Revenge of the Morbidly Obese Weather Girls

One should never mock the weather gods in New England.  Even if they happen to have blue hair and weigh in at half a ton.  Even after tax day you are never safe from snow until the Fourth of July (or is it Juneteenth now?).

And the worst part about it is that even though it’ll mostly melt later on today I have to clear the driveway to allow for safe passage of guests today.  Bring out the snow shovel.  Oh my aching back.  Damn you fat weather girls wherever you are.

Well, I don’t take back a single word of it.  If I’m going to have unearthly weather; snow in the summer or flaming meteors of bitumen I want it announced by a cheerful pretty woman who will gracefully point at the green screen and smile her blinding white smile.

 

Update:

So I finished my shoveling and decided to take a few photos of the weirdness.

 

 

Another Update:

Now you see it, and now you don’t

 

Weather I Like it or Not

April showers bring May flowers but we had a forecast yesterday, that called for a couple of inches of snow.  That seemed uncalled for to me.  The tv weather reports have been handed over to the B-Team since the COVID meltdown so I’m never sure anymore if it’s just mopery-dopery or something more fiendish.

These woke times have really shaken my faith in all the institutions.  There was a time when you could depend on the tv weather girl to be young, highly attractive and almost disgustingly cheerful as she told you what to expect from the sky over the next 24 hours.  Last week I was watching the evening news when a surly middle aged fat woman berated me about the climate.  I was pretty shocked.  I looked at Camera Girl and said, “What the hell have they done to the weather girl?  She’s morbidly obese!”  She volunteered hopefully, “Maybe she’s pregnant?”  I couldn’t watch.  I turned off the tv and stalked off.

Many things have indicated to me that our culture is doomed.  But the collapse of the weather girl standard, I believe, is the surest sign of the coming apocalypse.  And I’ll know that we’ve reached the final hour when at 7:30 one night the anchor will call out to the weather girl and a fat hairy bald man in a blonde wig and an ill-fitting sun dress will stand in front of the green screen and sashay through an interpretive dance for the forecast.  On that day I’ll pack my bags and start driving for Mexico.

Our neighbor to the south may be the land of narcotraficantes, duffel bags full of human heads and Montezuma’s revenge but I’m guessing that they are years behind us in the weather girl appearance death spiral.  And if I’m wrong about that I’ll keep heading south until I reach that Shangri-La where a pretty woman in a short tight dress walks me through the barometric and precipitation-based predictions.  I don’t much care if she’s a blonde, brunette or red-head.  I will keep going south until finally when I reach Tierra del Fuego if I still have to see a guy in a sun-dress I’ll know it’s all over and I’ll swim out to sea heading for Antarctica.  Maybe I’m exaggerating.  But you get the idea.

Now in case you think I’m a fanatic I want to assure you that I disagree with those countries that have taken the weather girl standard and gone overboard in the other direction.  I think it’s Russia or somewhere that has a channel that features naked weather girls.  I strongly disagree with this concept.  Oversexualizing the weather is wrong.  When someone is telling you about the weather you need a certain amount of resistance to what is being said.  Here in New England, I often find myself yelling at the weather forecasters male and female.  They torture us with absurdly vague and dangerously misleading descriptions of the weather.  How can you predict a range of zero to 34 inches of snow and expect not to get death threats?  How can you predict torrential rain and then yammer on about the drought warning in the same breath?

But imagine if a naked woman was telling this to you.  You’d be powerless to complain.  You’d have no choice but to take whatever advice she gave you.  You would outfit your car for the morning commute with both an inflatable survival raft and a snow shovel.  I need to be able to rail against the weather reader.  I can’t allow any kind of sexual quid pro quo to exist.  I want them to wear clothes.  I only insist that the clothes match the binary tag of their sex chromosomes.  Do I ask too much?  I think not!

06DEC2020 – OCF Update

Sorry if things are a little slow this weekend with the posts, I’ve been enjoying the New England weather.

This weekend we have been blessed with an early December snow storm.  And even though it’s not the first snow of the season this was the first legitimately annoying snow of the year.  That’s because it was one of our trifecta storms.  It starts with a typhoon of rain, then it shifts to sleet and ends with a good think layer of snow.  When you get that combination it is delightfully heavy and certain to cause back ache, heart palpitations and exhaustion.  And it requires two separate removal operations.  Once the sleet ends and the snow begins in earnest you have to remove the slushy layer before it turns into a bottom layer of rock-like ice.  So you spend several hours (depending on the size of your driveway and parking area) shoveling and slinging slush and that is the heaviest snow there is.  And unfortunately snow blowers really don’t handle slush very well so this has to be done with the good old snow shovel.

Then you wait until the storm is over and remove the snow.  But unfortunately there is always an ice layer at the bottom even after the initial slush removal step so this is never as easy as a dry snowstorm.  It rained here on Friday through to Saturday morning.  The sleet started early and the snow began at 10 am.  I spent about three hours on Saturday slinging slush.  The snow was over by Sunday morning and I got to work again and finished up by 2 pm today.  Global warming, my foot.

So I’m behind on my writing but I haven’t heard about anymore snow coming anytime soon so I’ll catch up pretty quickly.  Maybe the lousy weather is why New Englanders are such perverse creatures.  They want to share their misery with everyone and being experts they do a thorough job.

End of Summer Blues

 

In New England, the end of summer is akin to how it must have felt to the pyramid-building slaves when their break period was about to end.  A wonderful but horribly short respite was giving way to endless unimaginable agony.  And this cycle would repeat itself until merciful death interceded.  It’s just like that.

Summer is breathtakingly beautiful because of the contrast to what follows.  It was less than 40F here this morning.  On the second day of September.  Still summer!  And it goes rapidly downhill from here.  Sure, we’ll have some warm days.  Over eighty sometimes.  But it’s just a cruel tease meant to highlight just how bad things will soon be.  In the last decade or so New England has unleashed a new and terrifying alternative to winter storms.  This is where a freezing rain or snow descends on us in October while the trees are still full of leaves.  The trees in this condition hold onto much more snow and ice than normally and therefore huge branches and limbs can break off the trees.  And that’s how millions of people end up without power for days or even weeks.  So, what you have is houses without heat, some without a stove, some without water, which means without toilets.  It’s such a joy.  So, installing an emergency generator really isn’t an extreme decision.  It’s sort of mandatory if you want to eat and drink and stay warm and go to the bathroom and, you know, live.

So, why am I writing about this?  Well mostly to let you people living in other parts of the country know how lucky you are.  Sure, they have hurricanes down south and earthquakes in the west and tornadoes in between but those only very infrequently effect you.  Here we know as sure as night follows day that we will be wet, miserable and cold for eight months of the year, every year until we die or we have the good sense to get the hell out of this purgatorial region.

And why don’t I leave?  Ah, I am bound with the strongest and most adamantine of chains, the grandmother/grandchildren bond.  If a woman is possessed of an industrial strength maternal instinct (as, sadly, Camera Girl is) then no power in the ‘Verse short of a strategic thermonuclear strike will pry her away from these rugrats.

So here I am.  The rollercoaster is at the top of the lift hill and the slow ratchet up is done.  We’re staring down but the bottom has not yet dropped out of our stomachs.  Here we go.

End of depressing preamble.

So, I’ve got this cool three-day weekend.  Some relatives are coming up.  I’m going out to take some seasonal photos and I’m bound to hang out with the grandsons too.  Plus, the mystery of the disappearing quail needs to be answered.  I’ve put out a game camera and hope to catch some photos of them gamboling around in the woods and thickets.  And finally, I’m finishing up the available Cowboy Bebop discs from Netflix.  I decided to try out another anime title (Ghost in the Shell 2.0) and it just arrived.  All in all, it sounds like I’ll be having a very good time.

A very happy and relaxing Labor Day Holiday to all you good folks out there reading OCF.  I’ll have more serious stuff right along soon but today just enjoy a good rest and do something fun.