man made climatology?

Dearest Blog Friend;

I hope that this finds you doing well. I am particularly fine. I start this blog after just riding 32 miles. Whew! That will get your heart rate up and open your pores. My weekend worked out a little better this week. I managed to fit in a long bike ride, a nap, and finish a blog. This one won't be posted tonight but with a good start I am hopeful that I will finish this before Isaac gets here. He is one very slow child. He is just dawdling along his curve-ball path up to the great state of Indiana. We should not be critical. He has come great distances. His consistent lack of meeting other people's expectations has worn his resolve to the point that he may not be able to meet the hopes and aspirations that I had for him.

Oh, I had aspirations for him. I am very fond of Isaac. I am fond of Isaac because I begat him. So like any failed father, I had "ass"pirations that Isaac would leave his mark on the world when I couldn't. I know what you are thinking. Roger, you have taken this blog far enough. We might put up with assassin deer. Assassin deer with their raccoon cohorts can be a little whimsical if they aren't taken too far. But begetting a hurricane is too much to accept, too much to listen to. You may be skeptical. I know that you are thinking that my delusions have over taken me. I have lost touch with reality. However, I do not make these claims of parentage lightly. I have science on my side.

It all started over a year ago. Grace was going to Ghana. In an effort, to empathize with someone who was leaving a perfectly adequate first world country for a third world country, the lovely Beverly purchased a travel guide. Said travel guide claims that over 10,000 species of butterflies thrive in Ghana and western Africa.

Suddenly, things became clear. The waters off the coast of West Africa are well known to be the cradle of hurricanes. Thank you Weather Channel. Also, my vast encyclopedic mind recalled chaos theory and its sub-heading the butterfly effect. Since I gain all knowledge in a very shallow and haphazard fashion, I will not try to teach you. After all, the purpose of this blog is entertainment not information. Suffice it to say, I have based my suppositions on the sound scientific thought of others. In this case, some nerd thought about chaos theory for a while and then wrote the following paper: "Predictability: Does the Flap of a Butterfly’s Wings in Brazil set off a Tornado in Texas." In it, he predicts that a single butterfly flapping it's wings one time at just the right moment will set up a series of   untraceable and unpredictable atmospheric events that will lead to a tornado in Texas.

The generic butterfly thing got me thinking. We need to send our top entomologists out. They need to capture these butterflies and put little baffles on their wings so that they only create soft summer breezes not tornados. However, when I heard that there were 10,000 different species in a tiny country like Ghana, I realized that we don't have enough unemployed entomologists. This realization caused me distress. We have a hurricane problem people. The problem has been identified. Why don't we do something about it? It seems to me that we may at least want to send a few thousand cans of Raid over. Think if the lives that would be saved. Alas, it appears that it may not be environmentally friendly. To which I want to respond "well mother nature isn't winning any Miss Congenially awards throwing hurricanes our way for three months each year."

I did not let the bitterness of having a great life changing idea thrown on the ash heap of ideas stop me though. I kept pondering about hurricanes and butterflies. Suddenly, it hit me. Why do butterflies get to have all of the fun? What could produce a puff of wind that would set off a cascade unpredictable yet causal events that would send a hurricane to the coast of America? In one of those serendipitous moments, (I had eaten beans for lunch) it struck me. A fart would do it. If the flap of a butterfly's wings could have sent us Hugo or Katrina, just think of the destructive force of a well placed and well timed fart.

So, I sent Grace a frantic email last September instructing her to drop everything, run down to the beach and, like Monty Python, fart in our general direction. Initial results were promising. We got a named storm. Gert was her name. She wasn't very powerful, but I figured that Grace didn't put her heart into it. When you're trying to trigger a hurricane, you can't let propriety hold you back. As Tedd Marchebroda used to tell Jim Harbaugh, you have to "let'er rip."

The success of Gert was actually a set back though. Grace became scared. I thought that Pinky and the Brain had inculcated her to the use of diabolical power. "What we doin today Brain?" "The same thing we do everyday Pinky; try to take over the world." With a weapon of mass destruction at her control, she demurred. She stepped back from the brink. This posed a problem. I knew that I had at least the potential for a category 3 or 4 in me. However, I had no intention of going to Ghana. What to do? What to do? My farts were here and the cradle of hurricanes was on the other side of the world.

Fate smiled fondly upon me. Grace came home for Christmas. Getting up in the middle of the night, I got into Grace's luggage and removed a "gallon" of clothing. Then, I got a gallon Baggie and filled it with "hurricane starter." This posed it's own challenges. Any ballon will lose air over time. Once again serendipity struck. I used our vacuum sealer to enclose the gallon bag of compressed "hurricane starter" with two thermal seams.

Mission accomplished, my "hurricane starter" was on the same continent as the cradle of hurricanes. While you can only take 3 ounces of shampoo in a baggy on a plane, I am glad to report that you can transport at least a gallon of "hurricane starter." I feel safer already. Thanks TSA. Grace was a bit miffed about the missing clothes, but I told her that she would have to get over it. Diabolical planners often force others to make sacrifices for their cause. I told her that the hurricane starter was already in contact with the cradle of hurricanes. She couldn't release it slowly. Once opened, that "cat" would be out of the bag.  If she chickened out and tried to bring it back, I would inform the powers that be and she would be returned to Ghana.

So Grace, stuck in an untenable situation. hoped that a stale fart would not be effective. Consequently, she did not keep the baggie refrigerated as instructed. Finally, I convinced her to enlist the help of a co-conspirator, who would release the starter at the appropriate time. So on August 21st, my progeny was released into the wilds of Ghana. He lingered for a few days, and through a series of untraceable and unpredictable atmospheric events, he came home.

Bev asked me how I knew that Isaac was mine. I went out on the front porch, took in a deep breath and proclaimed; "the smeller's the feller."

Take care.

Roger