The facts
On September 20, the Associated Press reported the formation of Tropical Storm Fay in the northern Atlantic Ocean. Fay had maximum sustained winds of 65 mph and was located approximately 405 miles southwest of the Azores, an autonomous region of Portugal. The National Hurricane Center indicated that no coastal watches or warnings were in effect for Fay, and it was expected to dissipate by the end of the week. Earlier, Fay's winds had measured 45 mph, with expectations of short-term strengthening.
Separately, Tropical Storm Odalys formed southwest of Mexico's west coast. The hurricane center placed Odalys about 1,345 miles west-southwest of the southern tip of Baja California, with maximum sustained winds of 50 mph. Odalys was moving west-northwest at 10 mph and was forecast to strengthen into a hurricane within approximately one day. The Associated Press noted that neither storm had coastal watches or warnings issued.
Our take
Well, shit. The National Hurricane Center has officially confirmed that the Atlantic Ocean has gotten bored and started stirring its own drink. The result is Tropical Storm Fay, a 65 mph sigh of meteorological apathy currently spinning its wheels roughly 405 miles from the nearest island that gives a fuck. It’s the storm equivalent of angrily pacing in your living room - lots of sound and fury, signifying absolutely nothing, because it’s headed for open water and a scheduled disintegration by Friday. The only thing it’s threatening is the sanity of any hurricane chaser who wasted gas money to go look at it.
Meanwhile, over in the Pacific, its slightly more ambitious sibling, Tropical Storm Odalys, is mustering the energy to maybe become a hurricane in a day or so. Its grand ambition? To continue moving west-northwest at a blistering 10 mph, putting it a cool 1,345 miles from the tip of Baja California. That’s like announcing you’re going to run a marathon and then getting on a bus going the opposite direction. The ‘coastal threat’ from these two chucklefucks is so nonexistent that the NHC couldn’t even be bothered to issue a ‘watch,’ just a collective national shrug.
This is weather as performance art for an audience of fish. Two perfectly good tropical storms, with all that potential for televised panic and plywood sales, just pissing away their lives in the middle of fucking nowhere. They’re the meteorological version of that guy who revs his shitty muscle car at a stoplight… and then turns into a quiet suburb. All that buildup, all that hot air, and the only thing getting blown is their chance to matter. The ocean cooked up these half-assed tempests just to remind us it can, and that we’ll still report on it with straight faces. What a waste of perfectly good wind.
