I was born in a crossfire hurricane

You know, I should have been a meterologist. Today, the hurricane experts announced that they're changing the hurricane predictions for this season from 13-16 named storms and 8-10 hurricanes to 12-15 named storms and actual 7-9 hurricanes. I know they're supposed to be hurricane experts and all, but I think they forgot something: hurricane season begins on June 1. In case you don't feel like clicking the link (I don't blame you) the date of this development, also the date of today, is August 8. What a load of BS.

Oddsmakers don't get to change the odds on bets at halftime. Surgeons don't get to decide to change the organ that they're going to remove while they're elbow deep in entrails. Engineers don't get to turn the tank they're designing into a golf cart because they started off crappily. So why do we accept this from our meteorologists? Why do we pay them to predict at all? Because really, they suck at it.

I wish I had that sort of leeway for error in my line of work. But people who drive cars or live in houses probably are pretty happy that engineers don't, unless the Saturn they are driving suddenly were to erupt into a something else, like a sleeper sofa or a cat. (I chose Saturn because a lot of people drive Saturns. I myself, do not.) The only other people who have the sort of margin for mistake are sports writers, but they are writing about a game anyway, which is on its face pretty ridiculous. (Don't get me wrong, I still read a number of them, but at least I recognize that it's the professional equivalent of getting paid to eat candy.)

Hurricanes are not ridiculous. They are gigantic storms that can be terrifying. Just tell me where they are going. If you are going to make predictions, though, make them and own up at the end of the season like a man. Or else you never know what might happen to your Saturn.