So it's been nippy in South Florida of late. Yeah, I know, anyone located at or near an area encompassed by the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn wouldn't necessarily consider mid-50's blustery as nippy at this time of year, but there it is. That's the old Mofo with a wool cap in a scarf put the finishing touches on an electric service, and man, I'm fucking cold.
I'm also quite miserable, considering when this cool snap came in Thursday night it turned my tonsils into bowling balls, which a change in weather often does. Works gotta get done,
I used to be one of those guys who put on a wool cap a pair gloves and shoveedl snow in my shorts. Tempature had no effect, that is except for my ears—as the Human Microwave, otherwise known as Triple B, could attest. I should say it doesn't help that most of my work is done outside, therefore, even with a roof over my head in a framed house I am still a victim of the wind. I came home yesterday with a bright red face, not from embarrassment—like every other day— but from windburn. My point is yeah, it's 55 degrees, and If I was strolling the old QV today 55 would be kick-ass, but let's see how you feel when you spend 8 hours in 55 and blustery weather with no break from it. You would all be singing the same song. I feel bad for the dudes who do this up in New York this time of year. Nemo was telling me that in his days up there it was close to impossible bend aluminum to your wishes when building an exterior service (aluminum is used as a conducter between the telephone pole and the circuit breaker panel). He also told me about a guy he used to work up north who, when the first nip came through, would say "the hawk is out." I never heard the expression before, Nemo said the dude was from somewhere near Chi-town, so it kind of made sense. Every region has it's own slang. Either way, I like it.
I got home and took the world's most hottest and best shower ever, the kind of shower you take when the hawk is out.