I'm probably slaughtering the quote, but I believe it was Ben Franklin who said that "some people are weather-wise, but most folks are otherwise."
Because I am completely unabashed about embracing my inner dork, yesterday I attended a get-together of members from a message board about the fucking weather.
It was about twenty straight guys, mostly thirty or older, and me. It's essentially a bizarre fraternity with no pledge process by which to filter the absolute train wrecks, so, needless to say, it's a very, very motley crew. Regardless of my status anomalies as the lone early-twenties man-fucker of the bunch, I didn't end up paying for any of my drinks.
They flirted openly with the waitress, who, ironically enough, was interested in me.
On more than one occasion, the bartender asked us to move to another section of the bar as we -- a bunch of weather enthusiasts and meteorologists rattling off conjecture -- had become too rowdy in the immediate vicinity of the quieter dinner-hour crowd.
This is actually not that surprising, though; the annual conferences are famous for debauchery and excessive partying. The last time I attended, yours truly was kicked out of the hotel pool in my underwear in Philadelphia at four in the morning, feigning immigrant ignorance with a horrid drunken attempt at a Russian accent that wasn't exactly fooling the police.
At some point during the evening, a small gaggle of mid-forties gays wandered into the bar, one of whom, apparently, decided to bark deliberately up the wrong tree for laughs, ambling over and asking questions about the weather as though actually interested in the responses offered by my comrades.
I spent the rest of the evening serving as a sexuality Wikipedia for the rabble,
We couldn't have picked a better night to banter about weather, seeing as there's a massive storm on the way this evening. I'm anticipating that my office will be closed tomorrow, leaving me "free" to get blitzed and indulge my other nerdy vice, Star Wars Battlefront II.