The Crimson Weatherboard’s Weekly Weather Review

I no longer know what to believe in. One day, glorious winter is upon us, sheathing us in a cold white burrito wrap and masking the falseness that lies beneath in the austere perfection of thinglessness. Rarely has my heart been as thrilled as when I saw the world reduced to this.
By Noah B. Pisner and Andrew A. White

A note to our dearest readers: A good weather to you! We know this new section of The Harvard Crimson might strike you as strange and frightening, unusual content the likes of which you have never before encountered. But do not be alarmed! We humble weathermen wish only to share our passion (publish it, perhaps?) for the wonder that is the climate. Every good news source needs a good weather team. So allow us to be your guide, your muse, your Anderson Cooper, your Guy Fieri, your Willy Wonka as we all together venture forward into the unknown of last week’s weather.



This week in last week’s weather, we talk about the weather from last week:

A despondent return beckoned by a despondent sky. Sweaty hands met sweaty hands in awkward shaking gestures as high humidity filled the void of loneliness heralded by the end of August. My summer girlfriend left me just in time for the rain to arrive on Friday; it was at least 98 percent wet. An oppressive rain, but merciful enough to allow the umbrellas to see another day, which sucks for the umbrellas ’cause that day will be rainy, too. Thankfully, though, rain meant we could all wear boat shoes everyday without looking like a bunch of batty posh boys–they are, after all, water resistant. Sun came and went in an unimpressed cantor toward the latter part of the week: not a bad time to be lifting futons up four flights of stairs, or to gondola nude down the Charles. A merry welcome back to New England weather for us all.

Aggregate score: 3.4 out of 10.

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