Meteorologist Quotes

I told her I'd rather talk about her, instead of listening to her drone on about the weather. Little did I know she was an aspiring meteorologist.

Weatherman says," Kev scoffed. "I wouldn't trust that silly bugger to know it's raining now.

I wanted them to take a good hard look at a system that had allowed the State to kill off any writer, any intellectual—hell, even any meteorologist—they disagreed with.

Meteorologist see perfect in strange things, and the meshing of three completely independent weather systems to form a hundred-year event is one of them. My God, thought Case, this is the perfect storm.

fisherman had to be a combination biologist, meteorologist, mechanic and mariner. Their livelihood, their very lives, depended on their store of practical knowledge.

He turned on the radio, and sure enough, the meteorologists were practically peeing themselves with joy. “Wind gusts up to fifty miles per hour, heavy rains, some local flooding. Stay inside, folks!

So let’s talk a little about April May’s theory of tiered fame. Tier 1: Popularity You are a big deal in your high school or neighborhood. You have a peculiar vehicle that people around town recognize, you are a pastor at a medium-to-large church, you were once the star of the high school football team. Tier 2: Notoriety You are recognized and/or well-known within certain circles. Maybe you’re a preeminent lepidopterist whom all the other lepidopterists idolize. Or you could be the mayor or meteorologist in a medium-sized city. You might be one of the 1.1 million living people who has a Wikipedia page. Tier 3: Working-Class Fame A lot of people know who you are and they are distributed around the world. There’s a good chance that a stranger will approach you to say hi at the grocery store. You are a professional sports player, musician, author, actor, television host, or internet personality. You might still have to hustle to make a living, but your fame is your job. You’ll probably trend on Twitter if you die. Tier 4: True Fame You get recognized by fans enough that it is a legitimate burden. People take pictures of you without your permission, and no one would scoff if you called yourself a celebrity. When you start dating someone, you wouldn’t be surprised to read about it in magazines. You are a performer, politician, host, or actor whom the majority of people in your country would recognize. Your humanity is so degraded that people are legitimately surprised when they find out that you’re “just like them” because, sometimes, you buy food. You never have to worry about money again, but you do need a gate with an intercom on your driveway. Tier 5: Divinity You are known by every person in your world, and you are such a big deal that they no longer consider you a person. Your story is much larger than can be contained within any human lifetime, and your memory will continue long after your earthly form wastes away. You are a founding father of a nation, a creator of a religion, an emperor, or an idea. You are not currently alive.

…I relied on an unpublished report by Jose Fernandez-Partagas, a late-twentieth-century meteorologist who recreated for the National Hurricane Center the tracks of many historical hurricanes, among them the Galveston Hurricane. He was a meticulous researcher given to long hours in the library of the University of Miami, where he died on August 25, 1997, in his favorite couch. He had no money, no family, no friends--only hurricanes. The hurricane center claimed his body, had him cremated, and on August 31, 1998, launched his ashes through the drop-port of a P-3 Orion hurricane hunter into the heart of Hurricane Danielle. His remains entered the atmosphere at 28 N., 74.2 W., about three hundred miles due east of Daytona Beach.

The topic of weather isn’t small talk, when you’re conversing with a meteorologist.

I’m sorry,” he said gently, studying her face the way a meteorologist might watch a storm develop. “Please know you can talk to me. Rower to rower. It’s all confidential.

Meteorologists seem to be better at forecasting the weather (at least in the short term) than we are at forecasting our own mood in the future.

The astronomer is, in some measure, independent of his fellow astronomer; he can wait in his observatory till the star he wishes to observe comes to his meridian; but the meteorologist has his observations bounded by a very limited horizon, and can do little without the aid of numerous observers furnishing him contemporaneous observations over a wide-extended area.

In recent years, too – in fact since 2001 – American meteorologists in particular have realized that over the past few decades the full effects of global warming have been masked by ‘global dimming’. It transpires that atmospheric pollution by particles – variations on a theme of soot – has been reducing the energy input from the sun by an astonishing 30 per cent. The world, currently, is cleaning up the soot – which, technically, is fairly easy to do. Catalytic

The ultimate goal of a meteorologist is to set up differential equations of the movements of the air and to obtain, as their integral, the general atmospheric circulation, and as particular integrals the cyclones, anticyclones, tornados, and thunderstorms.

The meteorologist sent more LA restaurant recommendations as they occurred to him: mapo tofu lasagna, cheese wheel pasta just for the spectacle of it, pupusas, cha gio, tahdig from his uncle's sit-down establishment, neither of us dwelling on whether these restaurants still existed.

Dunwoody had been one of General Hazen’s most ardent critics, objecting at every opportunity to Hazen’s investment in scientific research. He would turn up again years later, in Cuba, doing his best to obstruct the efforts of Cuban meteorologists to transmit warnings about the hurricane of 1900 as it advanced through the Caribbean.

Consider: I am, or was, a meteorologist of some note—a man whose interests and leanings have always been away from fantasy and the so-called “supernatural”and yet now I believe in a wind that blows between the worlds, and in a Being that inhabits that wind, striding in feathery cirrus and shrieking lightning storm alike across icy Arctic heavens.

The National Academy of Sciences undertook its first major study of global warming in 1979. At that point, climate modeling was still in its infancy, and only a few groups, one led by Syukuro Manabe at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and another by James Hansen at NASA’s Goddard Institute for Space Studies, had considered in any detail the effects of adding carbon dioxide to the atmosphere. Still, the results of their work were alarming enough that President Jimmy Carter called on the academy to investigate. A nine-member panel was appointed. It was led by the distinguished meteorologist Jule Charney, of MIT, who, in the 1940s, had been the first meteorologist to demonstrate that numerical weather forecasting was feasible. The Ad Hoc Study Group on Carbon Dioxide and Climate, or the Charney panel, as it became known, met for five days at the National Academy of Sciences’ summer study center, in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. Its conclusions were unequivocal. Panel members had looked for flaws in the modelers’work but had been unable to find any. “If carbon dioxide continues to increase, the study group finds no reason to doubt that climate changes will result and no reason to believe that these changes will be negligible,

Traveling with more than a hundred men, from engineers, cartographers, and geologists to astronomers, meteorologists, and botanists, as well as soldiers and guides, Whipple trudged through present-day Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico, into what would become Arizona, on a path that vaguely foreshadowed today’s Route 66. The group was guided along the way by Indians — Creeks, Shawnees, and Zunis. But it was the Mohaves who would lead Whipple on the final leg of the journey.2 On

Either Jupiter or Saturn was still visible, pale against the lightening sky. The wind was blustery and full of voices. I sat as sun lipped the horizon. The grass changed in the light, from brown to yellowish to green. The grass: it was green. It was the end of March. I'd been in the country for three weeks. All around me, as if the scales had fallen from my eyes, I saw color flushing the slopes, a color I'd never again hoped to see: that green that is the herald of flavor and pleasure, that says: look, says: wait, says: taste: the gates of the underworld unlatched for mints and sorrels and pine-dark needles in shade and the pale sun-swell of the honeysuckle that bells out the triumphant return, after long winter, of a daughter. It was a green made possible by a man who held in his sway horticulturalists and biologists and chicken geneticists and meteorologists who could control the weather itself, and I forgot those wan, distant orbs in the sky as I opened my mouth, I bayed. And then, at last, it was spring.

Tropical storm update flashes menacingly across the television screen, and I reach for the remote, turning up the volume several notches. Tropical Storm Paloma has been officially upgraded to hurricane status, the local meteorologist announces--just a little too gleefully, if you ask me. It’s currently a category one, but they expect it to strengthen to a two before making landfall. Oh, joy. The US model is predicting landfall just west of Pensacola, Florida, while the European model predicts Gulfport, Mississippi. Seems like a toss-up, except that they’re sending Jim Cantore to Gulfport, and everyone knows what that means. The Mississippi coast is doomed.

But mostly, finally, ultimately, I'm here for the weather. As a result of the weather, ours is a landscape in a minor key, a sketchy panorama where objects, both organic and inorganic, lack well-defined edges and tent to melt together, creating a perpetual blurred effect, as if God, after creating Northwestern Washington, had second thoughts and tried unsuccessfully to erase it. Living here is not unlike living inside a classical Chinese painting before the intense wisps of mineral pigment had dried upon the silk - although, depending on the bite in the wind, they're times when it's more akin to being trapped in a bad Chinese restaurant; a dubious joint where gruff waiters slam chopsticks against the horizon, where service is haphazard, noodles soggy, wallpaper a tad too green, and considerable amounts of tea are spilt; but in each and every fortune cookie there's a line of poetry you can never forget. Invariably, the poems comment on the weather. In the deepest, darkest heart of winter, when the sky resembles bad banana baby food for months on end, and the witch measles that meteorologists call "drizzle" are a chronic gray rash on the skin of the land, folks all around me sink into a dismal funk. Many are depressed, a few actually suicidal. But I, I grow happier with each fresh storm, each thickening of the crinkly stratocumulus. "What's so hot about the sun?" I ask. Sunbeams are a lot like tourists: intruding where they don't belong, promoting noise and forced activity, faking a shallow cheerfulness, dumb little cameras slung around their necks. Raindrops, on the other hand, introverted, feral, buddhistically cool, behave as if they were locals. Which, of course, they are.

The Ingallses had no way of knowing it, but the locust swarm descending upon them was the largest in recorded human history. It would become known as “Albert’s swarm”: in Nebraska, a meteorologist named Albert Child measured its flight for ten days in June, telegraphing for further information from east and west, noting wind speed and carefully calculating the extent of the cloud of insects. He startled himself with his conclusions: the swarm appeared to be 110 miles wide, 1,800 miles long, and a quarter to a half mile in depth. The wind was blowing at ten miles an hour, but the locusts were moving even faster, at fifteen. They covered 198,000 square miles, Child concluded, an area equal to the states of Connecticut, Delaware, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, and Vermont combined.49 “This is utterly incredible,” he wrote, “yet how can we put it aside?”50 The cloud consisted of some 3.5 trillion insects.

The Stoics, as we have seen, advise us to pursue tranquility, and as part of their strategy for attaining it they advise us to engage in negative visualization. But isn’t this contradictory advice? Suppose, for example, that a Stoic is invited to a picnic. While the other picnickers are enjoying themselves, the Stoic will sit there, quietly contemplating ways the picnic could be ruined: “Maybe the potato salad is spoiled, and people will get food poisoning. Maybe someone will break an ankle playing softball. Maybe there will be a violent thunderstorm that will scatter the picnickers. Maybe I will be struck by lightning and die.” This sounds like no fun at all. But more to the point, it seems unlikely that a Stoic will gain tranquility as a result of entertaining such thoughts. To the contrary, he is likely to end up glum and anxiety-ridden. In response to this objection, let me point out that it is a mistake to think Stoics will spend all their time contemplating potential catastrophes. It is instead something they will do periodically: A few times each day or a few times each week a Stoic will pause in his enjoyment of life to think about how all this, all these things he enjoys, could be taken from him. Furthermore, there is a difference between contemplating something bad happening and worrying about it. Contemplation is an intellectual exercise, and it is possible for us to conduct such exercises without its affecting our emotions. It is possible, for example, for a meteorologist to spend her days contemplating tornadoes without subsequently living in dread of being killed by one. In similar fashion, it is possible for a Stoic to contemplate bad things that can happen without becoming anxiety-ridden as a result. Finally, negative visualization, rather than making people glum, will increase the extent to which they enjoy the world around them, inasmuch as it will prevent them from taking that world for granted. Despite - or rather, because of - his (occasional) gloomy thoughts, the Stoic will likely enjoy the picnic far more than the other picnickers who refuse to entertain similarly gloomy thoughts; he will take delight in being part of an event that, he fully realizes, might not have taken place.

Climatologists pick up where meteorologists leave off. We focus on weather timescales beyond the memory of the atmosphere, which is only about one week. And I guess you could say we also focus on timescales beyond human memory, which is shorter than you might think.

Marijuana-steeped conversations concerning questions of wave formation often take on mystical dimensions. Oceanographers and meteorologists can get even farther out there. They smoke math.

Lately she'd been charting Bobby's moods like a meteorologist watching tropical storms. Something was bothering him, and he wasn't talking.

The meteorologist that first named hurricanes named them after politicians he didn't like, so he could make disparaging comments about them wreaking havoc, etc.

No actual science is still hashing out the god thing. No physicists are losing sleep over the Kalam cosmological argument. No biologists are comparing their findings to the “god did it” model. No ethicists are proposing the “cause god’ll burn you in hell” approach. No doctors are prescribing prayer. No lawyers are invoking the “devil really did make him do it” defense. No financial planner is figuring in the “they’re about due for a miracle” variable. No meteorologists are factoring in god’s wrath. The god hypothesis failed.

Research on calibration—how closely your confidence matches your accuracy—routinely finds people are too confident.10 But overconfidence is not an immutable law of human nature. Meteorologists generally do not suffer from it. Neither do seasoned bridge players. That’s because both get clear, prompt feedback.

In the early 1900s a Serbian scientist named Milutin Milanković studied the Earth’s position relative to other planets and came up with the theory of ice ages that we now know is accurate: The gravitational pull of the sun and moon gently affect the Earth’s motion and tilt toward the sun. During parts of this cycle—which can last tens of thousands of years—each of the Earth’s hemispheres gets a little more, or a little less, solar radiation than they’re used to. And that is where the fun begins. Milanković’s theory initially assumed that a tilt of the Earth’s hemispheres caused ravenous winters cold enough to turn the planet into ice. But a Russian meteorologist named Wladimir Köppen dug deeper into Milanković’s work and discovered a fascinating nuance. Moderately cool summers, not cold winters, were the icy culprit. It begins when a summer never gets warm enough to melt the previous winter’s snow. The leftover ice base makes it easier for snow to accumulate the following winter, which increases the odds of snow sticking around in the following summer, which attracts even more accumulation the following winter. Perpetual snow reflects more of the sun’s rays, which exacerbates cooling, which brings more snowfall, and on and on. Within a few hundred years a seasonal snowpack grows into a continental ice sheet, and you’re off to the races. The same thing happens in reverse. An orbital tilt letting more sunlight in melts more of the winter snowpack, which reflects less light the following years, which increases temperatures, which prevents more snow the next year, and so on. That’s the cycle. The amazing thing here is how big something can grow from a relatively small change in conditions. You start with a thin layer of snow left over from a cool summer that no one would think anything of and then, in a geological blink of an eye, the entire Earth is covered in miles-thick ice.

Held back for the first few years by a heart condition (self-diagnosis: “too much sport in my youth”), Heidegger had served as a meteorologist with the frontline weather service number 414 from August until November 1918.

Nobody fails as often as an economist, a meteorologist, and a fortuneteller.

When you use predictive thinking, by contrast, you’re usually foreseeing events that are considered to be highly likely. It can work well if 1) you are very familiar with the parameters of events likely to occur relatively soon; 2) those parameters are fairly constant, stable, and easy to measure; and 3) you’re able to use established algorithms to make decisions about short-term outcomes. Predictive thinking prioritizes your deductive mind. An example might be the way in which traffic control experts at airports are able to decide when to ground planes and when to allow them to fly. Long-term weather patterns are not easy to anticipate but meteorologists can predict short-term hour-by-hour weather with relative accuracy and thus traffic control officers can use

Maeve St. John, the daughter of a lifelong sailor, had predicted changes in weather better than any meteorologist on television. Some people had thought she was bat-shit crazy; Jonah had known she was pure magic.

We were now receiving daily very accurate weather reports from the Bracknell Weather Centre in the UK. These gave us the most advanced precision forecast available anywhere in the world. The meteorologists were able to determine wind strengths to within five knots accuracy at every thousand feet of altitude. Our lives would depend on these forecasts back up the mountain. Each morning, the entire team would crowd eagerly around the laptop to see what the skies were bringing--but it did not look good. Those early signs of the monsoon arriving in the Himalayas, the time when the strong winds over Everest’s summit begin to rise, didn’t seem to be coming. All we could do was wait. Our tents were very much now home to us at base camp. We had all our letters and little reminders from our families. I had a seashell I had taken from a beach on the Isle of Wight, in which Shara had written my favorite verse--one I had depended on so much through the military. “Be sure of this, that I am with you always, even unto the end of the earth.” Matthew 28:20. I reread it every night at base camp before I went to sleep. There was no shame in needing any help up here.

Meteorologists agree that our planet is heating up! Now I know that many people disagree with this or just think that it is part of a natural cycle. It doesn’t really matter what we think, because the Earth’s climate will do what it is doing with or without our influence. As part of my profession, I took classes related to the weather and I would just like to share some of my thoughts on this important topic. First, if I know something is heading in the wrong direction, I’ll try to do something about it and if I’m partially to blame, I’ll try a little harder! For years we have been putting carbon up into the atmosphere and now the chickens are coming home to roost! It doesn’t matter what we think about this, however here in Florida the hurricanes have been becoming more violent… as we saw last summer! Statistically the high tides have been just a little higher with each passing year. In fact the average tides have been going up by an inch for every 10 years. That’s an inch per decade! In the Miami area the water has been coming up through the sewer pipes with fish swimming in the streets and here in the Tampa Bay area the streets are flooding, like in the Venetian Isles neighborhood of St. Petersburg, where flooding has been happening about 70 time per year. Can you imagine being flooded out 70 times per year?

When I was chasing storms for the Weather Channel, I tagged along with scientists who would speed toward a spinning tornado...meteorologists will tell you that storms don't scare them. Storms, for all their fabled unpredictability, still follow the laws of physics. The only thing that scares.. is lightning. There is no way to tell when or where it will strike. It is utterly unpredictable. Just.Like.Trump. His controversies hit at all hours, at all times, and rubber soles on your shows won't protect you.

When Groves called, Oppenheimer chatted happily about the Bethe results. The general interrupted: “What about the weather?” “The weather is whimsical,” the whimsical physicist said.2399 The Gulf air mass had stagnated over the test site. But change was coming. Jack Hubbard, the meteorologist, predicted light and variable winds the next day.

Had he stopped with the Butterfly Effect, an image of predictability giving way to pure randomness, then Lorenz would have produced no more than a piece of very bad news. But Lorenz saw more than randomness embedded in his weather model. He saw a fine geometrical structure, order masquerading as randomness. He was a mathematician in meteorologist’s clothing, after all, and now he began to lead a double life. He would write papers that were pure meteorology. But he would also write papers that were pure mathematics, with a slightly misleading dose of weather talk as preface. Eventually the prefaces would disappear altogether.

Gooooood afternoon, this is meteorologist Sandy 'the Breeze' Bancroft, with Disaster Watch! We're reporting live from the ultimate death-doom-and-destruction destination - that's right... Pompeii!

Helming Mercury’s accounts was like being chief meteorologist on a Mesopotamian plain oft hit with brimstone and deluge. Properly performing the job meant inciting panic, lamentation, and notions of divine betrayal.

The intellectual father of this popular notion was Von Neumann, who built his first computer with the precise intention, among other things, of controlling the weather. He surrounded himself with meteorologists and gave breathtaking talks about his plans to the general physics community. He had a specific mathematical reason for his optimism. He recognized that a complicated dynamical system could have points of instability—critical points where a small push can have large consequences, as with a ball balanced at the top of a hill. With the computer up and running, Von Neumann imagined that scientists would calculate the equations of fluid motion for the next few days.

On June 24, 1947, Kenneth Arnold, a businessman from Boise, Idaho, was flying a small plane near Mount Rainier when, according to Associated Press reports, he spotted a chain of nine “saucer-like” objects above and east of the mountain. Brilliant in the sun, these objects darted toward Mount Adams at “an incredible speed” that he estimated to be at least 1,200 miles per hour. Arnold’s story of saucer-shaped objects initiated a UFO craze that has not abated. Analyses by meteorologists and other scientists suggest that Mr. Arnold did not spot a visitor from another world, but rather a mountain wave cloud, a frequent visitor to the mountainous Pacific Northwest.

I would encourage you not to confuse a passing drizzle with a brainstorm. Because if you do, it won’t take a meteorologist to tell you what’s coming, and it’ll take more than an umbrella to protect you from it.

Dan Satterfield, a meteorologist on CBS’s Maryland affiliate, wrote. “This kind of thing should be condemned, and if you have an AccuWeather app on your smartphone, my advice is to stand up for science and replace it.

improvement in all weather predictions. The five-day-out forecast in 2016 was as accurate as the one-day-out forecast had been in 2005. In just the last few years, for the first time in history, a meteorologist’s forecast of how hot it will be nine days from now is better than just guessing.

Jake would never claim to have in-depth knowledge of the happenings in the sky. He would never claim to be a meteorologist or a weather forecaster. While he had managed to get decent grades in physics and chemistry, he for sure wasn’t an expert. But, despite his lacking knowledge, he was pretty sure that clouds weren’t supposed to have trees growing on them.

A meteorologist might beg to differ, but weather prediction was an act of infidel witchcraft that could not be trusted.

The weather gods are toying with us." - Dr. James Stagg

The Weather simply didn’t exist in Colombia. I later found out that no one asks or talks about the weather in Medellín, as it never varies, nor are there any television meteorologists. Every day the temperature is in the mid-seventies, with sunlight and an occasional cloud cover. Yet even in Southern California, where the same is true, natives talk about the weather constantly. As

in the latter half of 2017, ten consecutive storms became hurricanes. The last time this occurred was in 1893—and many meteorologists are skeptical of that, because technology and thus tracking were so much less advanced then. But in 2017 we had our cell phones out and the tidal gauges turned on. Together we bore witness to a string of storms so powerful that the National Weather Service had to invent not one but two entirely new colors to reflect their severity.

At first, we had a rotating cast of weatherpeople, until the bosses hired a vivacious young meteorologist from Chicago named Ginger Zee. (Zee is a shortening of her real—and awesome—last name: Zuidgeest.)

AJ cursed God and the local meteorologists for the blanket of blue sky that kidnapped the seventy percent chance of rain.

Here are a couple of headlines that won’t get past a newspaper editor, because they are unlikely to get past our own filters: “MALARIA CONTINUES TO GRADUALLY DECLINE.” “METEOROLOGISTS CORRECTLY PREDICTED YESTERDAY THAT THERE WOULD BE MILD WEATHER IN LONDON TODAY.