Yes, I'm a Rain Person

Dear Uptight Seattleite,

I'm filled with rage when people say "My bad." Since when did that become an acceptable apology?

Dear Dipshit,

I'm not really calling you a dipshit. I'm sure you're nothing of the kind. As a Weekly reader, you probably have at least a conventionally evolved degree of tolerance, even if the paper itself falls a bit short in the alternativeness department. (The way I look at it, though, operating a printed paper of any kind is in itself pretty darn alternative these days!) No, the term "dipshit" was intended to inject you with some empathy for those people you expect to apologize. The burst of irritation you felt when I called you a dipshit was the prick of my needle. Breathe through it. Let it pass, Dipshit.

As the empathy hits your bloodstream, you'll be able to see that when you expect someone to apologize in the old-fashioned way, like a red-faced schoolboy, you're perpetuating a cycle of shame. You don't want to perpetuate a cycle of shame, do you? Of course not. None of us do, Dipshit (again, please remember I'm not actually calling you that). That's why we smooth away the sharp corners of words until they're soft, floaty things we can waft harmlessly through the air: "My bad. I must have spaced on that." A fine mist of unassigned blame hovers for a brief moment before dissipating and being forgotten forever. That doesn't mean you shouldn't apologize, Dipshit, now that you know it's really been your bad all along.

Dear Uptight Seattleite,

I don't think it's strange that people here talk about the weather so much. That's pretty normal behavior anywhere in the world. But I don't get why you talk so much about how you feel about the weather, and if you're a "rain person" or not.

On a related note, why is everyone in love with Cliff Mass? Is a "thinking person's meteorologist" really necessary?

Dear Atmospheric,

There's something I've got to say. It's probably best just to come out with it and let the chips fall where they may: I'm a rain person. There. I said it. I hope I didn't startle you with the nonconformity of my preference. I guess the celebratory mood that sunny skies bring is OK for awhile, but after a few days I look for the clouds to roll in and tamp everyone's spirits down to a more tasteful level.

As for your second question, perhaps you prefer to get your forecasts from a suit-and-tie yammering away on the local news about "the wet stuff." And that's of course totally fine, but some of us prefer a more intellectually nuanced answer to the question "Is it going to rain tomorrow?" Cliff takes us beyond the banality of low-pressure fronts into a poetic realm of thermal troughs, monsoonal moisture, and marine push events. The region is transformed in Cliff's telling into a dramatic topographic stage, the sky a continuously unfolding story as intricate and fast-moving as his own mind. Like I said, though, it's perfectly OK if you'd rather have all this poetry flattened into a tiny graphic of the five-day forecast. I guess the little cloudy symbols and stuff make it easier for you to understand.

Dear Uptight Seattleite,

OK, I know that if I spend any time whatsoever complaining about Facebook it means I should get a life, but what is it about people who must narrate the most trivial events of their life? They status that they're "About to have a cup of tea!", and then everyone is supposed to click "Like" and comment "Girl, I'm so glad you're taking some time for yourself!"

Dear Pursued,

Hooray for me! It's such a simple sentiment, and yet such an important one for maintaining one's self-esteem. I grant you that some people seem to lead this little cheer for themselves whenever they eat blueberries, go for a bike ride, or listen to the Shins ("Rediscovering their second album"). But is it so wrong to bask in the warm rays of self-validation? And would it really be so hard for you to click "Like"? If you really think so, maybe it's time for you to take off that grumpy adult mask of yours and remember how you felt the first time you made a poo-poo in the toilet by yourself.

Want trivial status updates from the Uptight? Find him on Facebook! Or write to him at uptight@seattleweekly.com.