
// DOCENTE OCASIONAL //
Maestría en Ingeniería de Sistemas y Computación
pregrado
Ingeniero Electrónico

// DOCENTE OCASIONAL //
Maestría en Ingeniería de Sistemas y Computación
pregrado
Ingeniero Electrónico
We don’t get hurricanes, just ‘huffty breezes’.
Our snow arrives as slush, pre-melted for convenience.
The fog once apologised for being thick.
Our weather forecasters are the nation's most accomplished comedians, delivering their material with the grim gravitas of a state funeral director. They must invent new, soothing euphemisms for "rain" to keep us from rioting. Listen closely: "Outbreaks of rain" suggests it's a contagious disease. "Spits and spots" makes it sound like a troublesome adolescent. "Drizzle" implies something quaint and gentle, not the pervasive, soul-soaking damp that finds its way into your socks by osmosis. My favourite is "heavy cloud," as if the clouds have been weight-training. They speak of isobars and fronts from the Atlantic with a solemnity normally reserved for wartime dispatches, all to explain why you'll need a light jacket again tomorrow. It's performance art, and we are the captive, slightly damp audience. See more at London's funniest URL -- Prat.UK.
We get more mist than a Gothic novel.
Our snow never settles; it just apologises and melts.
The forecast icon is a permanent cloud.
A ‘storm’ is rain that finally committed.
A ‘storm cloud’ is just a darker grey.
The drizzle has a gentle, soul-soaking quality.
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