A lot of people shrug their shoulders and say it was just the way these things go. They figure that despite the best computer models and professional judgement, sometimes things don’t go the way the pretty geniuses said they would. I choose not to blindly accept the sketchy excuses of these so-called experts. I look at the bigger picture and try to see what’s really going on.
After careful consideration of all the factors, I’ve come to a conclusion, and it’s a doozie.
Let me step back and set the stage for you. I live in the greater Philadelphia area. We’re far enough north to get snow, yet far enough south to squeal like a little Nancy-pants every time there’s any of it predicted.
Earlier this week, that’s exactly what happened. One after another, those oh-so-pretty weather people gestured seductively in front of their green screens, predicting snow all over the viewing area. Gorgeous talking-heads with names like Cecily and Sheena showed wavy bands of color-coded snow-total predictions. As far as my little corner of paradise went, all 17 local TV weather people agreed we’d be waking up to somewhere between 2 and 4 inches of the white stuff. In case the specter of a few inches of snow wasn’t already big news, the weather spokesmodels labelled it “heart attack snow.” These couple of inches would be so wet and heavy, there would surely be coronaries all across the region. Shoveling would be lethal to all but highly conditioned athletes and people with really small shovels.
I’m sure readers in the midwest and upstate New York are snickering at those paultry totals, as well they should, but 2 to 4 inches in this area is big news. As zero hour approached, otherwise rational people descended upon grocery stores as though the end-of-days was imminent. I gazed in disbelief from the relative safety of the liquor aisle as milk, eggs and bread were snatched up by the locust-like hordes of panicked shoppers.
When I awoke Wednesday morning I was prepared for the worst. I’d set the alarm an hour early, giving myself enough time to shovel and eventually clutch my chest. I could only hope my wife would see me lying in the driveway before rigor mortis set in. I glimpsed between the blinds to see how bad it was. There was no evidence that a single flake had fallen. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief and looked again. Every weed and dog turd in my yard was just as I’d seen it the day before, without so much as a crystal of frost to show for all the hype.
Out of bed and irritated by the piss-poor forecasting, it was futile to try to go back to sleep. I went ahead and got ready for work, arriving at my job entirely too early. All day long, the inaccuracy of the forecasts gnawed at me. I tried calling several of the news stations to grill the weather people for answers. Not one of them would take my calls. A tickle of suspicion had begun in my mind by the time I’d gotten my fifth TV station rejection.
On my way home, I happened to swing by the supermarket again. I’d decided to surprise my wife with a special dinner in celebration of my not having died of a heart attack earlier that morning. As I strolled towards the dairy section, my heart sank as I recalled the swarm of shoppers there just a day before. I wracked my mind trying to figure out how I’d make my beloved wife a fritatta without using any eggs. I turned the corner and saw the shelves of eggs and milk were miraculously replenished. I later noticed that the bread section was similarly restocked.
While checking out, I saw the manager through the open door of his office. He was sitting with his feet up on his desk and talking happily. His head was thrown back as he laughed and flirted with the caller. I swore I heard him say “Oh Cecily!”. Suddenly he became aware of my inquisitive gaze. His face clouded as he swung his feet down and slammed the door. The pieces were coming together as the gears and chains in my mind churned like a rusty snow blower.
The answer was just beyond my grasp. Deep in thought, I pocketed my change and headed toward my car, almost running right into an employee pushing a cart loaded with boxes. I apologized for the near collision and kept walking past the empty spot where the snow shovel and rock salt display had been just a day before. In the cold air of the parking lot, I suddenly realized that the boxes on the cart weren’t just random stock. The same smiling face mocked me from the cardboard front of each box. Even without the doo-rag, there was no disputing that it was none other than Aunt Jemima!
The bread..the eggs…the milk…the syrup…I stood next to my car and it all finally made sense. Of course! I’d stumbled onto the French Toast Conspiracy. In this clandestine operation, a powerful, intricate network of grocery magnates and meteorologists formed a deviously symbiotic relationship. Unscrupulous media moguls used imaginary storms to build ratings on slow winter news days. In so doing, they create a frenzy among the unwashed masses, who scramble to their local stores and eagerly buy the ingredients for French Toast. The scary weather predictions are only interupted for commercials for grocery stores and SUV’s. The grocers are thrilled to have unloaded the majority of their perishable dairy products. The news media use their increased advertising profits and buy spiffy embroidered fleece jackets for taping remotes on the brisk fall days heading into next winter.
I had to get this story out, but how? The mainstream news media couldn’t be trusted. John Stossel was busy checking to see if “Made in America” really meant anything anymore. Andy Rooney and Mike Wallace were both still dead. I knew my only chance to get the facts out was right here, on this seemingly innocuous blog. You readers have the truth now. Get out there and spread the word!
Addendum: I finally got a call back from one of those TV weather people. She heard about my story and wants to interview me. She’s requesting that I come alone to a remote corner of Fairmount Park in Philadelphia. I know this sounds a little shady, and I should be suspicious, but when I heard the voice of that lovely weathergirl on the phone, how could I not believe her? I hope she doesn’t wear that embroidered fleecy thing, it really hides her stunning figure.
You’re definitely onto something. But be careful. This could get dangerous. And with all that syrup, sticky as well…
I found the answer, but it went straight to my hips.
This could hurt. She could griddle you to death.
These weathergirls are dangerous. She could move a high pressure front into my region. Check back later – the exclusive 7 day forecast calls for pain (Thanks Robert Cray)
Cray…very strong.
Give credit where credit’s due.
I want a job where I can be wrong most of the time and nothing happens.
I already have that job, as a blogger. Sadly, the pay sucks.
…on the bright side, I have this cozy WordPress fleece jacket!
This is really a break through! It must be nationwide since many storms have been predicted in our area. Upon waking, we find only a mere inch or two. Today, Mother Nature got the upper hand and while it’s not the foot they had originally predicted, it’s still coming in!
Let’s go skiing! First chair or run outside in your underwear!
Note to self: Despite having to deal with more snow than the Philadelphia region, there may be certain perks to living in Susie’s locale, especially if she loses the “first chair” bet.
Hahaha! Cover your eyes!
Danny is saying right now, “C’mon! It’s dumping! Finish up!”
You ski-folk have a language all your own. Here in Jersey, dumping has a totally different connotation, right Ryan?
Different meaning for the word “pow” too I bet….
“pow”?….like “boom” or “wham” ?
Pow like fresh Pow or powder or champagne powder or snow…..
I dabbled in champagne powder back in the 80’s…
Hahaha! I bet you did!
Not to nag or anything, but should you be making frittata, what with your heart condition and all?
I wasn’t going to eat it. My wife would have pretended to like it, then given the rest of it to the dog once I wasn’t looking.
Do those pants you’re wearing make you look fat?
Thanks for asking! The pants fit great till I polished off that second stack of French Toast, then I had to unbutton them and untuck my shirt.
I feel so bloated. With my body image, I could never be a weathergirl.
Welcome back, by the way, I missed you more than shoveling snow!
Be still my heart…..I think.
If your heart needs to be still, find yourself some heavy snow to shovel, that oughta do it.
I’m in the Philly area as well, and not to sound like a smarty pants know it all (but I will), I didn’t put a lot of faith in those forecasts. It was just too freaking warm, and the temps they were predicting to go along with the storm (above freezing) made the whole forecast bizarre, and their brains should have exploded during the newscast.
Anyway, now I want French toast. And a frittata.
You had easier than me, with only that dreamy Adam Joseph to distract you. I was bombarded with Cecily, Sheena, and a host of others. If Alicia Vittarelli told me it was gonna snow, I would’ve gone out and bought an SUV.
Ah, Adam Joseph. Who wouldn’t want to snuggle up inside a snow fort with him?
You’d dream of a snow fort, but be disappointed by freezing rain. Don’t let his gorgeous eyes fool you, his heart is like a patch of black ice.
I’m not buying this until you can tell me how they paid off the weather girl. I mean she looks so sincere with her hands cupped like that.
As an old art history buff, I can tell you that her hand position is very close to what is referred to as “supplication”, which was big in renaissance paintings of Hay-seus and his disciples. The pose is often used in Latin TV to impart an air of innocent honesty. Don’t be mislead. With the increased advertising profits those weathergirls get “work done” so they can stay in the major markets a few extra years, before being downgraded to “Good Mornin’ Tulsa!”.
Yeah it’s been snowing buckets over here in southern California. We’re really struggling…. I can only hope french toast will save us. If it doesn’t, at least I have an excuse when my girlfriend asks about my massive weight gain.
If the girlfriend gives you too much grief, trade her in for a weathergirl. Then, if there are any fleece jackets coming your way, remember who gave you this great advice in the first place. I take an XXL and prefer earth tones.
You cracked the case! I always knew there was something nefarious about that Aunt Jemima…
There was some serious cogitating going on under that bandana. Her politically correct makeover didn’t fool me a bit.
I stopped checking the weather years ago because it stressed me out too much. Sure, every once and again I find myself wondering why the traffic is so light and then get caught in some giant storm… but most of the time I’m able to avoid the constant onslaught of apocalyptic predictions.
I watch the weather, but once those gorgeous women start talking, I only hear Barry White-style music and the beating of my heart. My wife will then tell me later what the weathergirls actually predicted.
On a side note, now that you’ve got a young’un, you’ll need to watch the weather to make sure she’s dressed right. You won’t want to be “that parent” who sends their kid to pre-school in a cute short-set the day of the blizzard.
Ooh, good point. Nice to know ahead of time. Thanks.
It takes a village, my friend…
There must be another conspiracy you’re missing! The “sweet vixen of maple goodness” may be using mind-altering chemicals to control Western the world’s population! Here is the list of “ingredients” in Sirop de Tante Jemima, as sold in Canada (we use the stuff to mix in with the rat poison to kill the buggers off quicker – they love to chew on snowshoe laces!): Glucose, glucose-fructose, water, cellulose gum, natural and artificial flavour, salt, caramel colour, sodium benzoate, sodium hexametaphosphate, sorbic acid, sulphites.
Hmmmm … is it Made in China? … China Toast Syndrome …? Hmmmmm…..
Maybe it’s really not so good for you, but how can you pass up anything with ingredients including the words “Colour” and “Flavour”. It sounds so damn sophisticated, I’d eat that crap right out of the bottle!
Sorry – should have translated from Canadian English into American English read “Colour” as “color” and “Flavour” as “flavor.” My apologies! …….. Unless it’s part of the World Conspiracy ……..?
Oh…that’s the meaning! I feel so foolish – remind me to avoid reading labels if ever I’m in Canada….then again, I rarely travel north of the bordeuer.
You really ought to try it (going north of the bordeuer, I mean) – we take our food seriously here, to the extent that even the postal service and separatist movement get involved: http://justjigglethehandle.wordpress.com/2013/02/26/a-new-issue-from-canada-post/
They do the same idiot stuff here in Texas. Storm of the century! Then nothing. So I just quit watching the weather reports. Naturally when I do this, I wake up and there’s huge drifts of the stuff and we’re in the middle of a blizzard. And I’m totally unprepared because I didn’t go empty the grocery shelves like the others. My husband used to work at a grocery store, and he said they would do that every single time a bad weather report came through – so I think you’re on it. It’s a conspiracy. Plus, news is on 24/7 and they literally have nothing to talk about anymore.
Unless another Kardashian is knocked up, there’s nothing else to use as a lead story.
Whatsafritatta?
It’s kind of a fancy omelet or a flat souffle.
Thanks, Us upstate NY guys are a little behind the times.
Understood. You guys spend so much time dealing with REAL snow…
I thought fritattas were what you got at a strip club with no cover charge.
Ba-Dum-Dum! Thank you! Coming onto the main stage now is the lovely, moikin foikin!
I wouldn’t trust that weathergirl. There’s only about 50% chance that she’ll actually show up as she promised.
I didn’t watch the forecast, but we had enough snow to build a snow castle in our backyard. Though we had to strip-mine all the snow from the entire backyard and even steal some from our neighbors.
I’m sure you let all the serfs from the neighboring kingdoms play in your castle when it was done and didn’t dig a moat around it.
We don’t need a moat, we got a chain link fence to protect the castle, and we’re making armed snowmen to defend it.
I am hungry and I want French toast NOW.
We are forecast snow and freezing temperatures here in the next few days. Ha! It’ll never happen…
I’m not sure how things work in the UK. Does everyone buy French toast ingredients, or do you guys make scones?
Hmm, I think either could work over here. Although we’ve only fairly recently started calling it French Toast, it used to just be called Eggy Bread over here! A lot of people still call it that, but I prefer to call it French Toast because I’m more fancy like that.
You can get really fancy and call it “pain perdu” but you’ll have to eat it with your pinkies out.
I’m not getting my pinkies out!!! …Oh, right, I see what you mean now.
Those are your right and left littlest fingers. We call them pinkies here – lord knows what perverse thing I just suggested! My apologies…now I’m blushing.
No, I knew what you meant really, I just wanted to make you blush, and it worked!
You scared the hell out of my wife – she saw my face turn red and thought I’d had a heart attack from shovewling – and it didn’t even snow!
Oh gosh, all the trouble I’ve caused!
You blondes! Swooping into people’s lives, stirring up trouble then skipping off to the next comment stream! Sheesh!
You got 2 smiles out of me today…good job. I’m glad you are on to their evil ways.
I’m glad to score two smiles! I’m also glad that unlike so many women in our area, you’ve seen the evil tactition behind the smiling facade that is Adam Joseph.
Where I come from, we don’t get that excited about 2-4 inches. Not only that, but we don’t mind if it snows. (rimshot)
Great junior detective work!
Glad you enjoyed it. You shoulda seen me, I looked so cute in my Sherlock Holmes hat and my rumpled Columbo overcoat!
Great story, however, you’re probably not too far off the truth. 😉 Sent by Susie and enjoyed the story.
Susie is pimping me big-time these days. I’ll be sure she gets her cut of my action so she doesn’t have to beat me.
😉
Reblogged this on 1pointperspective and commented:
I know it’s the sign of a lazy blogger to re-post something they wrote a long time ago – so sue me! Since the weather forecasters seemed to over-estimate our snow totals by a foot or more, this seemed like a good time resurrect this nugget.
Darling,
Still right…as in being correct…even after all you’ve been through: the flood, the accident, the plague, the pestilence, pillaging and plagiarism problem, and…that other thing…
And…yes all that French toast is beginning to make you a bit cheeky you know where…
Carry on.
Since originally writing that little bit of nonsense, I’ve discovered that I’m allergic to both eggs and milk, so reading about French Toast was a trip down memory lane.
What about hay? You allergic [now] to hay or are you just trying to get out of doing barn chores??
I would never pass up a chance to toil in the barn…you know that!
I almost *liked* that comment…but remembered you lie…a lot.
I’ve been known to do so in the hay.
*liked*
I think this was the first post I ever read by you. Funny then, funny now.
Aww…now you’ve got me all misty-eyed!
It’s all so (once again) clear to me now (by which I mean it was clear to me 2 years ago.) Thank you so much for exposing this evil conspiracy. But can I still eat French toast?
You can still eat it, but it won’t taste as sweet now.
Yep a conspiracy! Absolutely.
For the record, our “storm of the century over the past two days dropped about 2 inches of snow instead of the predicted 24 inches. Not a loaf of bread or a jug of milk to be seen in the local markets. I rest my case.