Hope you guys don't mind me posting these, they crack me up! http://www.nwac.us/products/SABNW WEATHER SYNOPSIS FOR THURSDAY AND FRIDAY Out with the old, In with the new- Clouds have arrived, Gone is the blue. The westerly flow’s, Pounding on the door- Puttin’ snow on the crust, And load on the hoar. Showers this morning, Then more snow after that At least temps stay low, About where they’re at. This creates more weak layers And buries the hoar- Makes Friday thru Sunday, Anything but a bore. Friday’s showers and winds, Should increase by night- Making the weekend, A rather dangerous delight. A good front Saturday, Windy, snowy and cool- Should make slabs more likely, As a reasonable rule. Then warming on Sunday With heavy rain or wet snow- Should make bigger slabs, More than ready to go. Danger should climb, And it might not stop- Until it reaches, Pretty close to the top. So if you’re plannin’ this weekend, To sample the snow- Make sure you’re prepared- And know how to go. Be aware and be cautious, Be objective and think- And don’t go ahead, If red lights blink. There will be other times, Other slopes and great snow- And you’ll be much better off If that’s when you go.
I love it. I picture some frustrated poet sitting in a cubicle down at the NWAC, trying to liven up her job, just trying to make it through the week to Friday, when she will take her guitar down to the local coffeehouse for open mic night and sing her latest weather ballad. She calls her boyfriend and tells him about her meteorologic poetry, and he laughs. That really stings -- no one understands her....
The boyfriend flips his cell phone shut and stares at it for a minute. "She's such a flake, but she has such a killer bod. Ugh. I gotta find someone a little more normal," he thinks to himself. "I wonder what's on ESPN."
She places her office phone gently in its cradle. "What a jerk," she mutters. "When will I learn?" She grabs her jacket from the hook on the back of the door and taps down the tiled hallway, hands stuffed in her pockets. "I have a dental appointment," she says to the receptionist. "Be back at two." Outside, a brisk wind blows her hair back. She heads down to the corner bar and goes inside. It is only eleven o'clock, and it is still empty. The smell of frying onions emanates from the kitchen. The bartender is wiping down the counter. He looks up at her questioningly. "Give me a Bloody Mary," she snaps. "No celery."
====== "No aquarium can begin to duplicate the conditions of the sea. And no dolphin who inhabits one of those aquariums can be considered normal." Jacques Yves Cousteau Once there was a penguin who loved to dance. His name was...Normal The other penguins did penguin things. They swam, they waddled, they hopped in and out of the water. They would even lay around on blocks of ice. But all Normal wanted to do was dance. When the other penguins walked by, he tried to act like them. But the music always got to him. So they ignored him. But Normal didn't let it get him down. Instead, he got down. Remember... There's something Normal about everyone. ====== A kindred acquaintance of mine wrote that and put together a very excellent video with it but I do not have permission to post the link. Some of us really do understand... Signed, Normal the Penguin.
The bartender grunts, and looks at her for the first time, but says nothing else. After ten or fifteen seconds, he speaks out in a harsh, strident voice "What is it with you uptown jerks? This here's a corner bar -- we don't do none of them fancy uptown drinks.?" "Look, lady, we got beer. We got shots. We got beer and shots. Now what do youse want?"
She bit back a sharp retort, and instead cast a glance out the window. Even through the dust and the streaks, she could see that it was a beautiful sunny day. "Forget it," she told the bartender, gathering her things quickly. "I'm going flying instead." --Kath
Ooops, I just realized that this last development in the story conflicts with the snowy weather report which started the whole thing... Haha. I need to hire one of those "consistency" experts that they have on movies... --Kath
Then she realized that while the daydream was a nice one, reality wasn't buying in on it so she went to the hangar to clean the plane instead. After a pleasant hour or so she went home and found the answering machine light blinking. It was him wanting to make sure the trip was still on for the ball game next week... After half an hour she dials the number... "You're on your own, the plane is broke." "But it's 400 miles. I can't drive that far. Fix it." "Call Delta." CLICK ...as she finishes drawing another really long line onto the far side of the adjacent sectional...
The smell of the onions wafts along with the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke from the night before. Pity, she thinks, considering the time she could have spent here the last few nights, instead of cooking at home. She shudders and says to the bartender "Make it a double". She looks around. The sheen of the brown bar is made darker by the dim lights overhead. Sunlight just doesn't reach into this corner of the city, buried deep between the tall buildings. The steamy windows, flash memories of why she took the guy home in the first place. "Thick beef steaks on the menu today, Ma'am!" as the bartender brings her drink and a small menu. "You think you'll have lunch today?" Just then, a shaft of light brightens the room as the front door opens and someone walks in.
I hate butting in on the great story that is developing here, but..... according to John, my radio tech and future cousin in law, the guy that writes this stuff isn't paid with tax $$. This report is put together through donations/monies from various agencies and clubs that would benefit from the service. Kinda cool. I guess that's why he sometimes takes liberty with his report.
"What's up with this guy?", she thinks inwardly. "Are all men such jerks?" She carefully composes her reply to the bartender...just then a young man walks in the door carrying a shot gun and a bucket. A kitten strolls in behind him. She notices he has gold braid epulets on his white shirt. Does she dare ask...?
I could only hope that the taxpayer gets to pay for that quality of service. Ususally what we pay for is much poorer than that.
Her double Bloody Mary in hand, she looks the newcomer up and down. He is wearing a gray silk shirt open at the neck, low rider jeans and black lizard boots. His belt buckle is silver -- intricate and mysterious. He is wearing a black felt Stetson hat. "Bring two steaks," she says to the bartender. She gestures to the bar stool next to her. The stranger smiles. "Don't mind if I do. I've never seen you here before. Are you new in town?" "I've lived here for twelve years. I've just never gotten out of my cubicle before. Or maybe I never wanted to." "What kind of work do you do?" he asks. "I'm in the weather poetry business," she says. "But I'm starting to think I need a new career. Either that, or a new guy." "Dump the poetry," he says.
She smiled sweetly, yet apologeticly. "I'd love to," she said, "but I'm allergic to cats." The kitten began to hiss. .... Kath
"Forget it," she exclaims as she proceeds to pound the Bloody Mary in two gulps. She is instantly drunk, as her body has no useful tolerance to alcohol any longer. "Give me another," she says to the bartender, obviously slurring her speech. "I think you've had enough," he replies. He looks her over intently, and with a gleam in his eye, adds "or not enough...."
Henning's the name. Just back from Oz. Can't bear to see a lady pilot get herself messed up over frivilous stuff. Pull yourself together or you will lose your medical, mate. She looked at the stranger and knew he was right. To hell with the guitar, the weather, the boyfriend, with everything. I am what I am. I'm going flying. "Not in the left seat you're not. Eight hours have to pass, you knew that. Now settle down, get something decent in your stomach, and tomorrow we'll go flying. And somebody get that damn cat out of here." She knew he was right. She bundled her stuff and made her way home. She knew somehow that tomorrow would be different. That nice pilot would meet her at the airport and she'd go flying.
"Do you like dogs?", she asked. He grinned. "I've got a big old lab at home. Friendliest dog I've ever met." Her heart rate shot up. Oh my god, she thought. A pilot AND dog lover. Good looking, too. I wonder if he means it about flying tomorrow?
to apease Matt She slam down another,and heads for the jukebox. puts in her money and plays a song. jumps up on the bar,strips off her clothes.and looks at the stranger and says. Can this really be wrong
Jeesee you guys!! This was getting real intersting. I was gonna wait at least a couple more frames for the nudity. Now, I've lost interest in this common, bar.....uh girl.
He sighs, jingling the keys in his pocket. The flying lessons were just a joke at first, but unbeknownst to her, he had become a "natural" and finished up in 40 hours. Less than 30 minutes later, he pulled the antiquated master knob and tugged the starter T handle, bringing the O-300 to a loping idle. "Best 20 grand I ever spent," he proclaimed. His 22-year -old flight instructor agreed, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulders. "Let's go!" she said.
A crumpled piece of paper laying on the ground behind the plane lightly blew into the snowbank. Though wadded up, it appeared to read as: "WEATH SYNSIS HRSDAY AND FRID Out wih the o n th the new- Couds hve arved, Gon is th blue."
He sees that look in her eyes that only an Aviatrix can posess and thinks to himself, "I'm liking this airline pilot training more every day, but now I gotta find another place for this kitty in the joke!"
He sits carefully at the bar, making certain to not look the kitten in the eye. He knows from experience what can happen when you look the kitten in the eye, and it wasn't pretty, either time. Leaving the kitten to it's shot and a beer, he turns to the bartender and says, . . .
"Barkeep! DO NOT move this bucket for at least two hours after I walk out that door!" He suddenly flips the bucket over, bottom side up, and BAM! She jumps at the sound of the bucket hitting the floor. He flips a bar stool over and sets it on top of the bucket carefully wedging the stool leg under a heavy table. There's a single very quiet muffled meow from under the bucket. She stares at him as he leans the shotgun up against the bar. He looks her in the eyes and casually shrugs. "It was either the bucket or the shotgun. That damned cat has been following me around for days."
Frank! (said in my best Forrest Gump, "LT Dan!" voice) I had no idea you were so creative. You excel in creative writing!
A-firm... And a great aviation classic it shall remain but, it is not immune from the ravages of our rhetorical transmutations of it.
