False weather reports
It seems that false news is the talk of the day, and methods to fix it are all the rage. I am not totally sure, but the truth to be found in social constructs such as politics or hair care are, for the most part, going to depend on what you think the answer is before the truth is told.
But I could give a crap about truth, and if it’s not dull, I say, ‘good on you mate’. My concern is false weather reports.
I live in south San Jose, a fine bedroom community for less productive members of the tech community. We are in a rain shadow both evidently and chronically but are lumped into local weather reports that are always wrong. They (the weather reports) deny being wrong, which really is the worst part, since they knowingly exaggerate their reports to the worse possibility to excite the sheep listening to them for money. Reality doesn’t sell anything, so they tease and push to the worst in us in order to beef up their ratings – ratings they then use to sell more advertising and make more money. They don’t care what the weather is, and they don’t care about us, the people who need to make decisions and choices based on the truth. They certainly don’t care about me, the junky who wants the predictable chaos of madness in order to get a good seat.
In California, rain is like Santa Claus, and people like me get up early to get a glimpse of its possibility. It’s easy for anyone on a science-based platform to scream out the word storm loudly and repeatedly to get both ratings and ad money, but it’s cruel and not funny at all if based on nothing but an inflated guess. It’s selling the dope of hope for trinkets of popularity and some walking around money from your mom.
I’m the sort of fellow that gets up early from bed on the big rain days and rushes outside to see and smell the pitter and the patter of rain as it slams down on the door stoop. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve waited with the door open for promised rain that never came. I can only pass on the bitter memory of a promise broken over and over.
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They say I’m in a rain shadow, but I really wonder how they get the numbers to add up at the end of the year. Maybe that’s the real false news.
(Update, March 2017 -- heaviest rains in years, floods and portents abound -- I am not a good predictor of thing or to be honest, a reliable narrator.)
It seems that false news is the talk of the day, and methods to fix it are all the rage. I am not totally sure, but the truth to be found in social constructs such as politics or hair care are, for the most part, going to depend on what you think the answer is before the truth is told.
But I could give a crap about truth, and if it’s not dull, I say, ‘good on you mate’. My concern is false weather reports.
I live in south San Jose, a fine bedroom community for less productive members of the tech community. We are in a rain shadow both evidently and chronically but are lumped into local weather reports that are always wrong. They (the weather reports) deny being wrong, which really is the worst part, since they knowingly exaggerate their reports to the worse possibility to excite the sheep listening to them for money. Reality doesn’t sell anything, so they tease and push to the worst in us in order to beef up their ratings – ratings they then use to sell more advertising and make more money. They don’t care what the weather is, and they don’t care about us, the people who need to make decisions and choices based on the truth. They certainly don’t care about me, the junky who wants the predictable chaos of madness in order to get a good seat.
In California, rain is like Santa Claus, and people like me get up early to get a glimpse of its possibility. It’s easy for anyone on a science-based platform to scream out the word storm loudly and repeatedly to get both ratings and ad money, but it’s cruel and not funny at all if based on nothing but an inflated guess. It’s selling the dope of hope for trinkets of popularity and some walking around money from your mom.
I’m the sort of fellow that gets up early from bed on the big rain days and rushes outside to see and smell the pitter and the patter of rain as it slams down on the door stoop. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve waited with the door open for promised rain that never came. I can only pass on the bitter memory of a promise broken over and over.
-->
They say I’m in a rain shadow, but I really wonder how they get the numbers to add up at the end of the year. Maybe that’s the real false news.
(Update, March 2017 -- heaviest rains in years, floods and portents abound -- I am not a good predictor of thing or to be honest, a reliable narrator.)
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