Meteorology is the New Alchemy

I awoke Thursday morning as I do most days, alone and with a variance of back pain, only to stretch it out briefly, grab the Star's sports section and make myself a stiff coffee. Typically, I flip to the back page of the section where the Star lists both the local forecast for the day and the continental and international ones.

After scanning the European temperatures in a jealous fashion, I noticed that the Star's meteorologists, using what I can only imagine to be the foremost scientific means, had predicted a high of 7 degrees.

Considering the delayed nature of this winter and the seemingly inevitable onset of spring, I was initially excited, only to look outside and see a light dusting of snow covering the grass.

Are you kidding me?

The forecast didn't come close to mentioning the potential of snow. I understand there are likely a fair deal of variables involved in predicting the next day's weather, but were it not for all of these scientific measures I have no understanding of, could it have not have been as accurately predicted by a lay person such as myself.

What's the bloody deal with meteorology?

My father's line of work requires a fair deal of planning and preparation based on the weather, and he uses the Weather Network's visual forecast updated in real time. They have on more than one occasion completely missed the boat, despite having every practical means of assessing the weather available at their fingertips.

It's my opinion that meteorologists should join the ranks of many of the world's obsolete professions.

They can take a place in the unemployment line next to the alchemist (Medieval medicine men) and Dish Turner's (crafted dishware out of wood). There's usually a blacksmith or coppersmith out front having a smoke. They make for good company, but their anecdotal references of the gool ol' days can get a little depressing. The Fagetter (made-up faggots into bundles and sold firewood) is a little testy and prefers to be left alone, and on that note, steer clear of the Sexton (an obsolete church position) only for precautionary reasons based on a really poor name for a job title all things considered.