For a kid who grows up in Florida, you wait your whole life for the day when there is a hurricane that shares your name. For people with a name beginning with a letter at the beginning of the alphabet, you may not have to wait very long. If your name begins with a letter in the middle, or worse, the end of the alphabet, that day may never come. After all of these years, there is finally a hurricane Leslie. And for all of that waiting, what do I get? I get a comparatively weak storm that might threaten Bermuda or Canada. A hurricane that threatens Canada? That isn’t a hurricane at all! May as well be a named snowstorm. When hurricanes have such significance on the formative years of one’s life, this is a pretty huge disappointment.
Not that I would wish a strong hurricane on anyone; my parents just suffered through hurricane Issac which did a load of damage to them despite being a “relatively weak” hurricane. But maybe I wouldn’t mind a hurricane named Leslie that was a bit more threatening to people, so that they would at least take it seriously.
In other great controversies, I had a documented grievance before when Michelle Obama made a now infamous comment about Charlotte being the home of some great barbecue, when everyone knows that the best barbecue in North Carolina is found in other parts of the state. Well, people just keep throwing fuel (hickory wood only please!) onto the fire of that debate. Look, whole hog or no hog is really what it comes down to for me. Mutton barbecue, as if!