Typhoon'd!

There are rainy days, thunderstorms, heavy winds and bad storms - ruins your weekend plans! All these terms are mild compared to a typhoon, which has been flattening Taiwan for a few days now.

Typhoons, Snooki from the Jersey Shore, hurricanes, and cyclones are all similar terminologies - a large, slow-moving hot mess of air and wind causing complete devastation wherever it may travel. Names are derived from the origin of the storm meaning that storms forming above a certain longitude in the Western Pacific are typhoons and Eastern Pacific storms are called hurricanes.

After tireless research on the World Meteorological Organization, I also learned that the actual storm names (Hurriane Andrew, Typhoon Helena, etc.) are listed a year in advance and used when necessary, which I think is unfair. And some names don't really invoke feelings of fear. Hurricane Earl? Have you ever met anybody named Earl? I haven't. Tropical Storm Gaston? I can see the reports now - "This inherently chic storm will down trees in your neighborhood while sporting a tampico brown cardigan and quickly flip your car anchored in the agile, olive aviation trousers with a flawless, pearl chiffon to bring balance to this ensemble." Rubbish. What about Cyclone John Wayne Gacy? Or maybe Hurricane Willem DaFoe? Typhoon Brangelina? Serious business all around.

This weekend, I was supposed to go to the beach. The only problem was the storm swallowed it up and visiting hours were revoked. Pity. Instead of waking up in sand and ordering a frozen drink with a tiny umbrella in it, I had to settle for a concrete jungle, real umbrella in hand and no libations to be found. At 8:00AM local time, the noise was deafening - winds well over 50MPH, rain falling in every direction and the noise of apartments coming apart; doors smashing into their weak frames, windows buckling, garbage bins whizzing around like discarded newspapers were all too common. Like Dorothy, I was convinced that my home was about to be lifted from it's foundation, sending the occupants to a strange new place where everybody was short and spoke in weird tongues. But then again, that wouldn't be very different from my current situation.

So I went outside. I had to! I had no food! Or beer! And to my surprise, I made it back, eventually. The scene outside was outrageous; scooters toppling over like they were made of straw, door mats in front of restaurants taking off into oncoming traffic, loose garbage moving at the speed of light, inside-out umbrellas cruising at low altitudes like a Tomahawk missile. Of course I'm one of the few brave (dumb) people on the street checking out the scene but I've never been in a typhoon, this is valuable primary research. Walking against the wind was laborious, one really has to lean forward and push off each step with conviction. The wind kept whipping debris in my face - plastic bags, cigarette butts, children, leaves - but I had to keep going. About twenty minutes later, or two blocks, I had returned to the apartment, safe and alive with my treasure in tote.

The typhoon season is coming to an end, I have won this battle. For now, I burrow in my nest enjoying the Asahi beer that I desperately needed. The storm will be over in a day or two, but it will be back - maybe not next week, or the week after, or the week after, or the week after...or the week after...but it will be back.