There Ain't No Cure For The Summertime Flu

I seem to be coming down with a cold. That's right, in July. Normally I get two colds a year: at the start of winter and the end of winter. So I'll just hope I'm getting the first one out of the way early.

This seasonally-inappropriate illness shouldn't be a surprise; scientists maintain that low temperatures don't affect the human body's ability to fight viruses. They're unsure why we get more colds in winter, but suggest it's because we spend more time indoors, and thus closer to other people. If that's true, then I suggest that we could be susceptable to summer colds in times like this when we have long periods of heat and humidity. That probably forces people indoors just as much as winter does.

Personally, I've always been skeptical of that idea that colds are communicated by people being indoors more in the winter. In the modern world, the amount of time we spend inside doesn't really change that much with the weather. Probably a better explanation would be schooling. That's one of the few places where we do bring together people from all over society in one place. It's always seemed to me that the colds start going around when school starts, not when the cold weather starts.

Well we're still a month away from the start of school, so what could currently bring together people from all over society to pass germs around? It's got to be Pokemon Go. It's clearly a plot to bring disease to geeks in the western world. I thought it was suspicious that a Japanese franchise game gets released in the U.S. weeks before Japan. It wasn't to improve the Japanese servers, it was to develop an antidote.

Any Portmanteau In A Storm

You know what's really depressing?  The word "edutainment" doesn't even sound weird to me anymore. How did that happen?  Is it a symptom of our modern world that we're making up more words now?  Or am I just old enough that I've finally experienced the complete creation of words from coining to acceptance.

It's not just that: I'm totally accepting when the weather forecast calls for "tornadic" activity. Tornadoes have been around for a while, surely we haven't just started to need that word. L. Frank Baum didn't need to describe Dorothy being taken to Oz by tornatic activity. Okay, it could be that global warming is shifting climate systems to the point that we need new words to talk about them.  After all, we should really come up with a name for one of those storms that dumps snow up the U.S. Eastern Seaboard while missing most of Canada. How about an "ironicane?"

And then there's this Winterish we've been experiencing in Southern Ontario.  We experienced a frigiweek (one week of genuine winter) but since then it's been subjectemps (temperatures that seem really warm, even though we'd find them frightfully cold if we experienced them in the fall.)

Shuffling Through The Snow

What did Buffalo ever do to deserve this? Not the animal, they didn't do anything.  I mean the city.  We just had a snowstorm, and while it was bad here in southern Ontario, it was easily survivable. But somehow Buffalo got three feet of snow, paralysing the city. This just keeps happening: storms that are merely inconvenient here - at the same latitude in Canada - save their worst for the Queen City. (That's Buffalo's nickname; people know that, right?)

I'm sure Americans hear about the snow in Buffalo and assume it's a result of its position in the North, but clearly it's more than that.  The only explanation I can come up with - and keep in mind I know little about weather - is that it comes from the city's position at the Eastern end of Lake Erie. Thus the prevailing winds blow along the entire length of the lake, picking up moisture, then dumping it on Buffalo at the end. (And Wikipedia seems to agree.)

That begs the question: who decided to put the city there? Or rather, how did a city in such an unfortunate position get so large? Looking around the Great Lakes, there are no other major cities on windward shores.  I always assumed that was because people avoided the places with the worst weather conditions.

You got to feel bad for them. Here in Southern Ontario, the two big American cities on our doorsteps are Buffalo and Detroit. Those are two of the most deteriorated cities in the country, and it tends to give us a little smugness. That's unfortunate, since it's not like either city was really to blame for the global trends were their downfall.

In Buffalo's case, we should feel a kinship with them due to our similarities. Not only is there the weather and most of the U.S. ignoring them, they also care about hockey, and yet can't seem to put together a winning team.

Muad'Dib, Eh?

A few years ago I read the science fiction classic Dune. It's set on a planet that's entirely desert (hence the name, "Dune.") And this planet is inhabited by people called Fremen, who have adapted their lifestyles to the extreme environment they live in. They treat water with religious reverence, they have a system of underground hideouts, and they have clothes that recapture the moisture from their bodies and turn it into drinkable water (and the less you think about that concept the better.)

It occurred to me that we Canadians are sort of like the Fremen, only with a different environmental extreme to deal with.  Sparsely populated, in a land most people wouldn't choose.

Except that, really we're not. It's actually surprising how little Canadians alter the basic North American lifestyle to suit our climate extremes. We haven't shaped our roads, streets and sidewalks to reduce the amount of snow that accumulates, we just shovel a lot. We think nothing of commuting hours to our jobs, even though it's hard to drive for a third of the year.  Heck, we haven't even adapted Roomba technology to snowblowers yet.

Maybe it'll just take a while. After all, Dune did take place 10,000 years in the future. Maybe, given that much time, Canadians would develop a more sensible approach to winter, with underground, geothermally-heated cities, cars that convert into snowmobiles on command, and genetically-engineered crops that grow year-round.

Ma Slow Descent

The power was out for six hours during the ice storm. It turns out that wasn't nearly as bad as many people faced, with power out for days or more. Still, it was strange to be without power for so long. It’s been a long time since I’ve experienced a black-out that long, save for the Great Blackout of Aught-Three. But that was in the summer, and with the inside temperature plunging, it underlines our dependence on electricity much better than a little extra sweat without air conditioning does.

In looking back at my reaction, what's notable is how the feelings follow Maslow's hierarchy of needs.  That's the psychological theory that what we require as humans is arranged in a linear hierarchy where we satisfy the most basic needs before addressing more complex desires:

• Physiological: It's freezing! Get my blanket. I'm hungry! Find all non-frozen, edible-at-room temperature foods.
• Safety: What if it takes a week to get the power back, like the Quebec ice storm? Maybe we can stay somewhere else. No, looters will ransack the place. Rent a wood burning fireplace!
• Belonging: I’m stuck here! I can’t phone anyone, because my three-quarters-of-a-battery phone charge has to last for the next week! Well, in a worst case scenario, I can hike to a friend’s place; we can huddle for warmth.
• Esteem: I’m so dependent on modern conveniences. I can hear my ancestors laughing at me. But if I survive, it will be a great accomplishment.
• Self-actualization: This will give me greater perspective on life, what we need, and what’s really important.

I think I’ve come through this as a better person, with a better understanding of humanity. So if I ever face that storm that is as bad as my worst fears, I’ll be in a good position to decide who we eat first.

I'm With Humid

Sometimes people argue about the use of humidity in temperature prediction.  Specifically the question is whether weather forecasts should give the temperatures with the humidity taken into account.  The argument against it is that the humidex isn't the "real" temperature, so we're only making it sound hotter than it is.

To me, that makes no sense.  My reasoning is right there in the way the meteorologist reads the temperature: "The high is 27, but it will feel like 40."  But obviously, how it "feels" is what I want to know, so just tell me it's 40.  Another way of reading the temperature would be, "The high tomorrow will be a beautiful 27 degrees.  Though it should be noted, if you happen to be a carbon-based life form, it will feel like 40.  But the main story: the majority of objects in the universe would experience tomorrow as 27."

This strange treatment of humidity leads to Canadians' odd understanding of temperatures.  We'll be like, "Man, today was hot.  I like the summer, but this was too much.  What's the weather going to be like tomorrow?  27 Degrees?  Perfect, sounds like a beautiful day."  Completely oblivious to the fact that it was 27 degrees today as well, and tomorrow is going to be just as hellish.  Humidity is sort of like The Silence from Doctor Who: we are terrorized in its presence, then forget about it while we're not experiencing it.

It's Not A Delorean, But It Still Goes Back In Time

If, like me, you park in an underground parking garage, one odd experience you will have is that the atmosphere in your car will not change as fast as the air outside.  For instance, if you're out driving on a hot, humid day, your car will have hot, humid air in it.  If the weather changes overnight to be cold and breezy, you'll still have hot, humid air in your car.  So you'll go from your warm apartment, walk through the underground garage - which is always cool and damp - get in the warm interior of your car, drive somewhere, say still wearing a t-shirt.  When you get where you're going, you get out of the car, and only then realize that it's freezing out.  It's particularly a problem in the spring when the temperature can fluctuate a lot.  So if you see someone in the next few weeks driving around wearing clothes that don't seem right for the weather, just keep in mind that it's probably still yesterday in their car.

In Zelda We Trust

Yesterday, while virtual-driving in Gran Turismo I tried driving on the all-ice track for the first time.  And then today, I had to drive in icy conditions for he first time this year.  I guess the practice was useful.  Though I assure you I was much more careful in real life, rarely attempting to drift through the turns on Highway 7.

(As an aside, thank you, Samsung spell checker, for interpreting "Gran Turismo" as "Grain Tourism."  I notice it had no problem spelling "Samsung," however.  Let me try something: "Hyundai."  I think overly nationalistic programmers have made it to only work reliably with Korean names.  "Seoul," "kimchi,"  "Gangway Style" well, maybe not.)

But back to my main point: I apparently have a weird gift of prophecy through video games.  It's impressive; many other drivers on the road with me had predictive skills that were not in any way supernatural, and they were not even able to see the obvious consequences of their actions.  Guys, when you've just driven past two cars in the ditch - one on it's side - then you come up on traffic doing 50 in a 90, heading to the passing lane isn't the best idea. 

But, video game gods, much as I do appreciate this gift, well, a few weeks ago in the game I won a Porsche in a race.  Was it too much to ask for that to be the event that played out in real life?  Okay, I guess if I had won a Porsche in real life, I would have totalled it driving today.  Game gods, you are wise indeed.