhist that I did not understand, and that was "Gotta get it, gotta get it together, man / like a muthafuckin weatherman." At the time I was vaguely aware of some group of radicals from the 60s called The Weathermen, and I assumed this was about them somehow, though it wasn't clear what it meant. However, to this day, I sometimes catch myself repeating that mantra whenever a meteorologist makes a bad call. Now, mellowed and aged like a Kentucky barrel, I wonder if, perhaps, Mr. De La Rocha was simply taking a two second break from all that indignant rage to bitch about some unpredicted rain.
2) In Austin, while employed in the newsroom of the local CBS affiliate, I worked with a few meteorologists. Unlike the other on-air talent, or certainly anyone else employed by the newsroom who suffered the slings and arrows of an open-concept workplace, the weatherman had a large room to themselves, with low light and a quiver of computers, printers, monitors and other equipment. In particular I remember a dot matrix printer that was connected to a national weather service network of some sort. A series of tones would pierce the akward silence of the room-into-which-you-are-not-allowed-to-venture, rousing the age-stained white plastic to life for a few brief moments before returning to its dreams of a time when ribbon cartridges were plentiful. In the hierarchy of people who take themselves seriously in the newsroom, no one you see on the air was ever at the top. But, in the upper-ranks of the people-whose-dry-cleaning-is-managed-by-the-station subset, weathermen were or are near the pinnacle. How seriously, after-all, can you be if you are able to maintain your composure while listening to the third knucklehead mom in a week cry about her unattended non-swimming little child drowning in the pool she confused for a baby sitter. Is that really news? Not having children, a pool or a complete lack of parenting skills, does this really apply to me?
Weathermen, on the other hand, know that the news and predictions they relate are applicable to everyone within the sound of their voice. One in particular, I recall, handled himself with the sort of gravitas that could never be applicable to anyone who did a sweeps-week undercover expose on strippers breaking the 3-foot rule. The weathermen at the station had access to an incredible amount of resources, and their importance in the overall ratings picture plays that out – what other personality or subject has three separate appearances in a newscast?
3) The Weathermen in Houston are sensationalists like none I have ever known or seen. They have taken erring on the side of hysteria to new levels of LOL. Even in the face of what must be several hundreds of thousands of strong, recent memories of being stuck on the highway for 12 hours fleeing a storm that didn't arrive, I find myself in a nearly empty office, having made my commute on nearly empty roads. Oh havoc, my herald of Stronmaus, when you speak with brow furrowed, how we do listen.
Being as immediate, universal and, well, dumb as they were, I also understood the meaning behind all of them (contrasted to the Beastie Boys, many of whose similes, though equally juvenile, remain cloaked from my understanding). There was, however, one simile on that record of the burning Buddhist that I did not understand, and that was "Gotta get it, gotta get it together, man / like a muthafuckin weatherman." At the time I was vaguely aware of some group of radicals from the 60s called The Weathermen, and I assumed this was about them somehow, though it wasn't clear what it meant. However, to this day, I sometimes catch myself repeating that mantra whenever a meteorologist makes a bad call. Now, mellowed and aged like a Kentucky barrel, I wonder if, perhaps, Mr. De La Rocha was simply taking a two second break from all that indignant rage to bitch about some unpredicted rain.
2) In Austin, while employed in the newsroom of the local CBS affiliate, I worked with a few meteorologists. Unlike the other on-air talent, or certainly anyone else employed by the newsroom who suffered the slings and arrows of an open-concept workplace, the weatherman had a large room to themselves, with low light and a quiver of computers, printers, monitors and other equipment. In particular I remember a dot matrix printer that was connected to a national weather service network of some sort. A series of tones would pierce the akward silence of the room-into-which-you-are-not-allowed-to-venture, rousing the age-stained white plastic to life for a few brief moments before returning to its dreams of a time when ribbon cartridges were plentiful. In the hierarchy of people who take themselves seriously in the newsroom, no one you see on the air was ever at the top. But, in the upper-ranks of the people-whose-dry-cleaning-is-managed-by-the-station subset, weathermen were or are near the pinnacle. How seriously, after-all, can you be if you are able to maintain your composure while listening to the third knucklehead mom in a week cry about her unattended non-swimming little child drowning in the pool she confused for a baby sitter. Is that really news? Not having children, a pool or a complete lack of parenting skills, does this really apply to me?
Weathermen, on the other hand, know that the news and predictions they relate are applicable to everyone within the sound of their voice. One in particular, I recall, handled himself with the sort of gravitas that could never be applicable to anyone who did a sweeps-week undercover expose on strippers breaking the 3-foot rule. The weathermen at the station had access to an incredible amount of resources, and their importance in the overall ratings picture plays that out – what other personality or subject has three separate appearances in a newscast?
3) The Weathermen in Houston are sensationalists like none I have ever known or seen. They have taken erring on the side of hysteria to new levels of LOL. Even in the face of what must be several hundreds of thousands of strong, recent memories of being stuck on the highway for 12 hours fleeing a storm that didn't arrive, I find myself in a nearly empty office, having made my commute on nearly empty roads. Oh havoc, my herald of Stronmaus, when you speak with brow furrowed, how we do listen.
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