Long Overdue

DISCLAIMER: This post is not a reflection of any of our current circumstances or situations. Its purpose is pure drivel and a lot of nonsense. But do enjoy.

Hey guys,

Seeing as how it’s been a while since I wrote a general e-mail to all of you, let me re-introduce how this works.

In the deep recesses of my cavernous (which means BIG but EMPTY) and strikingly addled brain, there dwells a creative force waiting to be released on an unsuspecting public. Unfortunately, I can’t figure out what it is yet. In consequence, I string together random thoughts and hope that there is a commonality in them that could be interpreted as a "Subject". When I stumble across this ‘subject’, I make a mental note to myself to compose a humorous vignette based on it. Of course, most of those mental notes lose their sticky backing, and fall off the mental refrigerator under the mental stove, as it were. There is rests with the mental dust balls and half-eaten mental Oreos until something important falls down behind the mental stove, and I have to pull it out to get to it. Then I am confronted with a pile of mental notes that would fuel Mongolia’s central heating system for a month.

Be fair, a week.

Honestly, a day and not less.

Ok ok, 7 seconds if you add 4 tons of coal, but you get the idea.

Touching on the subject matter at hand, it’s nippy up here. It’s downright cold, actually. This morning it was -5 degrees. Being a crustacean, I natura- …. Crustacean? That’s not right. Crusti- crust of bread, crost crutting measures… Crusty Nutmegger, there’s the soubriquet. Being a crusty Nutmegger, I don’t make it a habit of complaining about the weather though. You should notice, I am NOT complaining. I am merely pontificating my lack of satisfaction, on a purely subjective level, with the present meteorological conditions surrounding my domicile.

But I digress. The reason we don’t make a habit of complaining about the weather is twofold. First, in the summer it’s always hotter in Texas, and Texans (no apologies to the Texas delegation in the peanut gallery) have a perverse satisfaction in finding themselves hotter than 90% of the country. "The only way WE can cool down is by hopping in a freezer chest filled with liquid nitrogen, and sinking it in Lake Baikal Siberia! Shaddup, ya wimpy eastern ponce, before I whack you on the head with an armadillo in spurs!"

Second, in the winter it’s always colder someplace else, like Minnesota. Without going into extraneous details, they’ll tell us wimpy eastern ponces to shut up before they hit us over the head with a moose in a tutu. Incidentally, the way Minnesotans stay warm is by spending their winters in Texas. There are no, I repeat NO Minnesotans who actually live up there in the winter. How many Minnesotans have you actually seen in Minnesota in the winter? How many have you seen in Texas in the winter?

Though this research was not scientific, I think 4 out of 5 dentists would agree with me. There is, I have heard tell, a National Parks ranger who occupies a hunting lodge in southern Minnesota during 2 weeks in January. The only way he stays warm is by ripping the heating element out of his toaster and dipping it in his shorts. When he wakes up, he pops the hood of his pick-up and plays snuggle-bunnies with the engine block.

Anyway, so’s not to complain about the weather, I’ll explain how we wimpy northeastern ponces get through weeks like this. Here's the secret, are you ready?
We shamelessly exploit it in attempts to get sympathy. Remember, northeasterners are liberals, and essentially as narcissistic as… well, we produced Ted Kennedy, Howard Dean, John Kerry and gay civil unions, what more do you want?

To understand the mindset, let me take you through 3 quick, self-aggrandizing ways to make other people feel sorry for your plight.

First, insert the temperature into every conversation. Just make sure it's going to be a cold day, and then, as matter-of-factly as possible, say something like, "Hey Frank, I haven't spoken to you since college! I hear you're joining AARP next month. Say, it's -48 degrees right now!"

Now how did our not-so-subtle caller pin the thermometer at -48 degrees? Is it REALLY -48 degrees? Of course not, but I'll let you guys in on how all this work.

Tomorrow’s high is forecasted as 5 degrees. Veritably tropical. The low is forecasted to be –15, and the wind chill is forecasted at –20 to –40.

Upon hearing news like this, you must start out be sinking the temp 5 to 10 degrees to sound more impressive. For example, had the forecast been a high of 30 degrees, you would naturally say, "Did you hear it’ll be 20 tomorrow?" This in turn sets up that person to subtract another 5 to 10 degrees and so on and so forth, until the word Kelvin conjures images Rio De Janeiro and girls sensuously tangoing with fruit baskets on their heads. As it is, the best we can come up with are images of Finland and polar bears turkey trotting in City Hall.

Second, you must have proper respect to "highs" and "lows". This is simple. Highs project the warmer temperature, and therefore get less sympathy. Thus, you must only speak in terms of low temperatures. If the low is forecasted as 30 degrees, you must say, "Did you hear it’ll be 20 degrees tomorrow?" (remembering to subtract 5-10 degrees from the forecasted temperature of course). Again, this permits the sliding scale to continue until your non-New England family and/or friends naturally presume you’re living on Pluto.

Pluto, incidentally, is thought to be a toasty average of –378 to –396 degrees. NASA isn’t quite 100% sure on that, but hey, their guess is better than mine.

Third, a proper understanding of wind chill or wind chill factor is essential. Wind chill can be basically understood as follows:

Uh, my bad. It can’t be. However, I have, in the place of accurate meteorological theories, composed witty and not-at-all sensible poem:

Thirty days hath December,
Killing two birds I don’t remember.
Or were they pigs, who, when they loft,
Mount on wings of clouds so soft?
At-mos-phere thin, helps lift them boldly
To heights unknown by pigs. So coldly
Then those hams take flight and soar!
"It’s a bird! Or a plane!" No! It’s a boar!
Which brings in mind Bernoulli’s theorem,
Meaning wind must blow. So now I fear ‘em.
Those flying pigs, of course I mean,
Yep, frozen hams (Dr. Suesse's were green!).
So remember that when choosing diets
Stick with protein what gots suet.
An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of chicken—
Those cold flying pigs just keep on tickin’.

And that’s all you need to know about wind-chill right there. Of course, meteorologists would take issue with that line of reasoning, but then their jobs depend on the lies they weave. So who are you going to believe, some washed up actor with a rug who pretends he knows what he’s talking about or the meteorologist? Remember, 4 out of 5 dentists choose, uh, sixty percent of the lower working classes- er, tax cuts. Or something like that.

So having heard my deft explanations of how seriously we New Englanders take our weather, it come time for me to divulge how I would advise a visitor to deal with it.

If you recall your high school days, ponder for a moment the period known as "The Industrial Revolution". This is when Jesse Jackson and Louis Farrakhan said, "Don’t fire until you see the whites!" Now, during this time, Welsh miners found that when they descended into the coal veins to rip the ore from the bowels of the earth (proving once again that too many adjectives can be a very baaaad thing!) the presence of a canary was advantageous. This was because canaries have a (slightly) lower tolerance of carbon monoxide than do humans. Hence, when the canary shuffled off to Buffalo and tipped the scales towards Blighty the miners would know it was time to make reservations on a higher plane. Namely, get lead out of their knickers and skidaddle up out of the mine.

Likewise, New Englanders have their own sacrificial animal to toss outside during a cold spell. Cats usually suffice, but occasionally a Canadian or pigeon will suffice.

If the sacrificial animal quickly becomes statuesque, the assumption is made that it’s too cold to venture outside for all but the most necessary tasks. These tasks include rushing pregnant women to the hospital, emergency runs to the grocery store for more nachos during March Madness, or sitting outside for 4 hours at a Patriots game (may Indianapolis tap-dance on your spines and consume your jerseys for snacks!).

If you happen to be visiting during a cold spell, please bring your own cat. Or Canadian. Unless you’re from Canada. Then you must provide your own unwanted critter. Vermonters will suffice.

Now if you’ll all excuse me, I have to go get my monthly head-smacking from a tutu clad moose bearing Minnesotan.

T-t-t-t-toodles,
?ete