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Dear Weatherman

I think there is still enough time between today and when things are supposed to start getting bad to maybe strike a deal. We all know you control the weather. Your charts and computer models sound impressive, and make us think weather is a crap shoot, but you and I both know that the reality is you have a big machine that controls things. (Well, not a big machine anymore. It used to be big but now it's about the size of a laptop.

So I don't want a bad winter this year. I know that the guy I met in the unemployment office said it was going to be an early, hard winter because the spiders started coming into his house earlier than usual. I guess this is as good a prediction as any, and I didn't let him in on your little secret.

Sure, you sit there in the middle of Pennsylvania, pretending to be in Boston, or Austin, or Miami, but that's not what this is about. The machine. I need you to take the weather machine and have the heavy snowfall hit my local reservoir and mountain tops, but avoid my neighborhood and any commute I might have. I can mail you the exact coordinates, but I think you're probably on top of things.

And this year, for goodness sake, no rain on Halloweeen. For the past two years it's been bloody miserable out there, everyone gets soaked, everyone gets cranky, and we don't get nearly enough microscopic candy bars because my son wants to go back to the house and I'm too old to Trick or Treat without him.

The lack of rain this summer was a curse and a blessing, but it's too late to deal with that now. Just do me a favor. I don't want any of those days where my nose hair freezes. I just hate that. Oh, and it would be really cool if you could keep the winds down until after the foliage falls on it's own steam. You're the best.

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The Fine Folks at the Big DumpTruck


© 2002 Jody LaFerriere.
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