This is the fourth installment of my New Year’s pay more attention to the weather resolution. It was hard to wait until the first of the month, given the summer-like heat Vermont experienced a few weeks ago. When a late-winter storm hit Washington, DC in 2010 (I was on one of the last planes out of National Airport), Republican Congressional aides built an igloo on the Capitol lawn with a mailbox reading “Al Gore” out front. Perhaps I should have built a cabana in my front yard with a mailbox reading “Jim Inhofe” out front.
If, as oil companies, Republican senators and presidential candidates claim, global warming is nothing more than a hoax dreamed up by environmentalists to raise money, it’s one hell of a hoax. On the radio yesterday, the announcer said we were having yet another “red flag day,” meaning that the threat of brush or forest fire was high. I first heard a red flag warning on March 23. Late winter and early spring in Vermont are supposed to be exemplified by mud, not fire, but “new normal” are the words on everyone’s lips. (I really didn’t want this resolution series to be all about global warming either, but these circumstances are beyond my control.)
The winter of 2012 was dry, with neither much snow nor rain falling. Global warming models call for the northeast to get wetter overall, but also call for precipitation to fall in short, intense bursts, as we saw late last summer with Hurricane Irene. The US Geological Survey maintains a web site that records the water level in Lake Champlain and because I have a mild case of obsessive-compulsive disorder, I check the lake level every morning. In March, that level dipped below average for the first time in four and a half years. Continue reading

The New Cigarette
I fly on a fairly regular basis and these trips always begin with a 6 a.m. flight, which means the plane boards around 5:30. Because I’m a frequent flyer, I always board in Zone 2. I’m not frequent enough to qualify for Zone 1, but I’m still among the first on the plane, which gives me a chance to settle in before my seatmate arrives.
I rarely speak to strangers on airplanes, so elaborate avoidance schemes are unnecessary, but invariably the person who sits next to me stows his or her carry-on, fastens her or his seatbelt and pulls out his or her smart phone and begins scrolling through her or his email.
Really? Email? At 5:40 a.m.? From whom, the Union Bank of Switzerland? Not only that, but guess what? I’ve got a smart phone, too, so even from the next seat I can tell that you’re not looking at new email, but just shuffling through crap you’ve already read.
I already had my book out and after the perfunctory nod to make sure you saw that I wasn’t sitting on your seat belt, I was already (for the most part) ignoring you. In fact, the only reason I pay these people any attention at all is because I couldn’t help noticing these bizarre, pointless smart phone ceremonies and now I keep stealing glances out of pure bafflement.
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