Weather Forensics: The Science of Weather Observing. Not playing the game.

I am often amused at the Man-made Global Warming Entourage and that includes the king of nitwits,   Bill Nye,  the political scientist.   One of my reasons for leaving the service was some leaders insistence in toying with Atmospheric Physics and putting innocent lives at stake.

Two things I often observe is what I call the ‘Picnic Forecast’.    TV stations will fudge  solid Meteorological reasoning for appeasing weekend  picnickers.    The problem is that your credibility gets shot in the foot and your claims to caring about your listeners goes out the window.

A Trof of colder air is moving southward being aided by a 120kt jet stream that is bringing temperatures as much as 30-50 degrees Fahrenheit below normal.   On it’s own cold dry air does not permit for snow or precipitation of any kind.    So cold air is just part of the equation.   The NWS in Raleigh has a conundrum.   Do they alert the area near Greensboro out to Raleigh and Cary or do they insist that the Low that may provide the moisture and bring that moist warmer air to the area?

Cold air is denser than warm so as the winds turn to the south at the surface.   This warmer air will ride up and over the denser shallow colder air to the north.    You often hear this setup referred to as an Arctic Clipper,   Polar Vortex,  Middle Level Cyclone in the negative phase of the Arctic Oscillation Pattern.   During the last winter Olympics in Canada we had just that setup.   Cold air that was expected there was basically here in the southern part of the nation.    The Miller B Climate Model spins up Low Pressure in association with slow moving frontal boundaries.   They acquire moisture in the Cape Hatter area (Cape Hatteras Low) and pushes that moisture over the colder air.  The corollary in Italy is the Genoa Low while we can see that with weather that happens in the Northern Gulf of Mexico.

Timing is everything but I watch the trends.     In the NWS long range forecast they left out the forecast for Monday and Tuesday and today they called it ‘precipitation’.   And it is that,   but the last few systems were designated as rain with little reservation.    I wouldn’t be surprised to have the forecast discussion talk about sensible weather.    I laugh at that because I could imagine weather being unreasonable.    Oh the audacity of a petulant Low Pressure Area and the unmitigated gall to do one or the other thing.

The atmosphere is a chaotic admix of competing properties.   In this case,  cold polar air funneling down toward us and the dryness associated with that and the potential moisture that could invariably make the weekend cold and windy but also with the possibility of some kind of frozen weather event.

The bottom line is that weather is not only a kind of 3-D Physics Party sans the glasses but is also skewed in the diagonal as well.    It is a living,  breathing brane world on planet Earth.    With all this going on it is easy to see how miscalculations can happen but at least be consistent and stop worrying whether Mary Ann or Ginger is going to have a picnic,   especially with chill factors making your freezer seem like the tropics!

Bottom line is to watch that Low over Louisiana,  which at this time has a sparse signature on weather maps but then again,  so did Florida on Monday and they got one inch of rain.    This could be a huge weather maker for Central and West Central NC from Wake Forest to Greensboro/Burlington.   Stayed tuned for the wet and wacky adventures of Jack Frost and Frosty the Snowman and we will see about that 3-degree guarantee.   lol

I’ve been a Meteorologist for all around the world and for over 30 years.   I am the go to guy for weather at race tracks across America,  Canada,  New Zealand and Australia.

Do you know where you’re going to?

Dianna Ross had it right,  but we struggle against the obvious.   The same reality that life is a transient soul a waiting place for something else.   Like I cannot prove to you anything that you are unwilling to accept and the only certainty is deduced from what I believe I know.   I am not seeking approval but at an ear.   To hear my passionate regard for most everyone who has an honest take.   Not the cogitations of mindless babbles trying to sell a book but the real crisis that is every day life.

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In the abstracts our dreams provide a kind of nexus,   to examine our world.   The only deducible result is that we better pay heed to the needs of others.   This idea that we are somehow original is funny because everything we have imagined,  has been thought about before.    It is kind of like salad dressing and choosing between French or Ranch.   We have people who would place their soul on the line just to prove to you that their choice is somehow unique.    None of us are,  exceptionally original.   That is the pride of the status quo.  That some equal would tell us what we already know.   Elucidating on a variable that was somehow hidden.

The brutal reality is that we are created to create.   Our effervescence can be misconstrued as divine intervention but I am sure that a sovereign god does not need endorsements.   Like saying that we know something that God wouldn’t.     OMG Larry,  I never knew that!  ok,  sure!

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And how do we know the answer when we do not know the question?   Last night I dream t that some bad individual was going to take my life.   I hid beneath the ATM drawer,  half suspecting that my location was known.    That person knew I was not in support of him and I think he respected that, given the circumstances.

As things unfolded I spared my own life.    For anyone familiar with ‘Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs’  is aware of my conundrum.   For anyone still in doubt it was my sense of fairplay that gave me street cred.   I was able to parlay a take into resolution,  both preserving dignity while saving my life.

I would like to believe myself being in the final and most basic sense as Freudian and as classical and pragmatic as Socrates.    I hate mean people and even if I disagree with a lifestyle,  I would fight for it as saying to bullies,  “Bugger off”.

So what does this mean?   Well I see far too many people pretending that the Emperor’s pecker is not exposed and willing to attest that his rainment is fine and original.  Joan of Arc had nothing to lose but everything and any soldier of any country who is not diabolic,  sees the intrinsic value of a single soul.

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Men would say a ‘penis’ is of the devil but a labiA is not the objective.    They ARE wrong on both accounts.   The demon is in the details and a patriarchal take on decency.  My heart breaks at the lonely soul with no place to live and the idea that others look down on them.   I look down on those who look down on them.    I realize they had no more of a choice than the man in the moon and just maybe that man may know something we don’t.   Afterall,  he loves the Moon and that is his reality and ours but a nuisance to be discarded.

If I sound like a rambling idiot, your perception may be right,   All I know is that suffering goes on unabated.  The teeth of death spares no one but divinity and I am not even sure if that is true.  I believe God respects the questioning soul because I believe he rather tires of obsequious fools.    Letting a witch die was as much a lack of their own  virility as the perverse notion as that young women peeing as she dies hung on a hickory stick.    If you want to locate evil,   it is not Harry Potter or that name who cannot be mentioned but our own infidelity to our own most passionate values.

People who say sex does not matter are abject liars.    Everyone wants to believe that there is some quintessential probity to a random collection of meteoric imaginations.    Fallacious conclusions are less battle worthy than dandelions in an EF-5 Tornado.    And politicians like rock stars find their quarry in the missionary position and that their rewards in intimacy is beyond the ken of ordinary people.

Like the ill-fated garden in LA to the guard in the Wizard of Oz are the implacable assertions of a slave owner on the 4th of July.    In too many occasions women are pussy on a stick.   A most sumptuous carrot of all.   A viking grabs her by the hair and conquers her while oppressing that same valley with an air of the King’s English and the voluptuous boob jobs on a modern day Barbie Doll.    Misogyny  in a mask of velour and beheading the soul of exposure.    Your member truly does depict you and women see the depth of the valley and the intercourse of fairness.

hELIREErotic Fresco Painting From Pompeii

My next excursion will be the scent of papaya that wafts from the nature of nature and not the moralistic reverberations of hypocrisy.

I would rather have a woman a lot like me.   Sexually inclined and not afraid to be a women and not afraid for me to be a man.   The others are trying to protect something that is not real.

The honest man acquiesces to the notion that the eyes are that flame.   That transcends time and understands her more than any player could hope to.

Sports illustrated.

There is so much truth to this story and there are even more egregious examples of this exploitation in the media and then they have the audacity to tell others how to act??? Really! Setting up women with unrealistic examples of reubenesque?

Wonder Of My Worlds

Swimsuit Issue 2015

This woman Robyn Lawley being called a “plus size model” is whats wrong with the world today. I can’t believe it. She is not only beautiful but she is also fit. This is the type of stuff that really messes with a girls minds. Sad!

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A dream-like world. Basic Training!

On a springlike evening just as the sun was beginning to fall,    I was on what seemed to be an old base,  replete with World War II barracks that were both offices and dorm rooms for the college students.    In the military you were privacy to some antiquated housing and furnishings but comparatively,   the Air Force was light years ahead of other branches.

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In any regard this is a reasonable facsimile of dorm life back in the 60s and 70s and some back as far as the 1950s.   It is hard to imagine that our new dorms in Basic Training were the new dorms then (1974) and are the old dorms of yesteryear.  Confused?  Me too!

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The Dorms above were those new-old dorms and the new ones today are very nice.  Almost too nice.   The second floor overhang is where we did PE and was also close to the Chow Hall (We called it the dining halls because we were more sophicated, lol).   Anyhow,  our first day was about 11PM and like in the movie ‘Stripes’  the old stodgy Sergeants had the most pleasant things to say.

While we were waiting to go into the chow hall the TIs went in for awhile,  ostensibly to find good things to say to us when they got back.   But all of a sudden we had two black guys in line who were dancing and clapping and changing rows.   I snickered and marveled at their nerve or stupidity.  I can’t believe they didn’t get caught!   It was kind of like ‘Soul Train’.

TI2TIs get up close and personal with Dover Airmen

And like in ‘Full Metal Jacket’,   we had such great give and take with the Drill Instructors, or we called them  TIs or Training Instructors in the Chair Force.    The banter was light and convivial as we drank tea and did bird-watching.    It was almost like we were bestest friends and most TIs wanted to adopt us because we were the finest bunch of recruits they ever saw.

Then I woke-up,  and yes they (The TIs) took out their wrath on the aluminum trash cans and told us how much we stunk.   I even had the pleasure of discussing facial hair and the need to shave.   I had a face like a baby’s behind.   I looked like the smaller end of the height scale amongst 7th or 8th graders than a new recruit.   Even the foot lockers stood taller and menacing.

There were no private Jokers in our flight,  instead we were all Private Pyle.  With our shorn and shaved domes,   we looked like Vin Diesel without the muscles.  And while they were strongly encouraged not to kill us, they found other ways of making us feel like spineless-soft-bodied flesh-eating larvae in the noon day sun (maggots).    I think they took a class on how to jam their cute little TI hats into our face.  I still have entrance and exit wounds from those hats and dreams of reveille or the girl I used to have in upstate NY.

I never knew I had biological family and friends in basic because our Instructor told us he was family! Literally!   He was our parents, our friends,  family and girl friends.   No wonder they were cranky at 4A.M.!    After breakfast we swam along the Euphrates with 300 lbs of gear,  against the flow!    Okay,  that might be a little stretch or maybe a war story.  The war in Vietnam was coming to a conclusion and not ending well for people in the south part of that country.

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As Adrian Cronauer said,  “It was hot,  damn hot”.   With our canteens full of Perrier Water and Fig Newtons hidden in our lids (hats) even SEALS didn’t mess with us.   I had a lot of freckles then and was what you youngins refer to as Gingers.   So basically we were hardcore,  like a bunch of newborn fetuses dressed in green,  we marched or tried to, to the strains of Mozart and Tiny Tim.

One of the more fun ventures were the shots (vaccinations) that were delivered by a kind of air gun loaded with testosterone and Viagra.   No wonder that trees were not safe and off-limits to us.  Now I know why we had to stay off the grass.

And at night we had girls and partied late into the night.  Okay,  more accurately we had letters from our hot chicks (if you were lucky) and got to shine our shoes and the GI Parties were not co-ed!   We learned how to wax floors and fold our underwear.   Those beds were made with hospital corners and if they were not done right,  the hospital was a very real possibility.

When we started molting and changing from maggots to gadflys,  we were getting salty and irascible.  To give us a pass meant to go watch a movie on base or go and frolick with the natives in San Antonio and watch a movie..   We took pictures and discovered four-lettered words but couldn’t use them on base or against our family (The TIs).

But all good things must end and just when we were having fun.  Remember back then too many civilians hated our troops so while our facilities are better now,  so is the frame of mind and the acceptance of our communities.

Basic 1948

What we are, is who we are or what?

Sometimes the strange is truly stranger than fiction.   Like a Stephen King movie with it’s twists and turns or the drama in a Hitchcock movie.   No need for pointless choreography because the musings of the mind are incredible.

Below is hilarious and I am uncertain if management did this for effect or because he was talented.  Aye!

Sabres  v Maple Leafs

http://sports.yahoo.com/blogs/nhl-puck-daddy/satan-be-gone–miroslav-satan-calls-it-a-career-after-iihf-worlds-190438069.html

And of course no story would be complete and especially in this case,  because he played for:  The New Jersey Devils of the NHL.

And then the guy above teaches respect,  an attribute sorely lacking in a loud society but again,   who would have predicted that?

I hate the shows where dumb semi-celebrity slobs make asinine comments about silly souls who had no choice to be born so non-mainstream.    But these commentaries need no explanations as to moral character.

Our society has a field day bashing people who for one reason or another finds themselves the object of ridicule or even akin to modern day lepers.   Providence or whatever has placed us here and we didn’t have a heavenly dream sheet to pick our destination,  cognitive abilities or our own DNA.    It seems that nature and the inexplicable are invisible paradigms which compensate for injustice,  in many cases.

Let’s make the world a better place and I pray that we see that we can make a difference.   We are but a few but we can change a part of the world.   I remember seeing a semi-documentary about Los Angeles where minorities had a garden and the millionaire took that Oasis from them.

One morning the place was leveled by bulldozers and in spite of raising the money necessary to purchase,  the owner lied.   Several years later it is still untouched.  Probably a racial issue,  I am not sure but we can make a difference, if we want to.

EmilysQuotes.Com-amazing-great-positive-life-freedom-justice-honor-duty-mercy-hope-inspirational-Winston-Churchill

Quiet Desperation. Rewards Found in Shadows.

I feel pain and many times not even my own.   As a younger man I was working as a Forecaster at McGuire AFB in New Jersey.   One evening the weather observer blew past me and basically seemed to ignore me.   About an hour later she asked me how I knew something is wrong.    Her husband was high on crack and tried to shoot her with a shotgun.

I cannot remember how many times especially with females that I sensed this desperation.   A kind of pervasive fear that riddles with the soul with uncertainty and knowing that people do not understand.   Those who think they know depression and anxiety or to get over those things.

They assume much and without any comprehension of who I am and what I do for others.  The best medicine is compassion.   A feeling heart that is vulnerable but equipped.   It comes as no surprise at the misogyny directed at women and those perceived to be weak.   Most men could not bear pregnancy and yet they carp at women as the weaker sex.   We are both the weaker and stronger and we know what the rules are for that.

We struggle to find things we can color as black and white and a way of a common ground that makes us better,  whole and deluded.   Unfortunately there are the parasites who willfully and aggressively open up scars and believe they are doing good.

To those,  we just walk away,  confidently but with humility because this is an anathema to haters.   Knowing we know where they are coming from.   Two still equal two,  yet the contrary spirit inherent in all of us,  wishes to play the devil’s advocate.

The tears of a friend spent towards a person especially a man who is trusted is almost sacred.    A girl and a friend I knew in Germany was near suicidal following a rape and resultant pregnancy.   She was lost and afraid but I just listened and told her that it is her decision,  whether to keep or abort.   She said I was the only one who treated with real respect.   Not strong opinions and judgments and love that is platonic and still sexually charged.   Without the sex.  Trust.

She decided to not abort and the baby was given to a mixed couple who the Army decided could not have kids by other channels.   Here were people who touched my heart in different ways and all where touched by some kind of angel.   I need to find her again as this was long ago.

The point is that we should listen.  Drink in the moment and appreciate the flavors of experience which if decided to be shared are a nectar so sweet,  that is permeates our brains with compassion and heart.

Give me this.  Take to a place where prying eyes dim. ‘

Give me the honesty to know the time on the clock.

Take me to the door that blesses our entrance,

to the sublime nature of harmony and the steady beat of time.

Give me the mind and the heart to hear.

To move past the shadows

and into the purple throes that fill me with wonder.

sunnude

JungA

The Village

In the still of the night in a remote cabin tucked away from the rest of the world, exists a place within itself.     With respiratory tides of sleep,  the snoring of the night is almost too faint to hear.   But it resonates in subtle whispers like water-bugs on a secluded pond in the middle of an oasis.     The rules are suspended here in this harbor hamlet, a tie-dyed miasma of ideas clashing and jockeying for position,  we attach meaning to these subtle pinpricks.   Suggestions emanating from our perceptions and the texture of skin and the warm breath of emotion.

Night

The night’s camouflage is perfect cover for in that stillness lies the city that no one else can see.  No shutterbug can capture the synergy that glows like the Northern Lights and burns in spasms upon our souls.   We find meaning everywhere and like the first man and first women we discover ourselves together.    Little battles form and we prepare our defense,  only to find that our own sense of oneness can overcome the me.   Our id is suspended and we present as a single flame.   The torch burns hotter than the sun but only felt by two.   The seasons give us a scale in which to measure and adding and subtracting makes it a lot better.

So I guess we live in little spaces away from the chattering crowds where we hear our own heavenly harps and the burnished clouds that come and go.

My Cat likes Barry Manilow.

My cat Baby was reading her Red-letter Bible and she paused and put her bookmark in.   She gave me one of those strange looks that cats often do on the third Tuesday of each month.   All I know was she laid down her headset and looked me straight in the eyes.    I looked away because you have no idea how patronizing she can be and the last thing I wanted was a protracted battle.

The air was rife with tension as I eased out of my chair and looked for a way out.  I knew it’s was bad when she took off her reading glasses,  as if saying, “look what you made me do?”    I noticed out of the corner of my eye the mailman approaching our door.   And it was a good omen as he had her favorite Barry Manilow CD in his hands.   She had been waiting for quite some time for her CD and I knew she would be entertained for hours,  so evidently I got a reprieve.

At times I could mollify her by faking that I liked BM.   Of course I would never allude to Barry as BM in her presence and thank God I am not going to let her know that I wrote this book.   And neither should you.  I am going to have to insist on this for the sake of keeping the peace.

In Baby’s matriculations she had the opportunity to go to a concert at the Old Veteran’s Stadium and I had to convince her not to take her big hand with the #1 sign on it.   It seemed that anytime she wanted to go out,  she had to take that darn sign.     Anyhow, the other cats would tell me how she would gush over his songs and especially ‘I Write The Songs’.

Well one day I couldn’t take it any longer and I knew this kind of obsessive behavior was a precursor to drug problems and it seems she spent some time in rehab,  getting off of catnip.   Sometimes she would just drool and have that glassy look in her eyes.    And those eyes were dilated like 16oz Dixie Cups in a whirlwind and her purring almost sounded like a Gregorian chant.   Therefore it was imperative that the two didn’t mix.   It would have been a volatile combination and thankfully I diverted her attention as a roll of toilet paper rolled across the floor and it’s tail ran out just before it could get to the old antique fireplace.   The gods were evidently pleased as the sound of BM was drowned out by the nascient hum of Uriah Heep.

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Those were heady days and the ability to quickly adapt benefited me more than you can imagine.   I tried to keep the peace and atmosphere relatively blissful and without the cadence of stomping paws and her arching back swaying to the sound of his voice.   Too many days it was a delicate balance between happiness and over-indulgence and knowing how to temper the acrimonious vibes that seem to come with more and more regularity.

One can say that I was facilitating her obsessions to the point of decadent disregard or simply being obsequious and fake as all get out.   Adversity can be the mother of invention and at least her subscription to Mother Jones had run out.   I am amazed that she let that lapse but maybe our frequent blowups over their depictions of George 43 Bush had convinced her of the conflict that it caused.    She contended that he was actually an alien but I finally convinced her it was the water.  Don’t ask,  don’t spell.   That is what I always say and it has worked for me.

MS

These days as I sit in my Martha Stewart rocking chair and slobbering liberally,   I know she has my back.   For all her eccentricities she has a good side,  though god knows,   I couldn’t find them except when it came to catnaps and five toe discounts at our local PetSmart.    She always likes to cajole the pets behind the glass and laugh at their dirty litter and she looked down on them for the most part.   Til she met Jake from State Farm.

Anyway,  that is the story of BM,   headsets and the heady aroma of ginger wafting from her litter box.   Life was relatively manageable and even a rainy day had it’s silver lining.   Either that,  or the Mercury from the Tuna Fish that Charlie of Starkist forgot to take out.   I guess she took that to McDonalds,  ostensibly to poison Ronald McDonald or Country Joe McDonald.   I know you feel me.   I wish I did.   Or least understand the circumlocutions of the mad and delirious.

So now you know the rest of the story.   I just made that up,  Paul Harvey said something else.  wink.

pythag1

P.S.   Don’t try this with your cat.  I am an expert.