It was -22° F this morning, with humidity around 90%. The frost on my windshield was very difficult to scrape off, and the cold was cutting through me like a knife, even without the wind. If there's one thing my time down in Georgia taught me, a mix of high humidity and cold temperatures is one thing I can't stand.
Flashback: 1990 Fort Benning, Georgia. I remember one of the worst days I was there was a cold and humid day. A layer of frost had actually lifted up the top soil about a half inch or more, which was a bizarre sight to see as we marched out to do some training. It started out at the rifle range, and later we went to do some crawling through dirt and sawdust--I can't remember exactly what it was we were supposed to be doing, but I digress. It was while trying to claw my way through this mess of dirt and damp sawdust that my hands decided that they would no longer work in the cold and dampness. It was like they had suddenly gone arthritic and held my hands like claws until I was able to warm up a little bit. Very bizarre.
Vincent seems to be a nice guy. He's a smoker, so I'm having to deal with the smoky aura that surrounds him when he comes back from his cigarette breaks--which aren't as often as some people around here, but it doesn't seem to be too bad.
I'm still waiting for Moolie to move the tapes and audio gear out of the room. I'll give him until the end of the week before I start making a fuss.
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