Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Love gloves

I'm from Florida, where 10 months out of the year it is oppressively hot and the other two moths are rife with hurricanes. As such, I'm accustomed to wearing string bikinis and galoshes year-round. However no matter how appealing this ensemble may be, I have found it rather incompatible with northern weather. Up here we have "seasons"- like those things Indian food. From what I can gather, somehow curry causes leaves to turn yellow (I think because of the saffron), and the temperature to incrementally and consistently drop.

As I'm relatively new to seasonal variations, I've been placed in the unusual situation of not owning proper garments to combat the elements. Through unfortunate instances of under dressing, I've learned just how viciously the wind amplifies the penetrability of cold. I've revived enough blue and throbbing fingers in the past month to warrant the purchase of some new gloves. While typically my insistence on looking really good wins out over logic, function, price, or necessity, I think I've finally discovered that functionality may indeed serve a function. I suppose I've matured some over the last seven weeks; or possibly it was the looming threat of gangrenous digits and amputation that prompted me to start rocking these grotesque crustacean/carny-inspired gauntlets :

These gloves impart a buddy-system on your fingers, as phalangeal loneliness accelerates heat loss. I especialy like these because the claw fingers allow enough dexterity to manipulate a U-lock, turn a doorknob, or give proper salute to your vulcan friends.

I was lucky enough to purchase a size small, which means they're only one-and-a-half sizes too big. They are so big that while riding I can lodge one befisted hand fully in the palm to warm it. However, I must advise in the alternating of one fist-hand with one fully-extended, frigid fingers-hand for safe brake-operating purposes: as I've already found myself curling up both hands, basking in blissful cozy warmth only to be wretched from my mid-ride margarita-themed meditations to perform a spastic, flaccid-gloved fist/wrist-to-brake-lever maneuver to slow down. (While that may sound like a description to a sexual act, I can assure you no such sensuality was involved).

Stay warm folks, and keep riding.