We are boring because we can be interesting. But maybe we are just a little more boring than we are interesting. Interest peaks over a boring base state. Should I add that we are also stupid because we are wise?
Capable as we are of discovering and achieving much, we often get stuck on old grudges, daily weather, and the topics and perspectives that sundry media repeatedly force on us: Fashion, gossip (about some celebrity or person we do not know and will never meet), climate, racism, gender, political extremes, government (overreach, waste, corruption), and abortion. Such topics are centers of discussions that we just can’t resolve in some gray compromise, mostly because we can’t complete or choose in our sloth not to complete complex arguments in a fast-paced world of TikTok and YouTube shorts and Twitter aphorisms. “Just give me the headlines.” So we harp. And harp. And harp, strumming the strings of just a few tunes repeatedly, simple tunes, really, nothing complex. The lyrics for the strummed notes are just about as predictable as the rising Sun. What, may I ask, have you heard recently that you might label “new” with regard to any of these topics? What primary or secondary research have you done to make your own perspective “interesting”?
“Whoa!” you say. “Maybe you find discussions of those topics boring, Donald, but I see them as crucial to a life well-lived in a complex society. By the way, those topics aren’t minor matters, my friend. They are the heart of today’s social interactions. They keep us engaged. You’re missing the reality that these topics do peak interest and make living in the twenty-first century interesting. Sure, we divide ourselves on our perspectives, but that’s a product of our wisdom and freedom to express. And you miss that each person finds identity by taking a stance on these matters. Remember the Delphic maxim? Knowing oneself is primary. Finding identity in these topics gives one identity.”
I wasn’t surprised to hear one of the ladies of The View and a CNN host link Hurricane Ian to climate change. Why wouldn’t they? Both are convinced that this topic, that is, the topic of climate change or global warming, is one of those few topics over which people—at least people in the news—obsess. And since the obsession to tie climate to politics is now endemic in the minds of billions, then neither I nor anyone else should be surprised by the supposed link the lady and the guy see between 2022’s Ian and global warming. And—b-o-r-i-n-g—every topic like climate change is today a political topic, so if one can link individual storms and climate, then one can easily see the difference between “right views” from “wrongheaded ones.” I suppose that one can also link climate change to morality because even the Pope has entered the climate debate.
As Ian formed and approached Florida, I noted to my spouse that the storm would be linked to climate in the mainstream media—and we all know which media that includes. Thus, the devastating storms of the Caribbean and Gulf, having raged over the land since there was a Caribbean and Gulf—go ask the Arawaks, the Maya, the Aztecs, the Seminoles, and the conquistadors—are now somehow manmade and not part of some cyclic natural phenomena. Shouldn’t we all wise up? Not to see popularized indisputable link and not to obsess over the storm’s assumed cause puts one in a minority labeled “deniers.” There’s a message in the storm, and only a foolish few—I suppose like me—are incapable of reading it. Boring.
“Get with the program. What’s wrong with you, Donald. Can’t you reason that very warm ocean water made the storm as powerful as it was, causing probably more damage than all but four previous hurricanes?”
No. Actually, I do know that the water was warm—as it usually is by the end of summer’s prolonged daylight—and I might even accept that the water was “warmer than usual” for Ian’s development. But usual is one of those catchall boring terms. How far back can we go to trace surface water temperatures? We have no temperature records of those temperatures when a hurricane following almost the same path as Ian sank the Nuestra Señora de Atocha and other Spanish galleons in 1622 near the Florida Keys. Anyway, do you think that 1622 storm caused as much devastation on the land as Ian caused?
“What?”
Yep. In our boring arrogance, we humans have decided that we can live anywhere—regardless of the physical phenomena of a place. Build on the San Andreas Fault? No problem. Build along a coast or on a low-lying island that will inevitably get hit by a hurricane or tsunami? No problem. Build in the shadow of an active volcano? No problem. What are the chances, right? And one might live a century on a fault or coast or low-lying island or at the foot of a volcano without a disaster. Then again… The 29,000 people who died in Saint-Pierre in 1902 when Mount Pelée erupted made their homes beneath a volcano that had erupted at least a couple of dozen times over the previous five millennia, and even after the 1902 eruption, some chose to re-inhabit Saint-Pierre. Are we really wise? Isn’t settling at the base of an active volcano a man-made disaster in the making? In fact, in 1929, residents of Saint-Pierre evacuated under the threat of a second twentieth-century eruption. Is it our arrogance or our stupidity that makes us live where Earth proves to be more dangerous? And is it our boring nature to ascribe an individual event to a disputable global trend?
In 1966, my spouse and I had reservations for a cottage on Sanibel Island, that same place where Hurricane Ian wreaked its havoc on September 29, 2022. Sparsely populated and underdeveloped at the time of our trip, Sanibel was an island wilderness known for its sea shells and not for expensive accommodations. Property was cheap. An acre went for about $2,500. In 2022, just before Ian hit, some half-acre and smaller lots were on the market for as much as $900,000, and condos and homes ranged from $300,000 to $4,000,000+. Pricey.
As we traveled toward Florida, we became aware of a June hurricane called Alma, the first June hurricane since 1951. (In fact, June hurricanes are so rare that no such storm had made landfall in the U.S. since 1825) Alma headed for Sanibel and eventually trekked a path almost identical to that of Ian, crossing into the Florida peninsula somewhat farther north, causing $10 million in damages overall in the state, drowning two, fostering heart attacks in another two, and with downed power lines, leading to the deaths of another two Floridians who were electrocuted. A ten-foot storm surge washed over New Port Richey. Was the ocean water “warmer” than usual that year? Was the 1966 storm the product of global warming? Was the storm that sank Nuestra Señora de Atocha the product of global warming in 1622?
Calling ahead to assess the conditions of the cottage, we were told by the owner “to give us a day or two for cleanup.” So, we postponed our arrival in an era before 24/7 news coverage and sophisticated modeling of storm tracks. I had to rely on my car’s AM radio and on newspapers to discover where I could shelter without encountering the storm. When we eventually drove over the now damaged causeway and onto the island, we saw no apparent destruction because Sanibel offered little to damage, even for a category 1 storm.
Not so with Ian. Granted, Ian was stronger than Alma, but Ian also had something—lots of things, really—to destroy. Sanibel and neighboring Captiva Island in 2022 were pre-Ian highly developed landscapes, not the largely wild islands of 1966 when Alma hit.
And that might be something the lady on The View and the guy at the CNN news desk might have taken into account instead of the boring and unprovable link between worldwide climate change and the intensity of a specific storm. No doubt the experienced Spanish sailors of the 16th and 17th centuries thought the hurricanes they encountered were extraordinarily strong storms to which their sunken treasure ships attest. And no doubt, since I brought up the subject of building over the San Andreas Fault, the damage of the next earthquake will generate a larger economic and human impact than the last major earthquake. (Also, the next large earthquake will probably generate speculation that its intensity is related to climate change in the minds of CNN reporters, just as the passing of an asteroid was linked by a CNN anchor to global warming during an interview with Bill Nye)
We are boring when we obsess over standardized ways of discussing any topic. “Just give me the short version” is an admission that our patience runs out when someone wants to pursue a topic through an elaborate argument. (And, of course, we are boring when we go into great detail with someone not willing to listen) It’s what I call the Algebra Teacher Principle. Algebra teachers want students to show all their work; their students want to take short cuts. The lady on The View and the anchor on CNN wanted the “short version” of Hurricane Ian, and that version involved standardized talking points, boring talking points that advance no new knowledge, but rely instead on popular assumptions.
Should I fault the TV personalities for being so predictable and boring? Probably not. True, they could delve into the actual complex science of climate, a subject that includes ocean currents, land-water distribution, latitudinal effects, orographic barriers, altitude, continentality, prevailing wind systems, evapotranspiration, Hadley Cells, Milankovich cycles, and other features, including soil development and processes like the molecular interactions among atmospheric components and the relationship between albedo, clouds, and the thickness of the troposphere. For the host or anchor of a TV show, it is just simpler to connect global warming and a specific storm, and it’s made especially truer for them because of the popularization of the idea of climate change serves a political agenda.
But it is all so boring. And it’s especially boring when talking points are all we hear. For a species that prides itself on wisdom, we seem to rely more on hearsay, innuendo, rumor, incomplete knowledge, presumptions, and foregone conclusions.
I think of the movie Amadeus and the entrance of Mozart while Sallieri plays a rather simple composition he wrote in honor of the young genius. Mozart, not one to follow etiquette and refrain from insult, sits and replays from memory what Sallieri wrote, but in doing so elaborates in the best tradition of ingenious improvisation. He makes the work interesting by adding details.
So, yes, I’m bored with the climate-change, global-warming talk and incessant connections that further an agenda without advancing knowledge. Individual storms have come and gone not only in Earth’s atmosphere, but in the atmospheres of all planets that have an envelope of gases. Maybe Jupiter’s Giant Red Spot, which is twice the size of Earth, is an exception to the ephemeral nature of storms, but it, too, seems to show signs of change.
All the boring talk would be simply boring if it was not dangerously boring. The prattling few with a microphone have ensured a conclusion in the political class that they must act drastically and alter a thriving economy with decrees that must be enacted overnight, such as California’s decision to “go electric” on a power grid that can’t handle the current draw. The prattling few will say, regardless of historical data to the contrary, that hurricanes are strengthening because the damage they cause is greater. They assume climate and not population distribution and construction in hurricane-prone areas is solely the cause of such destruction.
If you step in the path of a bullet, you are likely to be hit. The Gulf and Atlantic Coast communities survive only when the shooter has a poor aim. But the target is large and has been getting larger over the past four hundred years—and with regard to Sanibel Island and Fort Myers Beach, larger just over the past half century. Man-made disaster? Think building rather than climate. Electric cars in California—or elsewhere-won’t prevent the next disastrous hurricane, earthquake, tsunami, tornado, or volcanic eruption (or, CNN anchor, bolide impact).
Capable as we are of discovering and achieving much, we often get stuck on old grudges, daily weather, and the topics and perspectives that sundry media repeatedly force on us: Fashion, gossip (about some celebrity or person we do not know and will never meet), climate, racism, gender, political extremes, government (overreach, waste, corruption), and abortion. Such topics are centers of discussions that we just can’t resolve in some gray compromise, mostly because we can’t complete or choose in our sloth not to complete complex arguments in a fast-paced world of TikTok and YouTube shorts and Twitter aphorisms. “Just give me the headlines.” So we harp. And harp. And harp, strumming the strings of just a few tunes repeatedly, simple tunes, really, nothing complex. The lyrics for the strummed notes are just about as predictable as the rising Sun. What, may I ask, have you heard recently that you might label “new” with regard to any of these topics? What primary or secondary research have you done to make your own perspective “interesting”?
“Whoa!” you say. “Maybe you find discussions of those topics boring, Donald, but I see them as crucial to a life well-lived in a complex society. By the way, those topics aren’t minor matters, my friend. They are the heart of today’s social interactions. They keep us engaged. You’re missing the reality that these topics do peak interest and make living in the twenty-first century interesting. Sure, we divide ourselves on our perspectives, but that’s a product of our wisdom and freedom to express. And you miss that each person finds identity by taking a stance on these matters. Remember the Delphic maxim? Knowing oneself is primary. Finding identity in these topics gives one identity.”
I wasn’t surprised to hear one of the ladies of The View and a CNN host link Hurricane Ian to climate change. Why wouldn’t they? Both are convinced that this topic, that is, the topic of climate change or global warming, is one of those few topics over which people—at least people in the news—obsess. And since the obsession to tie climate to politics is now endemic in the minds of billions, then neither I nor anyone else should be surprised by the supposed link the lady and the guy see between 2022’s Ian and global warming. And—b-o-r-i-n-g—every topic like climate change is today a political topic, so if one can link individual storms and climate, then one can easily see the difference between “right views” from “wrongheaded ones.” I suppose that one can also link climate change to morality because even the Pope has entered the climate debate.
As Ian formed and approached Florida, I noted to my spouse that the storm would be linked to climate in the mainstream media—and we all know which media that includes. Thus, the devastating storms of the Caribbean and Gulf, having raged over the land since there was a Caribbean and Gulf—go ask the Arawaks, the Maya, the Aztecs, the Seminoles, and the conquistadors—are now somehow manmade and not part of some cyclic natural phenomena. Shouldn’t we all wise up? Not to see popularized indisputable link and not to obsess over the storm’s assumed cause puts one in a minority labeled “deniers.” There’s a message in the storm, and only a foolish few—I suppose like me—are incapable of reading it. Boring.
“Get with the program. What’s wrong with you, Donald. Can’t you reason that very warm ocean water made the storm as powerful as it was, causing probably more damage than all but four previous hurricanes?”
No. Actually, I do know that the water was warm—as it usually is by the end of summer’s prolonged daylight—and I might even accept that the water was “warmer than usual” for Ian’s development. But usual is one of those catchall boring terms. How far back can we go to trace surface water temperatures? We have no temperature records of those temperatures when a hurricane following almost the same path as Ian sank the Nuestra Señora de Atocha and other Spanish galleons in 1622 near the Florida Keys. Anyway, do you think that 1622 storm caused as much devastation on the land as Ian caused?
“What?”
Yep. In our boring arrogance, we humans have decided that we can live anywhere—regardless of the physical phenomena of a place. Build on the San Andreas Fault? No problem. Build along a coast or on a low-lying island that will inevitably get hit by a hurricane or tsunami? No problem. Build in the shadow of an active volcano? No problem. What are the chances, right? And one might live a century on a fault or coast or low-lying island or at the foot of a volcano without a disaster. Then again… The 29,000 people who died in Saint-Pierre in 1902 when Mount Pelée erupted made their homes beneath a volcano that had erupted at least a couple of dozen times over the previous five millennia, and even after the 1902 eruption, some chose to re-inhabit Saint-Pierre. Are we really wise? Isn’t settling at the base of an active volcano a man-made disaster in the making? In fact, in 1929, residents of Saint-Pierre evacuated under the threat of a second twentieth-century eruption. Is it our arrogance or our stupidity that makes us live where Earth proves to be more dangerous? And is it our boring nature to ascribe an individual event to a disputable global trend?
In 1966, my spouse and I had reservations for a cottage on Sanibel Island, that same place where Hurricane Ian wreaked its havoc on September 29, 2022. Sparsely populated and underdeveloped at the time of our trip, Sanibel was an island wilderness known for its sea shells and not for expensive accommodations. Property was cheap. An acre went for about $2,500. In 2022, just before Ian hit, some half-acre and smaller lots were on the market for as much as $900,000, and condos and homes ranged from $300,000 to $4,000,000+. Pricey.
As we traveled toward Florida, we became aware of a June hurricane called Alma, the first June hurricane since 1951. (In fact, June hurricanes are so rare that no such storm had made landfall in the U.S. since 1825) Alma headed for Sanibel and eventually trekked a path almost identical to that of Ian, crossing into the Florida peninsula somewhat farther north, causing $10 million in damages overall in the state, drowning two, fostering heart attacks in another two, and with downed power lines, leading to the deaths of another two Floridians who were electrocuted. A ten-foot storm surge washed over New Port Richey. Was the ocean water “warmer” than usual that year? Was the 1966 storm the product of global warming? Was the storm that sank Nuestra Señora de Atocha the product of global warming in 1622?
Calling ahead to assess the conditions of the cottage, we were told by the owner “to give us a day or two for cleanup.” So, we postponed our arrival in an era before 24/7 news coverage and sophisticated modeling of storm tracks. I had to rely on my car’s AM radio and on newspapers to discover where I could shelter without encountering the storm. When we eventually drove over the now damaged causeway and onto the island, we saw no apparent destruction because Sanibel offered little to damage, even for a category 1 storm.
Not so with Ian. Granted, Ian was stronger than Alma, but Ian also had something—lots of things, really—to destroy. Sanibel and neighboring Captiva Island in 2022 were pre-Ian highly developed landscapes, not the largely wild islands of 1966 when Alma hit.
And that might be something the lady on The View and the guy at the CNN news desk might have taken into account instead of the boring and unprovable link between worldwide climate change and the intensity of a specific storm. No doubt the experienced Spanish sailors of the 16th and 17th centuries thought the hurricanes they encountered were extraordinarily strong storms to which their sunken treasure ships attest. And no doubt, since I brought up the subject of building over the San Andreas Fault, the damage of the next earthquake will generate a larger economic and human impact than the last major earthquake. (Also, the next large earthquake will probably generate speculation that its intensity is related to climate change in the minds of CNN reporters, just as the passing of an asteroid was linked by a CNN anchor to global warming during an interview with Bill Nye)
We are boring when we obsess over standardized ways of discussing any topic. “Just give me the short version” is an admission that our patience runs out when someone wants to pursue a topic through an elaborate argument. (And, of course, we are boring when we go into great detail with someone not willing to listen) It’s what I call the Algebra Teacher Principle. Algebra teachers want students to show all their work; their students want to take short cuts. The lady on The View and the anchor on CNN wanted the “short version” of Hurricane Ian, and that version involved standardized talking points, boring talking points that advance no new knowledge, but rely instead on popular assumptions.
Should I fault the TV personalities for being so predictable and boring? Probably not. True, they could delve into the actual complex science of climate, a subject that includes ocean currents, land-water distribution, latitudinal effects, orographic barriers, altitude, continentality, prevailing wind systems, evapotranspiration, Hadley Cells, Milankovich cycles, and other features, including soil development and processes like the molecular interactions among atmospheric components and the relationship between albedo, clouds, and the thickness of the troposphere. For the host or anchor of a TV show, it is just simpler to connect global warming and a specific storm, and it’s made especially truer for them because of the popularization of the idea of climate change serves a political agenda.
But it is all so boring. And it’s especially boring when talking points are all we hear. For a species that prides itself on wisdom, we seem to rely more on hearsay, innuendo, rumor, incomplete knowledge, presumptions, and foregone conclusions.
I think of the movie Amadeus and the entrance of Mozart while Sallieri plays a rather simple composition he wrote in honor of the young genius. Mozart, not one to follow etiquette and refrain from insult, sits and replays from memory what Sallieri wrote, but in doing so elaborates in the best tradition of ingenious improvisation. He makes the work interesting by adding details.
So, yes, I’m bored with the climate-change, global-warming talk and incessant connections that further an agenda without advancing knowledge. Individual storms have come and gone not only in Earth’s atmosphere, but in the atmospheres of all planets that have an envelope of gases. Maybe Jupiter’s Giant Red Spot, which is twice the size of Earth, is an exception to the ephemeral nature of storms, but it, too, seems to show signs of change.
All the boring talk would be simply boring if it was not dangerously boring. The prattling few with a microphone have ensured a conclusion in the political class that they must act drastically and alter a thriving economy with decrees that must be enacted overnight, such as California’s decision to “go electric” on a power grid that can’t handle the current draw. The prattling few will say, regardless of historical data to the contrary, that hurricanes are strengthening because the damage they cause is greater. They assume climate and not population distribution and construction in hurricane-prone areas is solely the cause of such destruction.
If you step in the path of a bullet, you are likely to be hit. The Gulf and Atlantic Coast communities survive only when the shooter has a poor aim. But the target is large and has been getting larger over the past four hundred years—and with regard to Sanibel Island and Fort Myers Beach, larger just over the past half century. Man-made disaster? Think building rather than climate. Electric cars in California—or elsewhere-won’t prevent the next disastrous hurricane, earthquake, tsunami, tornado, or volcanic eruption (or, CNN anchor, bolide impact).
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