Still all playing out like '19, '20, and '21.
Try a mental exercise, close your eyes.
Think of cold, snow, a wintery landscape. Think of the cityscapes of Vancouver, Seattle, Portland, and Eugene, and picture them with just globs of snow heaped over them. Keep your eyes closed and imagine maps filled with those pepto pinks and purples. Imagine that arctic air spilling over Vancouver Island and making its way back to Washington and Oregon. Imagine regional blizzard warnings and snow cov
Yeah, the delta on Monday will be telling with Graphcast and Spire. People forget (or don't know) that both models only work off of initialization data and then use various degrees of image based machine learning at very high terrain definitions. Its effectively taking those analog lists to the next level. This means though that there is no real condition modeling taking place, but rather a "I think this feature will develop here because it typically does when these patterns at these levels are
Great story!
I remember rushing to fertilize the lawn that morning before the rain started knowing hot weather was coming. We went to Bellingham that day and watched the fireworks on the bay there. It actually wasn't raining at all that evening up there but it was pretty chilly.
Bit of a long story here, but it's related and really funny.
I had probably the most miserable fourth of July out of anyone in Seattle that year. I was eight years old at the time, almost nine. My family and I set up shop by the Sri Chinmoy statue underneath the Aurora bridge, as per tradition, since it has a direct view of the fireworks without the overwhelming crowds of Gasworks Park. Unfortunately, the spot we chose was not sheltered by the bridge, as skiff westerlies left us directly exposed to the drizzly elements. Not that us true PNW'ers cared (okay maybe my Mom); we all knew the deal with what the weather could be like in early July.
But that's only where this story begins. Not half an hour after setting up shop, my stomach started to feel a bit funny. By four in the afternoon it was clear whatever lunch I ate (probably a hot dog, you are what you eat after all) was not sitting well with me. My Dad took me up to the PCC in Fremont where it all came out both ends... He was so cool about the whole thing, basically telling everyone complaining in line to f*ck off because I was having an emergency. Of course, after all this, as any parents would, mine insisted we go home and put me in bed. But God molded me with an undying determination, that perhaps borders on insanity, and I was not to be disappointed that day. After a great deal of fussing on my end, my parents caved, and let me find out on my own terms just how truly awful sitting in the drizzle for hours while sick with food poisoning could really be. And that's exactly what I did. We repeated the PCC run a few times, unfortunately to no relief. By the time the fireworks started; 30 minutes late nonetheless, due to the rain; my sickness had only gotten worse. Each firework boom shot pain up and down my spine, and into my guts, making me want to expel even more, though I had nothing to give. It was not worth it. Every drop of drizzle felt like an unending barrage of millions of little needles plunging into my skin. I did not have fun. But the memory is a hilarious one, for me at least. Thankfully I recovered overnight and was feeling like myself again by morning. In retrospect it's a miracle I didn't get seriously sick from that whole ordeal.... My parents should probably have not caved in to their eight year old child. Oh well.
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