Season Ends.

Yesterday — November 30 — marked of course the end of the Atlantic Hurricane season. Everybody celebrates or mourns in his or her own way, I guess. Sheet cakes. A quick duck into the bar at TGI Friday's for some appletinis. Somber reflection on the relative water temperatures in given parts of the Gulf of Mexico. Mothballing the planes that fly into the eyes of these things. Putting gingerly away the gridded map available at your local Publix so that you, in the privacy of your thin-skinned home, can track the gods' attempts to wash you clean away.

This ends, then, for now, the live weather remotes with reporters blown sideways and the pop-up radars in the corners of the news and weather channels showing Roberto or Hortence or Felicidad spinning his or her way ashore in Tampa, in Myrtle, in the Yucatan.

If it ever gets cold enough, though, we can replace all that, for the time being, with the weather reporter's ultimate money shot: live from the giant salt pile, snow and ice just starting, stern warnings to motorists to stay off the roads. B-roll of icy interstates. Keep it here for the latest travel conditions, the latest school closings. His Little Ones opens at 10 today. Custodial staff is expected to report to work as normal.