From WNYC in New York, this is on the media. I'm Brooke Gladstone.

And I'm Bob Garfield. As this program is broadcast, the Carolinas are being inundated by a violent storm.

In the days leading up to Florence's landfall, the reporting was diligent and ominous,

focusing on the storm's trajectory, power,

and deadly potential.

North Carolina, South Carolina, and Virginia, all under a state of emergency.

In hurricanes, more than 75% of the people die from the storm surge and the water.

Surge could act, Michael, like a plug as all of the waterways try to drain into the ocean.

The urgent, if secondary ramifications of the killer storm, are also covered, ranging from the risks of collateral catastrophe.

Crews shut down the Duke Energy-Bronzwick nuclear plant in Southport, North Carolina yesterday.

It sits roughly four miles inland and was expected

to be blasted. To ugly realities pertaining to electoral politics and the Trump administration.

Donald Trump's Department of Homeland Security requested to transfer about $10 million

out of the budget for FEMA this year and into the coffers of ice.

Storm coverage, like much of history, exists in three dimensions of time,

the gathering past, the urgent present, the chaotic aftermath.

No wonder then that storms are the go-to journalistic metaphor for all sorts of

havoc, natural and man-made. For instance, we are 10 years from the collapse of the Wall Street

Titan Lehman Brothers. Ten years since the levees shielding global financial markets from their

own recklessness were breached, triggering economic and

political tempests even now. And we are just days away from the first anniversary of Hurricane

Maria, the storm that ravaged Puerto Rico and laid bare corruption, political hypocrisy,

...