These are the climes that try men's souls

It's cold. Really really cold. Mind-numbingly nuclear-winterish perfect-for-dog-sledding cold. The kind of cold that makes you want to wrap up in a dozen or so blankets and, bear-like, not reappear until sometime mid-May. I am just not used to this.

So these drastic climes in which I live have forced me to take drastic measures. Having gone in search of long johns, I found only the black tight-like undergarments you see pictured to the right.

The "long johns" in question could be best described as form-fitting, and as such are pictured without the wearer. Since my own form, when witnessed in its natural state, looks something like an oversized pear that's been left out in the sun, I decided to spare the author that particular ignominy and the viewer the loss of his or her most recent meal.

But dammit, they keep me warm.