by Eoanna Petropoulacos

Created on: March 06, 2008

An oddly assorted gaggle of elderlys clustered around the television ignoring the show attention otherwise engaged by countless fascinations afforded by the giant thermometer/barometer gleaming handsomely against the wall.

"Did you know the temperature just went down half a degree? It's now 57.5 in this corner of the room, winds SW at 5 mph."

"You don't say," one fellow nodded, casting a bespectacled eye at the face of weather.

"Damn straight," responded the meteorologist. "Just look for yourself."

One gent hoisted himself from the chair to lumber over to gaze at the wonders for himself.

"Think you're wrong. Need to check your bifocals. Says here 56 degrees F and 12 C. Forgot all about the C, didn't you? Not very thorough. Are you?"

"What about the pressure?" piped another, eyes fixed on the wavering television picture. "Seems to me the pressure's changing. Head's clogging up."

A young man entered the room.
"What are you watching, Dad?"

"Do you know if the pressure is changing?"

"Why?"

"His head is filling up."

"What are you watching?"

"Did you know that it's fallen three degrees in the last hour. Wind's picking up, too."

"There ain't no wind, except what's whistling from your gums," retorted the clog.

"Mind if I surf the channels?" asked the younger.

"Don't you care about barometric pressure, boy? Climate is everything. The rain forest, the ice cap melting, greenhouse effectjust dropped a quarter of a degree in that corner, as I live and breathe."

"Do tell." The clog levitated from his sunken chair to get a better look at the meteorological marvel.

"Best damn present you ever gave me, son." His father's voice was so proud.

"I'm getting one next week," boasted another. "The newest model."

"Won't be better than this one," retorted Dad. "Accurate to a quarter of a degree."

"Mine's gonna tell the temperature around the world."

"Now how the hell is it going to do that? You're a fool. Always have been a fool, always will be a fool. Your brain is like your hairnon-existent."

"Yeah? Well, your brain is like your hair, too. Thin and frail."

"Perhaps, everyone's brain is like their hair," mused the son, wishing for a fleeting moment, that someone would buy him a great thermometer/barometer for his room.

"Could be something to it," ruminated clog. "Thick. Dense. Gray. Black. Yellow. Wiry. Shiny. Frizzy. Stick-straight. Corkscrew. Over-processed. Damaged. Brittle. Dry. Oily. Greasy. Flaky. Split-"

"WILL YOU SHUT THE HELL UP!" roared Dad. "The temperature's going up."

All eyes turned to the wall

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