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.
