MY NAME IS BUZZ. I’M A WEATHERHOLIC.

Me, when I actually earned money forecasting weather. At The Weather Channel ca. 2008.

My name is Buzz.

I’m a weatherholic.

There, I said it.

I’m supposed to be retired.  Kicking back.  Taking it easy.  Writing novels.

But no.  Every time “big weather” looms, I’m geeking out, studying progs, kibitzing with other “addicts,” and [GULP] making forecasts.

Why can’t I get this monkey off my back?  Well, I suppose part of it is just human nature.  Humans generally love competition.  Exhibit One: the Winter Olympics.

So what has competition to do with weather forecasting

I think forecasting is a form of competition.  And it’s not that I’m attempting to one-up my fellow “junkies.”  The real challenge is to whip Mother Nature’s ass.  Since we can’t change or control her, the next best thing is to try to out-smart her.  To predict what she’s going to do.

Notice I didn’t use the term “out-guess.”  Weather prediction really is a scientific endeavor . . . laced with experience.

Competition, of course, implies a “game.”  And indeed, for us strap-hangers (I don’t forecast for a living any longer), it is a game.  A real-time game where we try to make the right “call” before the buzzer sounds, i.e., before the storm hits.

’ll admit it: I love it.  Love the thrill of victory.  The cheering crowds.  The multimillion-dollar endorsements.  The–oh, never mind.  I’m hopeless . . . and obviously delusional, too.

Thank me, though, that when the snowstorms and squall lines come a-calling, I try to avoid adding to the social media cacophony with my predictions.   But I do get a kick out of trading email discussions with a cadre of fellow “abusers”–reprobate meteorologists that they are–most old Weather Channel buddies.

Also, I’ve apparently become the unofficial weatherguy for the Midtown law firm my stepdaughter works at, and for my neighbors in Willow Springs.  (Note to self: gotta stop wearing that Weather Channel parka when I walk Stormy.)

My name is Buzz.

I’m a weatherholic.