For the definition of dumbass (see above)

I moved to Florida in the Summer of 2004, right before the worst hurricane season in the history of the state. Being a smart northern boy, I evacuated the Gulf Coast before the first storm because they were projecting large waves to come sweeping through my living room. Yet for some reason the storm shifted at the last hour, and it didn’t even rain at my place. Not a single drop. But it poured like a mother at my hotel over 200 miles away.

Anyway, by the third hurricane, I realized that most Floridians don’t evacuate ― unless they live near the water or run out of beer. Most people just hunker down and ride out the storm until the eye blows past. This gave me an idea for a great mystery novel, one that I’m not going to explain here or my agent will be pissed. Of course, to write an accurate story about a hurricane, I felt I had to experience one. Therefore, in the interest of science (and total boredom), I put on my swimming goggles and ventured into the howling winds of Hurricane Jeanne.

FYI: This photo was snapped right before I got hit in the face by a flying dolphin.