News flash: snow is cold, slick and icy

I’m thankful to be alive. For a moment I thought I had breathed my last. Snow has fallen, and if it weren’t for the local news I’m sure I’d have assumed room temperature by now. From their expert, on-the-spot reporters I have learned that snowstorms produce icy conditions, slick roads and cold temperatures.

Maybe I shouldn’t joke about death. I could meet my end at a moment’s notice. None of us are promised our next breath. So, for that next breath I am truly grateful. However, is there really a need for talking head reporters to tell us how to deal with every natural weather condition? To be brutally honest I don’t need it. In fact, I consider news coverage of most storms as an insult to my intelligence. Let me give some examples.

One reporter was “live on the street” in Salisbury, NC. He told me that I shouldn’t venture out in the two to four inches of snow. First, two to four inches isn’t exactly the storm of the century. Second, if roads were so impassable, how did the reporter get to Salisbury? Did he go by dogsled? Maybe a helicopter dropped him in on a cable, kind of like when Lucy Ricardo was lowered onto the cruise ship.

After telling me the gravity of my situation, the newsroom staff joked with the reporter about the coffee shop patrons across the street, who came out to wave at the news cameras. How did those people get to the coffee shop? I’ve heard that some people live at Starbucks. But I always considered that a metaphorical statement. My guess is that these people drove their cars, which rendered as ludicrous the entire report about impassable roads.

Another reporter positioned himself near the intersection of NC Highway 273 and I-85 in Belmont, NC. This guy came complete with props. He and his snow shovel proved that ice could actually be present in snow. Well how about that? Join him for his next jaw-dropping report, when he verifies the presence of water vapor in clouds. Please! The reporter shoveled the snow aside so viewers could see the ice patch he’d discovered. He scraped and scraped. He kept talking, but who could hear him? His shoveling obscured his every word. Good thing he had nothing worthwhile to report.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse out came the driving instructions. The shoveling reporter admonished a passing motorist for driving too fast for conditions, and then informed me that the offending driver was the type who’d be in the ditch thirty minutes later.

That’s a bit presumptuous. Who is this reporter is to determine the intentions or abilities of the car’s driver? The car looked to be traveling no more than 20 MPH. It wasn’t slipping, sliding or spinning in the least. And why say that the car would be in the ditch in thirty minutes? The reporter barely knew what was happening in the present, much less the future. That car could have slid into the grass at any moment. Or, its driver could’ve completed the journey without incident, just like untold numbers of drivers do every time snow falls.

That reporter ventured into the cold and snow, violating the very safety instructions he conveyed to me, just so I’d know that snow can be icy and roads can be slick. Stay at home next time, pal. Sit in front of the fire. Drink some hot chocolate. You served no useful purpose whatsoever.

If there’s anything worse than a Nostradamus wannabe reporter who states the obvious it’s a reporter who has no idea what’s going on. The final reporter I saw, before turning the channel in disgust, combined those two characteristics into one mindless, wholly unwatchable segment.

No remote report is complete without the perky blonde, and “Winter Blizzard Icy Blast 2010” (or whatever mindless moniker the media hung on this storm) is no exception. Let’s call the perky blonde “Bunny.” It just seems to fit.

Bunny was strategically perched on a highway overpass--bridges will freeze before the main roads, in case you didn’t know--and kicked off her report by telling me that it’s cold outside. Uh, Bunny, there’s snow and ice everywhere. I think I can figure out I don’t need my swim trunks today. Thanks anyway. Maybe you can return in August and tell me all about the summer’s heat.

If Bunny’s report were a prize fight it would’ve been stopped right there. Unfortunately, there was no referee and Bunny wouldn’t throw in the towel. At least she’s persistent. Bunny next told me that sleet was falling and could be plainly seen hitting her face. “It feels like hail,” Bunny exclaimed.

Bunny my dear, sleet can be difficult to see when you’re looking through the living room window. It’s nearly impossible to see on television. You’d have a better chance identifying stegosaurus DNA with a magnifying glass. However, I did learn one thing; Bunny has never been outside during a hailstorm.

Believe it or not, that wasn’t the worst of Bunny’s report. Remember that part about not knowing what you’re looking at? Well, Bunny’s obliviousness to her surroundings became evident just before she signed off. She told me that the roads were slick (thanks for the tip . . . again!) but that there were many cars traveling the interstate.

Bunny, switch to radio. On radio you can paint any picture you want and the listener will never know the difference. Television cameras have this tendency to show the situation as it exists. One car passed while Bunny talked about the high volume of traffic.

I’ll give the weather forecasters their kudos; they got this one right. The snow fell just as they predicted. But snow has fallen before, in much greater volumes, and will fall again no matter what Al Gore says. This isn’t the storm to end all storms. It’s not the end of the world. I’m confident in my knowledge that snow is cold and ice is slick; that roads can be slippery and that frigid air accompanies winter storms. I really don’t need reporters to share that information. I can walk out the front door and see it for myself. Unless I slip and bump my head, chances are good that I won’t die. Neither will you.