Meteorman:
An Immodest Proposal

Over 200 million blessed Americans are exposed to the Big Lie every day, like clockwork. Most of 'em even know it's a Big Lie - they'll admit it if you ask. But, still . . . they forget. They go to bed at night and - presto amnesia! - the world is fresh and new again, and anything is possible, even accurate weather forecasting!

The reliance on weather reports is like any other form of drug addiction: One moment you know it's bad for you, next moment . . . well, you forget. Meanwhile, your brains are being incrementally softened by allowing bad data to eat into your fundamental sense of reality.

Bad weather forecasts - fed by the Big Lie that (especially now that we have all this technology) it's possible to predict weather - have caused the erosion of the traditional family unity (TFU), the enormous proliferation of pornography, and several crises of confidence in the space program.

MeteorMan (that's me) has devoted his biological and scientific existence to the eradication of the illusion that it is possible to predict the weather. As a corollary endeavor, he is dedicated to exposing all these misleading, pompous, so-called television meteorologists standing there in front of their virtual weather maps, pointing one way while they look another to make sure they don't get their highs and lows crossed.

As Olympic "Bob" Eddie said last year during the Ewes For Drug-Free Lambs convention in Ovine, Wyoming, "Anything y'need t' know about weather you can get from a simple look-around . . . which way are the sheep facin', is the wind partin' their wool right down t' the hide, are their eyes waterin' or their gums bleedin', and are you wet and cold or not? You wanna know any more than that about weather, you don't need no mediaologist. You need a damn nurse!"

Who is MeteorMan? Long before there was a Hollywood movie of a similar name, MeteorMan maintained a careful weather watch from his bunker on remote Smith Island in the G-spot of the Strait of Juan De Fuca in the Northwestern United States. From this strategic location, MeteorMan is able to monitor weather and climate developments for the region and the entire United States. With grassroots support from his good friend Olympic "Bob" Eddie, who maintains a ewe ranch near the Olympic Peninsula town of Sequim (pronounced squim), MeteorMan grasps the Big Picture and tells it - if not like it is - like he thinks it probably could be.

Why is MeteorMan? After trillions of dollars, billions of man hours, and 17 woman hours, so-called meteorologists are no closer to accurately predicting the weather than they were 5,000 years ago. Weather forecasting makes astrology look like an exact science, yet every newspaper and television station seems obliged to have its phony forecasts and meteorologists. MeteorMan precisely targets the credibility gap the "weather industry" has created by years of forecast fiction. MeteorMan lampoons so-called meteorologists, dishing up considerable humor mixed with some weird philosophy.

Where is MeteorMan? So far, only in the Island Independent, a regional publication that served the islands northwest of Seattle from April 1, 1993, to March 31, 1996. However, thanks to the magic of technology, MeteorMan maintains a global weather awareness via the World Wide Web. From his Smith Island bunker he is able to communicate essential weather info to and for any region of the nation or world.

What is MeteorMan? Read a few of these columns. Isn't this better weather?

MeteorMan

Depressed? Rather Be Dead?

Weather is the third leading cause of clinical depression in non-surgical outpatients with chronic vinylphobia under 65. Sound familiar? You bet! The two leading causes? Birth and death. That's right, and between birth and death it's all weather. In the ephemeral words of Olympic "Bob" Eddie, "Anything worth gettin' outta bed for is worth doin'."

By the time we get to this point on the sidereal calendar, a lot of folks are into their sixth month of complaining about the weather. They've been depressed since late September, and they've got August on the brain. This is the time of year when savings accounts for the kids' college are drawn down just enough for a Round Trip Plus 4 Days/Nites in Cancun. After all, they'd never ever make it to college if you loaded up the .38 one March night and blew holes in the loved ones.

Yes, March can be pretty darn depressing. There's so little to live for, so little sunshine and Stevie Wonder, so long to go until summer, and then, when summer comes, another winter is just over the horizon. Don't you feel like killing yourself? Wouldn't you rather be dead?

Don't Feel Bad 'bout Feeling Bad

I don't blame you for wanting to end it all. You've got a right to die, to be dead, to end ad this godawful depression. Death isn't depressing, is it? Of course not! Death is peaceful, cold, and damp . . . kind of like winter . . . or spring. On the other hand, death might be hot . . . real hot . . . hotter 'n hell!

Talk about weather shifts! Talk about mood swings! We're stuck in the middle here, folks, and unless you're one of the 144,000 Chosen Few that will be sucked up in the Divine Tornado two seconds before the Apocalypse (and if you think you're one of the 144,000, you're not!), you'd better face the fact that there's no way out of this. On the other hand, it's not your fault. You've just made a few bad decisions, that's all. Like being born, for one. But, hey, let's not get depressed, shall we? There's a sun break every week or so; the blue shows through. Whatever you think about weather, it changes. External and internal, it's all the same.

A great man once said, "I'm not okay, you're not okay, but that's okay!" Okay? The main thing is not to feel depressed about being depressed. If you're depressed, accept it. Enjoy it. Wallow in it!

It's like rain. Why try to stay dry? Get wet, be soaked, drip all over the place. Think of it as therapy, because it is. Not very good therapy, perhaps, but it's cheap.

Love Yourself, Love Your Weather

"He who doth the weather loath, doth not in th' sunshine goeth." Those words from Lonnie Anderson ring so true! You've got to accept you, and you've got to accept the weather - whatever the weather - otherwise you'd be driven absolutely stark-raving mad, like me.

You must embrace the rain and love the clouds. If you don't you'd be like the rest of 'em - continually wanting to be somewhere you're not - some other time, some other place. Ultimately, you'd rather be dead. Depressing, you say? That depends on how much you hate the weather.

As Olympic "Bob" Eddie says, "That coninuating drippity-drippity-drip on my head's enough t'make me wanna fix the roof!"

The Fortnightly Weather

The best thing you can say about our weather lately is, at least we're not in California. With the jetstream spending most of the last five months on a depressed southerly track, 90% of our annual rainfall has landed on Laguna Beach. Talk about the Seven Plagues! Expect frogs to rain down on San Francisco during the last week of March.

Footnote

Like other so-called meteorologists and weather gurus, MeteorMan is not responsible for the accuracy of his forecasts. He is simply paid an enormous salary to keep us guessing. Under no circumstances should you use MeteorMan's (or anyone else's) forecasts to plan picnics, day trips, vacation time, or weddings. Better to brush up on Chaos Theory, fractal geometry, and darts. MeteorMan happily answers questions on meteorology, sex, and weather.

© Drew Kampion, 2006