LA weather woes

It seems like everywhere I live, the weather tries to kill me. I grew up in Florida, which is tolerable most of the year until summer rolls around, at which point it gets so hot and clammy that your glasses steam up every time you set foot outside -- and if that weren't bad enough, we also get to dodge killer hurricanes for three or four months. (Some of my earlier childhood memories involve the family crowded around the television, nervously tracking a storm's progress on the Weather Channel, and of watching people nail plywood boards over our windows so the debris kicked up in the coming storm wouldn't shatter them.)

Then I moved to California, where the average temperature/humidity is a semi-arid 72 degrees -- pretty much ideal, if you ask me -- but the price we pay for such comfort is high; instead of traditional seasons like fall and winter, we have disaster seasons: fire season, mudslide season, earthquake season -- hell, there's even a riot season (the hottest days of summer tend to bring out the worst in people). Right now it's mudslide season, and along with the winds and rains that cause mudslides come other consequences: downed power lines, tree branches, and in this city of the ubiquitous billboard, scenes like this one, which I happened across in my neighborhood this morning:

Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman seem to think it's funny, but I'm betting the owner of that squashed Mini isn't laughing.

What's the worst weather your part of the world has to offer?