Big City Local Action Weather

The Big City

Part 22 of 28

It doesn’t take a long time living in the Big City before you know certain truths that are so unambiguously true that at some level you already know it. Remember books like “Everything I Ever Knew I Learned On My Own” or something. The way I took it was that everyone already knows everything and that the ultimate cause of school, etc., is merely to bring out this innate knowledge. That was Plato, maybe, which if it’s true it's something at some level I’ve never forgotten. If only I’d known this or realized all my innate knowledge when it was time for the final test, I wouldn’t have ended up with a grade-point average equal to the population of the typical ghost town.

One of the most obvious truths in the Big City is this, that the most respected guys in town are meteorologists. I upchucked this innate knowledge one day while watching the news. I watched their demeanor, the way they constantly referred to their next report “in two minutes” with the “latest updates” of “life-threatening storms” and “critical information.” After a while of watching the news, that’s all I could focus on, how well-respected, all-powerful, and righteously situated these guys are. They’ve got it going on, they know they do, and they’re riding it all the way to the bank. They've got a rare thing happening for them, to be the most respected people in town and know it and deserve it.

And everyone plays favorites, which is critical for the stations. Because I’m new to the Big City I didn’t get a bit of guidance from Mom or Dad or Grandma on the best weather guys. I merely watched, liked their smile, their dress, the demeanor of various ones. Then in my private time I assimilated all the information and charted it out, the one I liked the absolute best. That’s the only one I watch now. And if he ever dies I’ll just have to look out the window and see what the weather is. But doing it that way it could be too late, since it takes me some time to get my bottom sat on the top step and inch my way to the basement. It’s a scary process, because some basement urchin could crawl in my pants if I’m too slow and bite the crap out of me and my precious privates, used mostly now only for the most innocent purposes.

But the weather’s a terrible thing to mess with, of course, so I'd have to pick someone. And hope the new guy's cut from the same cloth, or I might turn to trusted friends for their advice. I don’t want anyone too close to retirement, so age is a factor. But I don’t want too much of a newbie, because experience counts for a lot. I would probably cut corners on the auditioning and do a search for the highest rated, most respected, etc. My only hang-up on that would be the teaching I got as a kid not to follow crowds. Although crowds are wiser than my parents gave them credit for. If they’re stampeding a particular direction, there’s always a good reason. You can corrupt a few people, and that’s a crowd you don’t want to follow. But when the crowd’s in the millions, and they’ve survived every storm the Big City’s thrown against them, they didn’t just do it on their own. They had the help, the gracious assistance of meteorologists, and that’s good enough for me.

Tsunami Warnings In Bali

 

Part 20 of 30 -- Speaking Ill of The Dead

Bali is a province of Indonesia and the westernmost of the Lesser Sunda Islands. The woman is Gede. The man is Komang. That’s all you need to know. It’s far-flung, way out there near the ends of the earth. Unless you’re there, and then it’s the same as my place, the center of everything.

Have I ever been to Bali? I’ve heard people claim I’ve been there, but I don't know why. I think they're just trying to confuse me. Because it’s not something I’d lie about. If I’d been there, I'd gladly confess it. I'd be so glad to confess it, people would run from me: "There's that guy that wants to talk about Bali all the time." But if I did something incriminating there, I wouldn't mention it. I wish I could tell you all the stuff I don't mention. If you never see a particular thing mentioned on my blog, I might be guilty of it.

It'd been nice if I had the kind of job where I was sent by an employer somewhere near Bali. Then instead of strictly taking care of the business, I'd make my way to Bali. The employer might connect the dots and I’d potentially be forced to repay him for a wasted trip. But none of that happened.

So I’m going on second hand information, TV as well as ordinary secret contacts around the world. Secret contacts were indeed my source for the report of a man’s death in Bali, and the show he attended. In which his fate can be traced to the witch doctor.

To me, even the word “witch doctor” cries out something to beware of! We hear the word and we think of someone in a high position of power with witches, delving into the higher mysteries, and now having the diploma to prove it, a doctor's degree. What was his project and his doctor’s degree based on, “Making Tourists Comfortable Enough In Storms” or “Bewitching Foolish Inaction Till It’s Too Late”?

Good thing I wasn’t there, because I might've been susceptible to hocus pocus. I’m very easily led. I’m such a trusting person, mostly because I’m honest and good. And I jump to the conclusion that everyone’s as good as me. Get a clue: They’re not! This guy is Exhibit A. What kind of psycho performs for tourists, then hopes, even conspires, to make them victims? I’d say his diagnosis is off the charts in the wrong direction!

But Kenneth the Tourist knew better than to trust a man with makeup. Even though the slithering dancing girl (Gede) doubtlessly added to his credibility. He’s got that big loin cloth, what’s he packing under that thing? I’m not trying to second guess the fate involved in this thing. But packing that much, I can see how Kenneth could’ve fallen for his act. When the truth is just the opposite. Sometimes the less you pack, the more trustworthy you are. You figure, People aren’t going to trust me, so I have to double down on believability.

Komang's message was soothing. The message was "It’s a great night, have a great time." And Gede backed him up with a plaintive plea for westerners to adopt her and take her home with them to engage in romance and housekeeping. Kenneth didn’t stand a chance. On the other hand, anyone dumb enough to fall for that native lingo got what he deserved.

The Old Shaman

YOUR BASIC
STEREOTYPICAL SHAMAN

I was into mythology a number of years ago -- I've since backslid -- and the stories I most "thrilled to" were the tales of the old shamans. Probably because, no big secret, if I was going to be anybody in their world, it'd have to be a shaman. I wouldn't mind being one right now, frankly.

These were/are the guys with the inside track on the divine. They know the ins and outs of how to deal with people. They're busy discovering the secrets of life, then discreetly, I'm guessing, keeping them hidden until they're needed. And they're never fully needed, meaning they're always holding something back, making themselves men of mystery and therefore needed. In the Bible, I'd say Moses filled that role in the stories. And that's why they had a law about killing witches, because they also had the inside track, but with it, their own mind.

If I were to drop down into one of these communities -- thatch roofs and all -- I believe they would immediately take to me, just like that. The people would gather around, I'd be passing out Wrigley's gum, and everyone would love me. Except for the shamans. Their guardsmen would drag me to their quarters, where we would have a great stare down. Then, in looking into my fantastic eyes, they would look deep, then deeper yet, then deeper still, until realizing they could never plumb the depths. You with me still? And that's when they'd give up, commit suicide, and name me new shaman.

Until that happens, though, and I'm not like Margaret Mead or someone, always traveling, going off to these little villages and making a nuisance of myself, I'll be here. The shaman I'm writing about today, one I heard of, had nothing to do with Margaret, insisting he was a self-mead man.

This guy had all kinds of powers, like they all have to have. Whatever it was, the heights, the depths, the widths, everything in creation, he seemed to have an in on. What about sickness and health? He was there too, any disease: gout, bad back, sore leg, winnebago, nagging cough, cold feet. And of course he had the in depth knowledge the community needed for their continuing prosperity, mental and physical.

One of the big concerns mankind always has is about the weather. It's still a concern we have today. I was thinking of the weather earlier today when it was snowing. It meant I had to get out there with my snow-blower and wake up the neighbors. It was supposed to get warm and melt it all off. So I was amused to see the parking lot scoop guys out early, knowing if they didn't hurry it'd all be gone and they'd make nothing.

Here's how the shaman thing works with the weather. A householder comes to visit him. He walks outside, he looks at the color of the sky. He licks his finger and gets it real wet, then he sticks it up into the wind. He looks straight up, he looks straight down. He climbs up a ladder and looks to the horizon. And so forth. Anything he can do, he does.

Then they go inside, and he considers the evidence well before making his pronouncement. If I say this, this might happen. If I say the other thing, something entirely different might be the result. These are the kinds of thoughts that go through your mind when you want to tell all, but you have to be very considerate. How's it going to affect me if I get it wrong? Then he clears his throat and gives the townspeople his best advice, in the unique Pig Latin his tribe speaks:

W3A3T3C3H3 G3A3R3Y3 L3E3Z3A3K3'3S

R3E3P3O3R3T3 O3N 3431 A3C3T3I3O3N N3E3W3S3.

(Omit the 3s)

Weather Fun -- Rainchasing

I know you can't tell it, but I wouldn't lie to you: I'm not at home right now, but I'm out in the field. Stormchasing!

I'm accompanying a friend, going cross-country, learning about stormchasing, and even helping him with some of the routine tasks. Like charting our findings and experiences. I had no idea guys even did this, but it's lots of fun.

It's not entirely as dangerous as some of the stormchasing you hear about on TV, for which I'm thankful. But there's still some danger even when you're chasing rain. Watching for it, then going right into the eye of the storm, you can get plenty wet. And anything could happen ... for one, you might slip in the mud.

We started out today -- and now we're about 100 miles from home -- looking on internet weather sites, then buzzing over where the orange and red were the most intense. According to the map's legend, those are the places with the biggest rain traffic. More water than you can shake a stick at!

I have to say, I really like the accuracy of these internet maps, because we found rain most of the time. And the times we didn't, we got the sworn testimony of others there that it had rained, as well as the evidence of soaked soil and pavement we could see. The times we were there for the rain we filled a babyfood jar with it, giving us all the proof we need that we personally witnessed it.

OK, I'm a newbie, so forgive my excitement. But I was really thrilled when I experienced for myself rain the first time. We were only about 50 miles from home, so you can be that close and get rain. The map showed a red spot probably five miles in diameter. My friend spoke with all the confidence in the world: "We will run right smack into it!" I crossed my fingers for luck and he hit the gas. Within 10 minutes, there we were, with rain coming down in sheets. A thing of beauty. I noted it as follows in my journal: "I'm out here, and this is definitely rain!"

I got out and in addition to getting extremely wet I got some pretty good firsthand data. Preliminary measurements indicated the rain intensity was in the "buckets" range. Of course we will review the data later, but I think it will hold up. I haven't been that wet in a long time, actually since the last time I went swimming. The big difference then was the water was completely horizontal and in a pool, and here it was vertical, coming from the sky.

That was a thrill. But there's another thrill, which comes from having uncertainty. It might even be more fun, because anyone can see a red spot on a map and know it's rain. The real fun is to be had when you're not sure you're going to get rain. That's because you're working off past memories, and even your gut. You don't see rain, it looks negligible on the map, but you "feel" it might still be there. 

This is where my friend's years of rainchasing trumped any experience I had, which wasn't much. He found a couple of negligible spots on the map, printed a hard copy, and took out a compass, protractor, and three darts. He drew a few circles, then studied the various angles between them, and put the paper on his car, stepped back and threw the darts. One dart hit the map in a promising place. The other two hit the rear tire, meaning there was a short delay before we could leave.

Once the tire was changed, by now the data was out of date, but thanks to the magic of science, and the various histrionics my friend went through with the compass, etc. -- extrapolation -- when we got there, we weren't disappointed. We were just in time for a few sprinkles. I put my hand up and personally attest that I felt definite drops. Water from the sky, it's a strange thing when you really stop and consider it. It varies from lots to not much.

Along the way, I acquired some other good proof -- proof is always needed later when you're bragging with other rainchasers. I got some great pictures of various puddles, water standing in fields, gullies that were newly washed, and the flat tire, mud-splattered on the side of the road.

Just to anticipate what I know you'd say to me, yes, we are staying safe. Safety is always job number one. We haven't forgotten, rainchasing is exhilarating but also very dangerous. It's exactly like I heard as a kid, you can drown in a teaspoon of water, if you hold it just so and breathe with all your might. But we took certain precautions for safety sake: We generally used an umbrella, and we left the teaspoon at home.

Dancing Tornadoes Away

With everything we're facing from global warming, and our leaders having no political will to pull our ass out of the fire, we're going to have to try something to make it better. I know around here we're about frantic with all the tornado watches, warnings, and actual visitations -- HELL! ... Excuse me, there went another one, a full twister ... just carried away the neighbor's shed! If he sees me looking, I'll have to go help with cleanup, so I'm going to keep writing...

Of course, I've been wracking my brain, thinking, Show me a way! We can't live like this. That's the third tornado just this morning. And the night was worse, since an EF5 interrupted one of my major dreams, the one where all the hedonists who've, incidentally, somehow managed to pass with flying colors a battery of sexual disease tests, are just settling in for a luxurious orgy here on the grounds. Then I'm woke up by the shutters flying off the house -- dammit! -- the tornado just grazing the place.

Anyway, I'm wracking my brain, and an idea comes to me, something I'm seriously going to try. I don't think it's been tried yet. If so, it hasn't done much good, so they must not be doing it right. That's dancing the tornadoes away. The idea just came to me, because there's some analogy there, a tornado is twisting the night away and that's what we do when we're dancing. It's fighting fire with fire; you've got a trouble, you combat it with the same trouble; a kid eats too much chocolate, you force feed him chocolate till it's running out his ears, he either quits, dies, or kills you.

Think about it: What if mankind stood up to these SOB tornadoes rather than running and hiding? You can't run from a bully. The bully will never let you live it down. He'll be on you everyday until you finally stand up. It reminds me of the story of "The Geese and the Poodle," one of my old stories. We had geese that let a poodle chase them, till they got tired. Then they flipped around and chased him, almost scaring him to death. He tucked his tail between his legs, or would've had it reached, and ran ... and he'd probably be running still, years later, if I hadn't let him in the house (1), and (2) if he hadn't died some months later from an unrelated car running over him in the drive.

So, what if we just stood up to the tornadoes and fought fire with fire! Meaning, we dance! We get all mankind, everyone in the state, out there when there's a tornado, morning, noon, and night, dancing up a storm! The jitterbug, the fox trot, even slow dancing. But you say the tornado, being an inanimate thing and not conscious, won't care. But maybe there is consciousness there. The yogis teach the same cosmic consciousness is in everything, so that could be our trump card. Our dancing and the consciousness in us, and the tornado and the consciousness in it, come together ... it's a beautiful thing. Beyond that, we have the pebbles in the pond theory, like in time travel movies, that every change in life, no matter how small, has unknown consequences. Running hasn't helped. We need a different pebble.

Holy crap! A tornado just went across the field on the other side of the road. It took out a cow. There go milk prices!

This might even become a moneymaker for me. Because until the idea catches on, I can hand out fliers and business cards (you can get 300 of them online for 10 bucks), and stand out in people's yards and dance the tornado away from their house. I'll do it myself and collect all the money. Or get a partner and cut him or her in for 30%, since it's my idea and I'm entitled to more. Most people don't get hit. So if a tornado doesn't show up 99% of the time, even if my idea lacks in basic science, it's still going to be apparently successful. Safe customers mean happy customers means big bucks!

Maybe the native peoples of the world knew this all along. They've been doing rain dances for centuries, and appeasing the gods by sacrificing virgins, the whole thing. My idea might not be that crazy.

Friends, I need to quit. Another tornado just touched down on the half acre, and I think the blackberry patch is gone. I saw some smaller thorns fly by the window. I need to get my boogie shoes on and find my groove thang. Someone's got to stop this SOB. That someone is me!

Talking Trash To Melting Snow

I have so many problems with snow when it's at the height of its power, when it's melting I like to ridicule it. Taunting has always been my thing:

How the mighty have fallen! Thou shalt die the deaths of the uncircumcised by the hand of strangers: for I have spoken it. Good riddance! Don't write, don't call, don't drop by!

It's nothing but the wasted away reminder of its former self. You're not so tough now, are you? I could kill you with a teaspoon of ice melt. I'm going to be out here again in five minutes to beat you to death with a shovel. And the way you're stuck to the ground, it doesn't look like you'll get away. Look at me when I'm talking to you! How do you feel, seeing I'm walking quite unimpeded.

And it's true; I'm able to run circles around it. There's more grass and, unfortunately, more unraked autumn leaves, than snow. There's no slipping, no falling, no care, no concern for the diminishing white stuff. It's completely lost whatever it had that brought us terror. More talking trash: I've heard of being up to your hips in snow, but you're not so tough, my little toe's not even slightly cool. Is this snow or dandruff? Nice sunny day, huh? I can't hear you! If I threw you in the road, no one would notice! They wouldn't send a truck out to scoop you!

I'm getting in some good licks. Although part of me knows I'll eventually have to pay for it, since snow will again one day have its strength. So we shall tussle, but today, right now, I'm the one with strength. And when I have the upper hand, when I'm able to dominate, that's exactly what I'm going to do, without hesitation, without mercy.

Then I go around to the north side, where the snow has a few more reserves, shivering in the shadows. Oh, hiding over here, are you? Come on, be realistic. It's time to cash in your chips, snow, you have no hope, give up the ghost. If you had half the balls you think you have you'd come over to the south side and prove it. How about a bucket of hot water to toughen you up?

Yeah, snow, I hear you, you were a big man there for a while. People passed by and saw a revolting sight. We had old ladies backed up three blocks trying to see the snow man up the road. And I saw you, too, I saw your pride, your feeling you could do anything. At that time, you taunted us ... I'm the man, I'm the man, there's no man like me! Etc., disgusting stuff! Pull up your damned pants!

But you're not looking so hot now. Or perhaps you are looking hot, and that's the problem. This photo was taken on the exact spot where the snow showed off its enormous package. Admittedly, it was a giant that night. As disgusting at it was, it definitely put me to shame. But that was then, this is now. Now it's a few spots of white. Snow swimmers? I don't know.

It's about over. This is getting pathetic. Snow has had its day, and now its day is through, now it dies. You really had us going there for a while. Ha ha, but now, oh boy, you're finished! You sicken me.

The Mystery Of Clouds

It's been a nice day today -- mid 40s with very few signs of winter. So I spent some time outside, lying on my back, chewing a weed, looking up at the sky. My picture is of an actual cloud passing by. That's not a cloud from Google Images, but a cloud I personally saw and photographed! If you happened to see that very cloud, please let me know, because it'd be cool to have that in common with someone...

When I'm out like that, looking at clouds, I do what everyone does: I'm looking for shapes that are recognizable. I saw a few that looked like army tanks, one that looked like a boot, and one that looked like an electric can opener. There was even a jet stream through it that looked like the power cord. The one in the picture reminded me of a turtle. And of course there was a bunch that was just generic clouds. Boring, yes, but they make the identifiable ones more special.

While looking up, something amazing suddenly occurred to me, a question, "What keeps them up there?" If it was a flock of geese, they'd be flapping their wings, but I could see no wings and so no flapping. There were no strings or wires attached from above, at least none obvious to me. And certainly there were no pillars raised up from the ground, which would have been immediately noticeable long before today, like years ago. Although what a great picture that'd be, thousands of train cars on tracks going every which way with pillar cars moving the clouds around the country! It'd cost money, for sure, but we'd have to ask, What's a decent cloud worth to you?

It could be, and probably is, that Science has a good answer for how clouds stay in the air. I don't know. If I had to guess, I guess it'd be something to do with them being lighter than air. Then the reason why they're not higher up is they're heavier than the air above them. The lighter air prevents them from going higher and the heavier air keeps them from falling. Something like that. Certainly other heavy and light stuff work together like that.

But what makes a cloud heavy or light? This is where we're entering the realm of Mystery. Either no one knows, or it could be just me. I don't know. I'm guessing it has something to do with barometric pressure, whatever that is. An easier answer might just be that a cloud is part of the sky, the sky operates by the rules that appertain to it, so that's it! But that's not really an answer, but begs the question. I thought I knew, but now that I'm writing this I can't think of it.

I'll look at it from a different angle. They say fog is a cloud that's come down. So let's figure out why fog would come down. It'd have to be heavier than air, right? The air above it just suddenly got light, a bunch of moisture came together in isolated places, equaling a cloud that's naturally heavier, so it sinks. Then the sun comes, evaporates the moisture, thus lightening the cloud so it rises or disappears all together. Heavy and light, that's the key to the whole thing.

The Train's Weather Report

I've been doing my part to be self sufficient when it comes to getting the weather. Like the pioneers. They didn't get weather from TV or the internet. They did it themselves. Anyway, with the internet, everyone's always wanting to "save bandwidth," so I hate to waste it; why not look outside occasionally and see what it's doing for myself?

The obvious problem is that you can only see the weather happening right around you. If I had a big tower or something to climb on, then you could see it across town, but, still, that's not very far. So I started checking around, talking to some people, and they told me something they were already doing that I hadn't thought of. Keep an eye on trains coming through town!

So instead of looking on the internet everyday, like I used to, and wasting bandwidth, I've been going to the train station, along with a bunch of other people, and we're getting the weather report firsthand! And it's a lot of fun. The trains come through, we're looking at them, and it tells us just about everything we want to know!

"Just about" everything we want to know is the key phrase. Because the tracks only go east and west. If something's going on north or south of here, we don't know about it. The workaround we've got for that is to just make an average of east and west and give half of it to the north and half to the south. And anyway, my memory of the weather from TV is that it tends to go west to east, so it's no big deal.

So here's some of the stuff we've learned in the last few days: (And if you're out west, maybe you can tell me if we've got it right.) Two days ago a train came through from the west with snow on it. There was snow on every car, indicating to me that the snow out west was pretty severe. And you know how they have a reverse engine on the back of a train? There was even snow on the snowplow, which is really weird for an engine going backward! That had to be some deep snow!

Now, that was just one train. Then there were other trains coming through that didn't have snow on them. Our conclusion was that either the non-snowy trains hadn't come from as far away, or that they'd been on a sidetrack long enough for it to melt.

In addition to snow, we've seen all the other weather come through, including rain, hail, and fog. If you see a bunch of wet cars, that means rain. If there's denting, that's hail. And if you can barely see the train at all, that's fog. A train being a heavy and fast thing, if fog's just sitting out there, it's going to get run over. If boxcars are open, they fill up, and next thing you know, there's fog everywhere. For a few minutes, even after the train gets out of town, we have fog. Then it all evaporates, or catches a train going the other direction.

Talking to some of the old-timers, it's a lot of fun to hear what all they've seen in the past. One guy said he's been coming down here since he was a little kid, like 60 years ago. In fact, he's missing a leg from the time he tried to scoop up a handful of hail back then. I had to tell him how inspiring that was for me, that someone would be so dedicated to getting the weather and saving bandwidth, even all those years ago.

All Is Forgiven When You're Dead

A local TV channel's weatherman committed suicide. True story. I hadn't personally ever heard of him, since I don't watch that channel, but of course I feel sad that something, whatever it might have been led him to do that.

I heard about it on one of the competitor channels, and they gave a nice presentation on him. Apparently he was something of a cut-up on air, since they had him flapping like a wild chicken, dressed in a Superman costume, and so forth. Perhaps not the most flattering images, but they meant well, that he was well known and respected for various antics.

OK, but I have some objections. If the people on the competing channel aren't watching the other guys' shows, how do they know about him? And how did they become so chummy all of a sudden, since it's usually a cut throat business. Even while they were praising the deceased weatherman they were still using slogans for themselves like, "The most accurate weather report," as if to say the competitors' weather sucked. Maybe that's what pushed him over the edge, everyone questioning his accuracy.

The whole thing has been on my mind, as you can tell. It reminds me of the old truth that once you're dead, everything's forgiven. You can kill a hundred people, but once they get done executing you in the electric chair, you're in for an honorable burial. No one comes around and kicks your body. At least in America. In Libya they probably do. Or Iran. I think it makes a certain amount of sense. After all, it is your body. Why not pulverize it if you were that bad?

The weatherman, of course, wasn't a bad guy. According to what they're saying. They didn't mention why he committed suicide. Maybe no one knows. But they are definitely promoing the various signs of suicidal behavior, that the rest of us might be vigilant in the face of similar behavior in our loved ones. So that's a positive.

When they started promoing the upcoming story of the dead weatherman, I figured it was going to be some old 80-90 year old retired weatherman who was beloved in the area. Because I believed they used the term "dearly loved" or "well loved." So I was expecting to see an old black and white picture of the first weatherman in the area. But then it turned out to be this young guy, 41, flapping like a chicken, and I thought, "Whoa." They used the word suicide and I was thinking that's unusual! Who's happier than a weatherman? No one! Maybe the sports guys, whose constant happiness lies in their superficial approach to life.

Planes And Paper Towels

It's raining again and no one's doing a damned thing about it!

I mentioned that to someone, and they're all like, "What do you expect them to do about it?" Do something to get rid of it! Good grief, man, you're telling me that with our current level of scientific know-how -- we're able to look out at the beginning of the universe and, closer to home, sync an iPod in under a half hour -- that we can't do anything about the weather?

I remember they were talking about controlling the weather way back when I was a kid. What happened? Everything else they predicted came true: Putting a bean on a plate and having it blossom into a full meal; our own personal one-man helicopter; dial-up internet; and four slice toasters. Is weather the one thing they got wrong?

Maybe it's understandable that they screwed up weather control. Weather's really big, encompassing millions of acres at a time, spread out across the country like The Blob. We tried No Trespassing signs but that didn't do any good. The wind blew them all away and the rest of the weather never saw them. I personally like the idea of putting the weather in jail. Lock up a few jars of rainwater to set example for the rest. Or confine a few waves of a tsunami in a swimming pool and send a message, Quit messing with us!

The way I remember it, they were going to seed the clouds. Whatever happened to that? They were going to have big planeloads of men up there doing unspeakable things out the bomb bay. That's why they painted all the bathing beauties on the planes, a little encouragement. But it never did any good, except maybe for the men. Like I said, weather's just too big, and we don't have the men with the size to match. Anyway, seeding the clouds was meant to make it rain, not make it stop.

Of course we want rain. When the fields are struggling to choke down the dust, they need a drink. And there's other benefits of rain, I guess, like giving lifeguards a break. But we don't want endless quantities and oodles of rain spoiling everything, especially on our days off. People plan outside events for months, just to have them ruined by rain. I know today I was hoping to sit outside ... but nooooo.

The idea I've got is to send up millions of planes with millions of rolls of paper towels. Get them up in the sky and start soaking up the water before it falls. Then we'll have to think of what to do with the wet towels. Maybe drop them in big bins over lakes and wring them out with a big press and rollers and haul them away. It'd give the paper towel companies a great chance to test their claims, like "The Quicker Picker Upper" and "Our Towels Really Suck."

It's Blizzard Conditions, Folks

I don't have to go to Dairy Queen for a Blizzard. There's one outside all over the place.

This storm is a secretary's dream, since it's a White Out.

It's just the kind of night that I would throw another log on the fire. But we don't have a fireplace.

Too bad I can't toilet train the dog. It's tough going out.

A Torrential Hiatus

It's been another period of strange, terrible weather, much like that torrential outpouring with lightning and other assorted phenomena a few weeks ago that struck houses in my neighborhood.

When we get such awesome, terrifying, extreme weather, it comes with its inconveniences of course, but for the most part I like it. It depends on what it is. Even I hate the extremes when it comes to the possibility of freezing to death or losing limbs from frostbite or being sucked up into a screaming vortex of wind, rain, and the debris from people's houses.

But, you know, you have to look at it philosophically, you need to take the bad with the good. Plus, if a few people are sucked up now and then, it points out even more clearly the benevolent side of life for the rest of us when it's nice. My advice to those folks is, Quit being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It's better to have the sense that where you are is where you're meant to be. Then you can have a certain calm assurance no matter what the day may bring. That's the way I faced this most recent bout of weather, with a kind of glib cockiness that it would not affect me in any personal way. And I guess it's not too much to say what all this encompasses, that this shield of safety, this penumbra of protection, this guarantee of good extends all the way down to my garbage cans. It's my full expectation that even they won't blow over. And I just looked outside and they're still standing there!

Every time the good comes my way, I take it as vindication for whatever choice I've made theretofore. Now, with my hiatus being such a big deal to so many people, of course I've had moments of self doubt, second guessing, reservation, and qualms. But then something comes along -- like all those houses being destroyed and yet my own garbage cans being unaffected -- and I know that all is well, that the hiatus was destined, is blessed, and shall forever be affirmed.