Liz Skilton’s innovative study tracks the naming of hurricanes over six decades, exploring the interplay between naming practice and wider American culture. In 1953, the U.S. Weather Bureau adopted female names to identify hurricanes and other tropical storms. Within two years, that convention came into question, and by 1978 a new system was introduced, including alternating male and female names in a pattern that continues today. In Tempest: Hurricane Naming and American Culture, Skilton blends gender studies with environmental history to analyze this often controversial tradition. Focusing on the Gulf South—the nation’s “hurricane coast”—Skilton closely examines select storms, including Betsy, Camille, Andrew, Katrina, and Harvey, while referencing dozens of others. Through print and online media sources, government reports, scientific data, and ephemera, she reveals how language and images portray hurricanes as gendered objects: masculine-named storms are generally characterized as stronger and more serious, while feminine-named storms are described as “unladylike” and in need of taming. Further, Skilton shows how the hypersexualized rhetoric surrounding Katrina and Sandy and the effeminate depictions of Georges represent evolving methods to define and explain extreme weather events. As she chronicles the evolution of gendered storm naming in the United States, Skilton delves into many other aspects of hurricane history. She describes attempts at scientific control of storms through hurricane seeding during the Cold War arms race of the 1950s and relates how Roxcy Bolton, a member of the National Organization for Women, led the crusade against feminizing hurricanes from her home in Miami near the National Hurricane Center in the 1970s. Skilton also discusses the skyrocketing interest in extreme weather events that accompanied the introduction of 24-hour news coverage of storms, as well as the impact of social media networks on Americans’ tracking and understanding of hurricanes and other disasters. The debate over hurricane naming continues, as Skilton demonstrates, and many Americans question the merit and purpose of the gendered naming system. What is clear is that hurricane names matter, and that they fundamentally shape our impressions of storms, for good and bad.
This is my innocent and humorous recollection of the disasters and successes I have encountered in the male dominated sport of Drag Racing, when it was in it's infancy, back in the 1970's in the UK. I became only the second woman in the UK to race a Top Fuel dragster. How I survived a 200mph crash and came back to win the European Championship two years in a row. Yes, I beat the men at their own game!
Once part of Farmington, Southington began as an agricultural community dotted with family farms. Like other towns along the Quinnipiac River, it developed a healthy industrial economy once entrepreneurs discovered that the river and other waterways could be harnessed for manufacturing purposes. Throughout the 19th and early 20th centuries, the factories multiplied in size and number. This growth sparked a need for a labor force that was readily supplied by an influx of German and, later, Italian and Polish immigrants. These mills are now gone, yet the history lives on. Relics of the cement industry can still be seen on Andrews Street, and Center Street still provides opportunities to shop and dine. Lake Compounce remains a place of fun and amusement, and Roger's Orchard still flourishes and is now the largest apple producer in the state.
Liz Skilton’s innovative study tracks the naming of hurricanes over six decades, exploring the interplay between naming practice and wider American culture. In 1953, the U.S. Weather Bureau adopted female names to identify hurricanes and other tropical storms. Within two years, that convention came into question, and by 1978 a new system was introduced, including alternating male and female names in a pattern that continues today. In Tempest: Hurricane Naming and American Culture, Skilton blends gender studies with environmental history to analyze this often controversial tradition. Focusing on the Gulf South—the nation’s “hurricane coast”—Skilton closely examines select storms, including Betsy, Camille, Andrew, Katrina, and Harvey, while referencing dozens of others. Through print and online media sources, government reports, scientific data, and ephemera, she reveals how language and images portray hurricanes as gendered objects: masculine-named storms are generally characterized as stronger and more serious, while feminine-named storms are described as “unladylike” and in need of taming. Further, Skilton shows how the hypersexualized rhetoric surrounding Katrina and Sandy and the effeminate depictions of Georges represent evolving methods to define and explain extreme weather events. As she chronicles the evolution of gendered storm naming in the United States, Skilton delves into many other aspects of hurricane history. She describes attempts at scientific control of storms through hurricane seeding during the Cold War arms race of the 1950s and relates how Roxcy Bolton, a member of the National Organization for Women, led the crusade against feminizing hurricanes from her home in Miami near the National Hurricane Center in the 1970s. Skilton also discusses the skyrocketing interest in extreme weather events that accompanied the introduction of 24-hour news coverage of storms, as well as the impact of social media networks on Americans’ tracking and understanding of hurricanes and other disasters. The debate over hurricane naming continues, as Skilton demonstrates, and many Americans question the merit and purpose of the gendered naming system. What is clear is that hurricane names matter, and that they fundamentally shape our impressions of storms, for good and bad.
Life with Laura'....well, what can I say? Who hasn't had a lively, mischievous daughter? But mine was hell-bent from day one to stamp her mark and wreak havoc on our world wherever she went. She constantly embarrassed us in public with her extrovert behaviour playing to the masses and wrecked shops causing chaos and leaving turmoil in her wake. Everyone said she could make a pig laugh with her antics. This compelling biography is large in content, has 35 captivating 'caught in action' photos and is based on my diaries, pictures and videos. It is driven by my love and fuelled by humour, my own emotions and by interactions with family and friends, and depicts two parents trying desperately to cope. 'Life with Laura' - enjoy the ride! 'We enter Superdrug and I pause momentarily in a small bay by the door to check my list. Big mistake! Laura leans forward from her buggy and pulls on a three-sided, picture-frame style moulding on the wall that displays an advertisement. Oh my, she is demolishing it... and I am on the wrong side to stop her. It is about 3' long with two 18" side struts. She struggles to hold the frame up above her head then bangs one side onto the floor...CRASH!! I am rooted to the spot. All goes deathly quiet and in a loud and clear voice of authority Laura turns round and tells everyone. "It's broken to pieces!" Horrified I take the rest off her and intend to place the two remaining joined pieces on the floor. No such luck...one crashes down...oops! The manager appears scowling and I limply hand him the last bit. "Sorry it's not childproof" is all I can say in her defence. Laura's captive audience is spell-bound. I hear some giggling..........
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