I’ve mastered the pronunciation of seismologist, (the trick is to get your tongue out of the way after the ‘eis’ part so you can get your lips around the ‘molo’…the ‘gist’ will take care of itself as long as you don’t ‘sh’ the ‘st’), but, those guys are just high falootin’ weathermen, right?  (Before you go off on me for not using ‘weatherpeople’ or some other PC title, let me assure you that I will be visiting misogyny in my blog in the coming weeks).  When I was a kid in Detroit, our TV weatherman was Sonny Eliot, (whose real name was something like Schlosberg), and he was one of those goofy, wanna-be comedians who did a lot of schtick and yet somehow seemed to fit in a forecast.  But, here’s the thing.  He mostly got it right, and this was the 50’s when his forecasting tools were comprised of a protractor, a hyper-sensitive arthritic toe and sticking his head out of the third floor window of WWJ.  Today’s meteorologists, (Al Roker…please), are fed endless streams of data from satellites, CCTV, sensors of every ilk and the new forecasting standard, doppler radar, (does it only work if a firetruck goes by creating ‘the effect’?).  So, why do “they” mostly get it wrong?  It messes with my fashion sense when I opt for the corduroys and snow boots on the warmest, driest, sunniest day of January.  There’s also that uncontrollable urge to share the forecast I’ve bought into with others, and I’m sick and tired of being made to look like an idiot by some tight-sweatered weatherbabe, (I know…I know).  Anyway, the aforementioned seismologists are a hoot, arguing over the exact epicenter and strength and whether to use Richter or Mercalli to score the disaster.  They are reactionists at best, still unable to predict and reluctant to even admit connection between one event and another.  I believe, (and this is strictly my arthritic toe talking), Haiti, Chile, Sumatra…not coincidental.  A moving plate over here, a stressed fault over there…definitely related.  And why do they have to keep changing the names of things?  Tidal wave sounded scary enough without conjuring up the sinister Ninja tsunami every time there’s an off-shore quake.  Tornado, cyclone, waterspout…make up your damn minds!  In the meantime, I’ll be huddling in the Southwest corner of my basement…or is it Southeast?  I better call Sonny.