Those Annoying Flash Flood Warnings

I'm grateful that the National Weather Service provides emergency warnings on television.

For starters, it saves me all the trouble of getting up from the sofa, going to the nearest window, parting the curtains, peering outside, and looking skyward, which is how Meteorologist Morris would otherwise determine it's raining.

It also answers the question of whether that window-rattling noise I just heard from outside is the roll of thunder, or just my next-door neighbor bringing in his garbage cans.

The warnings are a throwback to the good old days, when the only real news was bad news.

Ever since school officials across the country decided that positive reinforcement was way more valuable in education than ruler-wielding nuns, paddle-equipped vice principals, and report cards that actually included "F's," there has been a decades-long rush to put a positive spin on everything.  It surprises me that the federal government's official cloudwatchers don't break into programming every few minutes and "positively reinforce" us with messages like "the sun is still shining, folks!" and "the economy is in the tank, unemployment continues to be out of control, and gas prices are about to go up again, but at least it's not snowing!"

Unfortunately, it's obvious that the NWS toners (the dweebs who decide when to issue that annoying warning sound on TV sets preceding an important message) either aren't watching today's episode of Maury, or are in the pockets of the broadcasters themselves.

I say this based on the timing of the warnings.

Did you ever notice that the tones and pre-recorded messages always come on at the most inopportune moments?

"Yeah, Murray, I had sex with the entire basketball team and two of the referees that night, so I'm not sure who my babydaddy is."

"Let's find out.  I have the results right here.  Point guard Joey Zitmaster -- you...are..."
"BEEEEEEEEPPPPP...the National Weather Service has issued an advisory for the area located about three states away.  We're not going to name the towns, but will admit that it's a county that starts with the letter R.  There will be no wind, no rain, no snow, and no precipitation, but a flash flood warning has been issued for every community that has nine-year-olds and an outdoor garden hose.  We've spent $8 million with a New York advertising agency to come up with catchy rhymes like 'don't drive through that river, unless your passenger is a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation giver,' and 'stop and turn around, as if that flood water was a scary clown,' so we're going to recite those high-priced gems about every 15 minutes whether there's weather or not.  We now return you to your regularly scheduled drivel."

(The message crawler at the bottom of the screen disappears just as the sound returns to the crying new mother racing off the Maury stage while six of the accused babydaddies demonstrate the triangle defense with the crumpled paternity test results.)

Why can't they wait until the commercials to give us the message?

In today’s cable TV world, where you will see almost 14 minutes of commercials per hour, there are plenty of opportunities to blast such a warning without disturbing the story.  In fact, it's probably a challenge these days for the station to find three consecutive minutes of uninterrupted programming for the announcement. 

If they waited for the commercial break, it would be a double public service: they would make an important announcement, and they’d put a temporary muzzle on Flo and her insurance ilk.

Commercials are, after all, supposed to be imparting important information, so it's where those weather warnings actually belong. 

Ditto for the occasional test of the Emergency Broadcast System.  You know, that long tone followed by a voice explaining that nothing has happened, nothing is happening, and nothing is going to happen, but if it was, the broadcasters in your area in cooperation with state and local officials would collectively wet their pants just before playing this annoying sound to announce the end of the world.

By the way, the Emergency Broadcast System was in place for more than 30 years.  Then in 1997, the federal government in their infinite wisdom commissioned a study, held hearings, debated alternatives, and finally compromised on a new name for this vital service.  The high-tech, sophisticated new name for the old Emergency Broadcast System?  The Emergency Alert System.  (Yes, your tax dollars at work.)

One last thing: we've lived for nearly 40 years with that annoying tone.  We've all heard it so often that now it's just background noise that we've learned to ignore, like the intermittent chirp of that smoke detector with the dead battery from 2007.  It's time we spice it up a little.  We need a shrill sound that will annoy dogs, one that will frighten small children, a sound grating enough to wake adults out of a dead sleep or college students out of a Jagermeister hangover. 

My suggestion?

Lady Gaga.

"Ra ra ah ah ah, ro ma, ro ma ma, ga ga oh la la..."
If that noise won't scare you into thinking the world is coming to an end, nothing will.