Baby It's Cold Outside

I just came in from driving a daughter to work at 7:30 AM in the spare winter light. The little box on the top right hand corner of my computer told me it was 10 degrees before I ever set foot outside the door, but I probably could have guessed within five degrees or so; guessing how far below freezing the thermometer has fallen is an acquired skill of most New Englanders. In the same way that some people always know what time it is, we have developed over time all kinds of internal meters to guage the depth of the cold.


On the way home my thoughts strayed, as they so often do, to Malaysia, and I wondered what I would be doing on a Friday morning if I were there. I fiddled with the radio dial and thought about the tropics some more. "Island Music" was what I really wanted to hear. I realized in a sudden flash of inspiration why tropical music always sounded so happy, why reggae could never have originated in Northern New England. It was so obvious!


But "No," I thought, "That's too simplistic. Warm weather alone is not enough to explain it. It's probably really the weed that makes those Jamaicans so happy and relaxed, not the climate." But even that began to seem like a geographical factor to me: I mean, if Northern New Englanders indulged too often in any substance that made them relax a bit too much they'd freeze to death. Constant vigilance is a condition of survival in this region - we are living proof of the doctrine of the survival of the fittest.



To test my geographical determination hypothesis I tried to think of any songs I knew that were native to this region. The first and only one I could think of was "The Fox Went Out on a Chilly Night." Which really proved my point. It begins:

The fox went out on a chilly night

prayed to the moon to give him light

for he had many a mile to go that night

before he reached the town-o town-o town-o

he had many a mile to go that night

before he reached the town-o.

Sounds like my life, I thought; no "Don't worry, be happy" around here. There is a "cozy, warm den" with lots of fox children later on in the song - you have to do something to keep warm on those dark, chilly nights, I guess, but the grim little ballad ends up with the little ones chewing on the bones-o - not exactly a cheerful image.


But, I'm back home now. I don't have to go out again for another fifteen minutes and Bob Marley is as close as my stereo. Things could be worse. I'm going to go look for some bones to chew.