The drama queen and the storm.

I'll keep this brief because it's another one of those sad sack entries...
I've known, and more than likely still know quite a few, climate change deniers. Their arguments make me pull one of those puzzled smiles often used by comic actors to indicate they're never quite sure what they're hearing.
The deniers's arguments always tends to go something like the following:
  *  technology will save us,
  *  water and nature always find their own levels and it has nothing to do with us,
  *  humans can't conceivably impact their environment that strongly,
  *  you climate change supporters are always crying melodrama and chicken little (my personal favourite).
Melodrama and chicken little...
And now a nepotistic and extraordinarily ill-equipped con artist is about to become president of the USA and no one is more surprised than he, himself.
Melodrama and chicken little...
I don't know about you but I never said it would be the Furies. We never said it would be red buttons, dirty bombs and nuclear winters or even wall to wall tidal waves and earthquakes.
In fact, we barely said anything at all.
Not out of any particular fear or lack of spine or intestinal fortitude but rather, out of the mechanism that creates that peculiar half smile. The one that signifies that we can never be sure of the shit coming out of the deniers' mouths and the possibility those joshing and japing jesters might, in fact, be pulling our legs.
And the fun-loving deniers, so assured within their convictions, who call us doomsayers and pussies do that additional funny thing and cite the likes of Christopher Monckton and his oily and well-paid ilk.  And we laugh till the tears...
And again that smile.
So where am I going with all this?  With this cheap, well trodden and nausea-inducing sanctimony? What have I revealed in the diatribe and pouting and preening thus far?
Nowhere and nothing, I'm afraid.
But consider this...
Here in Melbourne, Australia, we went from 34 degrees Celsius to 19 degrees Celsius in approximately forty minutes on the Monday just gone (21/11/16).  This, in and of itself, is nothing new to Melbourne. What can I say?  It's a crazy place. What IS new, according to the media (no, not the Social Media, you kooky nutty, zany catz - the popular media! You know? The one with an agenda!), is today's report that the fatality count has now hit four and there have been 8500 people treated in the past 72 hours (three still critically ill) for this obscure phenomenon known as Thunderstorm Asthma.
All true, I'm afraid. Please see the hyperlink below.
They say it's the small things that count.
To our heartache and detriment we are starting to realise this and I wonder, as I sit in my Pharisaic and somehow insincere solitude, if we ever needed to.

Here is the news. Here is the future.

P.S. Please forgive the absence of a picture and a linked song this time around.