For a lot of folks, weather is nothing more than a topic of conversation, as in “What a beautiful day?” or “They’re calling for more snow.” But for me, weather is nothing short of a full-blown addiction. And believe me, it ain’t that pretty at all.
As I write these words, I’m unable to go more than an hour without bellying up to some TV set for the Weather Channel’s Tropical Update or Your Local on the 8s. In winter, I exercise to the pulsating rhythm of WLBZ’s Storm Center on my MP3 player. Doppler radar? Just the mere thought of it triggers the release of dopamine in my brain.
I keep asking myself, “How did I get here?”
I had what most would consider a normal childhood. I grew up on the streets of Brooklyn, riding my bike, playing stickball and dodging stray bullets on the subway.
But that all changed when I got to college.
It was 1968. Experimentation was all the rage. A bunch of students would gather in a dorm room, put a towel under the door, blast the Rolling Stones and turn on the first 24-hour weather channel. It consisted of nothing more than a series of dials showing the temperature, wind speed, humidity and barometric pressure — in black and white, no less.
Oh, it all seemed so innocent at the time. But doesn’t it always start that way?
After a while, my schoolmates would head off to class. But not me. I lingered for hours on end just to watch the wind speed dial move from 3 mph to 4 mph. Sure, it was exhilarating. But it was also dangerous. Clearly, I was playing with fire.
Needless to say, this deviant behavior put a serious cramp in my social life. I wasn’t exactly a co-ed magnet — or Dean’s list material, for that matter. For years, I kicked around from college to college. Yet in spite of it all, I maintained a solid “C” average and graduated from a hippie school in California, thanks in large part to “CliffsNotes” and pass/fail courses. My future was bright.
But it was not to be.
While many of my classmates moved on to more familiar compulsions such as alcohol, drugs, gambling, tobacco and caffeine — or just gave up and became Republicans — my weather monkey resurfaced years later in the most hideous manner.
In the early ’80s, a new, highly potent weather channel emerged. And it was unlike anything I’d experienced before. It had radar information, tornado and hurricane tracking, international weather, regional maps, five-day planners and — deadliest of all? — really hot-looking weather anchors. I was toast.
Since then, my life has been spiraling downhill. What began as innocent curiosity has turned into utter depravity.
But enough is enough. So last year I sought out professional help. As part of my therapy, my counselor suggested I develop a simple test for others to detect the telltale signs of this devastating illness. So here goes. Please answer truthfully.
— Do you feel the need to watch The Weather Channel when you first wake up?
— Do you know the names of every projected hurricane this year?
— Do you view local news merely as filler, before and after the weather segment?
— During lovemaking, does your mind wander — knowing there’s a tropical depression forming in the Gulf of Mexico?
— Do you secretly long to be a TV forecaster and engage in bouncy repartee with a much-too-bubbly news anchor?
If you answered “yes” to at least three of these questions, you’re a weather addict and need to seek professional help today. Just dial 1-800-IWANTTOLIVE.
If you answered “yes” to all five, forget the call. It’s much too late for that. You need to book your sorry butt — or “book yourself” — on the next nonstop flight to the Betty Ford Clinic.
OK, let’s review: “This is your brain. And this is your brain on weather.” Are there still any questions?
Eddie Adelman is a writer who lives in Belfast.