DEATH TO WEATHER PREDICTORS

What the hell.

I bash the meteorologists a lot on this blog, but for crimeny's sake, they're damn easy marks.  How the hell is it possible to be paid to have all that technology, all that radar, all those computer models, and still be motherfucking WRONG most of the time?

We are outside at a lacrosse game today.  Weather is predicted to be in the 50s.  We are in the bleachers maybe five minutes when all of a sudden it starts to rain.  Then it sleets.  Then it snows a little.  The breeze picks up fiercely, and we are suddenly in wind chills well below 30, maybe even below 20.  Within minutes, my gloved hands and two-socked-hiking-booted feet are so frozen I have to limp to walk.  I cannot even imagine how cold the boys on the field are.

I have Raynaud's, sometimes called a syndrome and sometimes called a disease and sometimes called a phenomenon, so when I get cold, my toes and fingers turn white then a light blue.  After they painfully thaw out, which sometimes takes hours, these frozen digits turn a bright red as if they've been sunburned, and the painful stabbing sensations can last off and on for days.  On top of this, today while hobbling from the stands, my right knee locks up.

Honestly, I look like a fucking marionette trying to get over to the boys' bus for the tailgate.  And then I fight off the Science Olympiad kids, who are having their competition at the same college where the boys have their lacrosse game, from stealing the food we brought for the players.  (Yes, I see one of my students there.  Weird.)

Luckily, I do not trust the meteorologists and bring my heavy coat with me.  But I don't bring a hat.  I don't put those  peel-off warmers on my feet.  I don't have warm gloves - just my leather driving ones.  Damn meteorologists.  How in the name of paid professionals everywhere can these people even be allowed to get on television and claim to know what the weather is going to be like?  Frigging charlatans.  They suck.

Fuckers.  Each and every one of them is a fucker.  A paid, incompetent fucker.  And when my fingers finish defrosting sometime over the next 48 hours, I might email them all and tell them so.