Yesterday morning, they were telling us to expect, "A dusting of snow, Possibly an inch -- two, if we're especially unlucky but don't plan on it."
Four to five inches later of sticky, wet snowfall later-- I spent much of yesterday afternoon sweeping snow out of large satellite dishes and on occasion helping to shovel the sidewalks -- and then shoveled walks again after a slip-sliding, 20-to-30 mph drive home.
What else should we expect from a trade with its roots in reading auguries from balls of fire flashing across the sky and falling to the ground? It's a wonder they don't dance about wearing odd body-jewelery, fall to the ground in an ecstatic trance and deliver forecasts in iambic pentameter.
Or do they? Could the claims of "computer models" and sophisticated imaging technology be no more than a ruse, a cover?
Either way, they lie. It might be nicer if they'd have the grace to do so with a bit of theatrics.
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago