One of my dear friends, the Good Countess KR (a.k.a. The Book Pusher), is of the mind that once one's conversation veers towards the topic of the weather, any level of intelligence has evaporated from the interaction, and the talking is over.
Kaput.
Goodbye.
But I can't help it. I have become obsessed with the weather and its changing trends. Around these parts, things have definitely been on the weird side, so I can't help but think that this isn't one of those "once every 20 years" scenarios. Gah.
While poring over books to try to validate my suspicions, I instead discovered that I have yet another detractor - KR is in good company, indeed. He's been around since 1842, so he really knows where it's at.
Ambrose Bierce, in his 1911 Devil's Dictionary, describes weather thusly:
Weather, n. The climate of an hour. A permanent topic of conversation among persons whom it does not interest, but who have inherited the tendency to chatter about it from naked ancestors whom it keenly concerned. The setting up of official weather bureaus and their maintenance in mendacity prove that even governments are accessible to suasion by the rude forefathers of the jungle.
Oogah boogah, Mr. Bierce. Clad in my stylish banana leaf bikini, I shake my shrunken-head-on-a-stick at you.
Also following this [somewhat hurtful] description is a somewhat more apt ode to meteorlogists written by Halcyon Jones:
May there be sunshine and warmth in your day today.
Oogah boogah.
Kaput.
Goodbye.
But I can't help it. I have become obsessed with the weather and its changing trends. Around these parts, things have definitely been on the weird side, so I can't help but think that this isn't one of those "once every 20 years" scenarios. Gah.
While poring over books to try to validate my suspicions, I instead discovered that I have yet another detractor - KR is in good company, indeed. He's been around since 1842, so he really knows where it's at.
Ambrose Bierce, in his 1911 Devil's Dictionary, describes weather thusly:
Weather, n. The climate of an hour. A permanent topic of conversation among persons whom it does not interest, but who have inherited the tendency to chatter about it from naked ancestors whom it keenly concerned. The setting up of official weather bureaus and their maintenance in mendacity prove that even governments are accessible to suasion by the rude forefathers of the jungle.
Oogah boogah, Mr. Bierce. Clad in my stylish banana leaf bikini, I shake my shrunken-head-on-a-stick at you.
Also following this [somewhat hurtful] description is a somewhat more apt ode to meteorlogists written by Halcyon Jones:
Once I dipt into the future far as human eye could see,
And I saw the Chief Forecaster, dead as anyone can be -
Dead and damned and shut in Hades as a liar from his birth,
With a record of unreason seldom paralleled on earth.
While I looked he reared him solemnly, that incandescent youth,
From the coals that he'd preferred to the advantages of truth.
He cast his eyes about him and above him; then he wrote
On a slab of thin asbestos what I venture here to quote -
For I read it in the rose-light of the everlasting glow:
"Cloudy; variable winds, with local showers; cooler; snow."
And I saw the Chief Forecaster, dead as anyone can be -
Dead and damned and shut in Hades as a liar from his birth,
With a record of unreason seldom paralleled on earth.
While I looked he reared him solemnly, that incandescent youth,
From the coals that he'd preferred to the advantages of truth.
He cast his eyes about him and above him; then he wrote
On a slab of thin asbestos what I venture here to quote -
For I read it in the rose-light of the everlasting glow:
"Cloudy; variable winds, with local showers; cooler; snow."
May there be sunshine and warmth in your day today.
Oogah boogah.
11 comments:
No warmth and sunshine in my day today, but Saturday?... Dare I hope?
Countess iMom: Yes, please do. Hope away. Without hope, we're nowhere.
You hope, I'll click my heels three times, and maybe the sun will come out.
ooga booga I have to admit to following my naked ancestors in this type of conversation, but I have to agree. It is a banal topic when there is so much else. And I'm not talking about politics or religion;)
Countess Mama: But I have banal TOTALLY nailed! (just a heads up on that) :)
I am kind of a weather dork. I blame this on a few factors:
1-It's pretty important if you spend much time hiking or canoeing
2-I took an oceanography class years ago that featured a section on weather that really (honestly) fascinated me
3-I live in Chicago, home of the 50 degree overnight temperature change.
Ambrose spent a decent portion of his life here in San Francisco and even though he disappeared in Mexico, no doubt he was carried away by a wind similar to the one that is whipping around SF today.
Count Bubs: 1)I kayak, and my only concern in whether or not the water is warm. Should I actually care about tides and whatnot?
2)This sounds pretty dork-tastic to me too!
3)Cold, too? I thought y'all were just windy. That sucketh largely.
Count Cormac: Ol' Bluster-Butt must have wound it's way down to you from us - it was something out of "Twister" here a couple of days ago (sans bovine).
How come we have never resorted to trotting out the banal in our conversations?
Allow me to start...
The weather dudes have served notice early that April will be wetter and cooler than usual this year. So much for hope!
Countess AG: Vanna, I'll choose the W, the T, and the F.
I have no wish to see any of my ancestors naked. Talk about Oogah booga.
As Glenn "the Hurricane" Schwartz the local weather dipshit on the news once said, "We don't really know what's going to come, so we're 'Nowcasting.'"
Countess WRH: Again, more fodder to support my belief system that any career that adds "ologist" to the tail end of their job for some sort of street cred are all asshats.
Nowcasts. Gah.
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