The surfing community has long had a term for it, the “endless summer,” which describes how countries that abut the Pacific Ocean provide year-round opportunities to practice the sport. The west coasts of California and Latin and South America, and the east coasts of Australia and Asia await practitioners with that romantic appeal of waves, sand and all of that. Summer turns to winter at the equator so there evidently is always a place to catch a wave.
Surfing was recently on display as an Olympic sport and since the waves did not crash in Paris, the event was run in Tahiti, technically French territory; it was somehow exotic and familiar on television — that’s what a lifetime of listening to the Beach Boys does to you — and incidentally, how does one keep score in surfing?
All I know about that sport I learned from watching Frankie Avalon and Anette Funicelloi surf on a Hollywood movie set.
A study recently published by scientists from Ontario’s University of Waterloo suggests that nearly half the locations of the Winter Olympics, held regularly since 1924, would by 2050 be too warm to handle the events again. That’s climate change for you. The year 2050 is roughly the same amount of time from now as was the turn of the millennium, and if you remember the alarm over Y2K and Bush vs. Gore for the presidency, you’ll understand that tempus sure does fugit.
Most of Western New York’s snowfall total last season came in only three weeks of winter. This summer we are introduced to tornadoes. People are emigrating from certain parts of the country not from their fear of hurricanes but because homeowners insurance is becoming unaffordable, as weather becomes both more and less predictable. The writing is on the weather map: when things are good they’re good, and when they’re bad we’re going to be walloped.
My default position is that my maturity being what it is, I won’t live long enough to experience a lot of it. Nonetheless, while climate change will be an issue for the young, all their lives — which is why they tend to exhibit the most concern — it will be an issue for me for the rest of my life as well. Indeed, much of the science seems to have turned away from working to reverse matters in favor of coping with it.
Of course, all of this goes beyond inconvenience. Coastal cities will flood — I’m looking at you, Miami — crop growth will be radically altered, food prices will rise and tastes will change, the temperature in Phoenix will seem less astounding, and the already-fragile electrical grid will be overtaxed. Depending on who’s elected the government will either step in with after-the-fact remedies or declare that it’s every man woman and child for themselves and generally it’ll be a crisis for the ages.
Tanning will stop being fashionable and go out of style, I predict.
Western New York seems never to be on those lists of “too hot to live, someday.” Our supply of fresh water is an asset, and our reputation for snow, which seems to be isolated to only specific parts of the winter, will keep out some refugees. We also have that homegrown strength that television news broadcasts contend we possess. “Buffalo — the weak live elsewhere,” Buffalo-born humorist Mark Russell once wrote.
The whole world could be indoors and air-conditioned, as far as I am concerned, which means I am the first one whining in those rare times the power goes out. I am outside when there is somewhere to go, such as baseball games and the eagerly-awaited Lewiston Jazz Festival this weekend. I will be that pale old man limping along Center Street, looking for a place to sit, enjoying the music and watching the people.
The people will include little kids holding grownups’ hands, and babies in strollers. When they are my age they’ll probably tell stories about how folks used to get together by going outside and mingling, none of that staying in heavily insulated buildings to avoid the weather. Baseball can be played under domes; I wonder what the jazz artists will do.
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