emily, dennis, and me

The good thing about having residual rain from a hurricane all last week is that we had a name for it. For instance, Dennis really helped out Mrs. Camino’s meager tomato and bell pepper crop and thus allowed us to enjoy some homemade pizza the other night while watching the DVD of the Coen brothers’ Blood Simple. Kudos to you, Dennis. Then again, that very same rat bastard Dennis made me late to work last Wednesday.

Why don’t we name all storms? We can generally see them coming from the west for days before they reach us, spurning tornadoes across Oklahoma and Nebraska as the jet stream ushers them along to the Atlantic. Sometimes they really screw us, and such relationships deserve participants on a first name basis.

I spent quite a bit of time in Gulf Shores while growing up, and she was beautiful for a touristy beach town until Ivan had his way with her. But for some strange reason I think the name helps get over the disturbing sight of all these familiar structures dispersed like piñata parts at a fiesta. I don’t think Emily would have the same effect. Emily was that bitchy blonde girl in second grade that didn’t invite you to her roller-skating birthday party. Naming a storm for her will only increase the rage and despair in her aftermath. You expect get your ass kicked by an Ivan, and it somehow doesn’t hurt as much.

I suppose you wouldn’t want an ass kicking from a Dennis either, as the name really is better suited for one who helps with produce. Be sure and check the nametags next time you’re in the organic market. You may very well find a Dennis, and you will be able to take him in a fight.

Naming significant weather systems will also give us something new to talk about when we have our meaningless weather conversations. Total strangers might see that you are soaking wet and say something like, “Looks like you’re covered in Gertrude from head to toe, son” or, “That Gertrude is a bitch, but she ain’t no Filbert.”

You will eventually punch them, but at first it will bring communities together.

We could even go so far as to have naming rights for storms and use the money to pay for the aftermath clean-up. I imagine that the Gaylord Opryland ice storm of 2006 will be an ungodly bastard, but it will almost pay for itself.

Then again, I doubt it will erase the shame in getting your ass kicked by a "Gaylord".