Dagmar
Here in San Diego, we just got some weather—2 inches of rain in May, which happens about as often as Chuck Norris gets nominated for an Oscar. We reacted in our usual way, by having some accidents on the freeway and forgetting to turn off our automatic lawn sprinklers.
The most important thing to remember about any rainstorm in Southern California is that IT DOES NOT END THE DROUGHT. Even as flash flood waters engulf us, the authorities are busy assuring us that this is merely the wet part of a dry spell, and we can still all look forward to living in a desiccated, lawnless wasteland soon if we don't quit taking long showers and leaving the water running when we brush our teeth.
The second most important thing to do during any weather outburst is to keep an eye on the TV weather woman. I try to keep an eye on her anyway, even when the weather doesn't change for sunny months on end. There are, of course, as many weather women in San Diego as there are local TV channels, but they are all a bunch of undignified, chirping climate hens compared to this town's meteorological main squeeze, Dagmar Midcap.
"Where did she get a name like Dagmar Midcap?" may be the first thing you think when the anchorperson segues over to the weather map and Dagmar flashes her weather-savvy smile at you for the first time. Well, you combine the name of Blondie's husband with a type of stock offering is my guess, or else the people in charge of naming her infant self said, "Well, she just looks like a Dagmar. And our surname, for some peculiar reason, is Midcap."
No matter. Your eyes are glued to her anyway. Dagmar in not the type of weather person who stands outside in a raincoat getting precipitated on for dramatic effect. She does not have the wardrobe for that. She dresses as if she belongs to a cult that forbids its female members from wearing anything but skin-tight clothing. Or possibly the management at her station feels that climatological developments are most credible when presented by a woman in a sleeveless sheath dress. In either case, Dagmar wears it well. When she starts talking about a front, you find yourself looking longingly at her back. Thoughts like "Those are some nice dew points there," or "If her body wasn't stretching out that dress, it probably would shrink to the size of an Apple Watch. How can she possibly be wearing underwear?" rumble through your head. You feel the humidity rise even as she talks about it falling, especially if you are alone with her HDTV image or have been drinking.
Weather people traditionally stand on camera, but Dagmar needs to stand for reasons beyond tradition; a woman wearing a tube dress has to be pretty strategic about sitting down, for fear of letting her audience catch a glimpse of her personal storm cell. That wouldn't do, because Dagmar at all times straddles the line between cool-headed weather scientist and the hottest woman at happy hour perfectly.
We men of San Diego would be distraught if she were ever replaced, or lured away by a bigger metropolis. We wouldn't care about the forecast at all. We would just go outside and let whatever weather that was there was just slap us in the face, so indifferent would we be to meteorological developments not narrated by Dagmar. Sure, we could still image-search her on Google, and find plenty of shots of her wearing tight or very little clothing, but it wouldn't be the same.
Inevitably though, that day will come. Dagmar will move on. She will go to another city and talk about different weather to different men, receding to just a warm fond spot in the memories of San Diego dudes. Unless we have the foresight to DVR a couple of her forecasts, so we can watch her over and over again when some lesser weather individual is brought in to replace her. Of course, in that case her forecast would never change, but then, the weather here hardly ever does, either.
The most important thing to remember about any rainstorm in Southern California is that IT DOES NOT END THE DROUGHT. Even as flash flood waters engulf us, the authorities are busy assuring us that this is merely the wet part of a dry spell, and we can still all look forward to living in a desiccated, lawnless wasteland soon if we don't quit taking long showers and leaving the water running when we brush our teeth.
The second most important thing to do during any weather outburst is to keep an eye on the TV weather woman. I try to keep an eye on her anyway, even when the weather doesn't change for sunny months on end. There are, of course, as many weather women in San Diego as there are local TV channels, but they are all a bunch of undignified, chirping climate hens compared to this town's meteorological main squeeze, Dagmar Midcap.
"Where did she get a name like Dagmar Midcap?" may be the first thing you think when the anchorperson segues over to the weather map and Dagmar flashes her weather-savvy smile at you for the first time. Well, you combine the name of Blondie's husband with a type of stock offering is my guess, or else the people in charge of naming her infant self said, "Well, she just looks like a Dagmar. And our surname, for some peculiar reason, is Midcap."
No matter. Your eyes are glued to her anyway. Dagmar in not the type of weather person who stands outside in a raincoat getting precipitated on for dramatic effect. She does not have the wardrobe for that. She dresses as if she belongs to a cult that forbids its female members from wearing anything but skin-tight clothing. Or possibly the management at her station feels that climatological developments are most credible when presented by a woman in a sleeveless sheath dress. In either case, Dagmar wears it well. When she starts talking about a front, you find yourself looking longingly at her back. Thoughts like "Those are some nice dew points there," or "If her body wasn't stretching out that dress, it probably would shrink to the size of an Apple Watch. How can she possibly be wearing underwear?" rumble through your head. You feel the humidity rise even as she talks about it falling, especially if you are alone with her HDTV image or have been drinking.
Weather people traditionally stand on camera, but Dagmar needs to stand for reasons beyond tradition; a woman wearing a tube dress has to be pretty strategic about sitting down, for fear of letting her audience catch a glimpse of her personal storm cell. That wouldn't do, because Dagmar at all times straddles the line between cool-headed weather scientist and the hottest woman at happy hour perfectly.
We men of San Diego would be distraught if she were ever replaced, or lured away by a bigger metropolis. We wouldn't care about the forecast at all. We would just go outside and let whatever weather that was there was just slap us in the face, so indifferent would we be to meteorological developments not narrated by Dagmar. Sure, we could still image-search her on Google, and find plenty of shots of her wearing tight or very little clothing, but it wouldn't be the same.
Inevitably though, that day will come. Dagmar will move on. She will go to another city and talk about different weather to different men, receding to just a warm fond spot in the memories of San Diego dudes. Unless we have the foresight to DVR a couple of her forecasts, so we can watch her over and over again when some lesser weather individual is brought in to replace her. Of course, in that case her forecast would never change, but then, the weather here hardly ever does, either.
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