I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm getting just a little bit sick of this "winter" bullshit. I mean, the nasty piles of snow polluted with that foul mystery sludge, the bitter cold air that causes my nose to turn as red as my drunk Irish compatriots in Boston, the ice that I'm destined to someday break a bone on - it's all getting really, really old. Each day, weather.com gives me the unhappy news: below freezing, snow showers, spring is never coming, you pathetic wench, so suck my balls.

You see, I know all those high and mighty meteorologists are secretly mocking me. Who are you to tell me to wear a sweater today, you pretentious ass? I'll bring an umbrella because I want to, not because you told me to with poorly manufactured sympathy in your voice. You're so smug with your fancy clicker, your local radar, your crappy elevator music.

I will freely admit that my dislike for the meteorologists comes from the terrible example one man set for his profession during my formative years. That man was none other than Gary Ley, local weatherman on Channel 10 Providence. To my eight-year old mind, he was a bona fide celebrity. He was on TV! He could predict the future (or at least, a 10-90% chance of the future)! And did I mention that he was on TV?!

One night, as my weather-obsessed Dad tuned in to the local news, Gary Ley was doing a segment called "Weather in the Classroom" where he went into a school. I'd imagine that there was some sort of lesson about the weather involved, but the kids also got to be on TV, too. Suddenly, inspiration struck. If I could bring "Weather in the Classroom" and Gary Ley to my school, I would be a hero and a television star (I was a shameless ham, even back then). I crafted a request complete with an early 90's clip art picture of a man who did not resemble Gary Ley at all, but I thought it might tug at his heartstrings, anyway. Then I realized that Gary Ley doesn't have heartstrings.

To his credit, Gary Ley did leave a message on my answering machine, and I felt like such a badass. I called him back (it was quite stressful for me to call up such a luminary of local TV, but I managed to muster up my courage), and he talked to both myself and my mom. The real reason that Gary Ley wanted to talk to Nancy Trudel? He couldn't bring himself to break up with me in person. He gave her some lame excuse about being "too busy" to come to our little town, and told her that "maybe it would work out some time in the future, when [I] don't have to, um, wash my hair." That might not be exactly what he said, but you get the gist.

And so, any fledgling interest I may have developed in the weather was crushed by the iron fist of a cruel meteorologist who didn't have time to help a little girl realize her dream of the week. Instead of being interested in weather phenomena, I have joined the ranks of the grumbling peasants who bitch and moan about the snow and make banal comments like, "it's not the heat, it's the humidity!" The weather is now something I must cope with...and I'll be coping at the bar. Thanks for driving me to drink, Gary Ley. Maybe you aren't such a tool, after all.



- posted by Trudes @ 4:19 PM