Minnesota -- and the insanity of stepping outside in winter

I have witnessed two acts of amazing, crazy, pure dedication -- or desperation, perhaps -- during the last two days. And the blue ribbon belongs to smokers.

Yesterday, at 15 below zero (not including the butt-biting wind chill), I saw a man driving down Nicollett Avenue puffing on his cig with his car window rolled down. Better to suffer frost bite than have your vehicle smell like an ash tray.

And today, just as my toes were about to fall off from the four-block walk to work and I was yelling expletives in my head, I saw a woman standing outside my building smoking. Without a coat. Or gloves. Or a hat. Or a scarf.

Holy poop.

Didn't they get the memo? It's frickin' cold outside.

I write this as I sit shivering at home, in my pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt, slippers and Pepto Bismol-colored robe (it's not attractive).

Then again, I went to a press conference today that was outside. As in out on the street and not indoors. I stood out there for an hour in my pointy, not-so-insulated boots. Finally, a colleague threw a headband at me, told me that my ears looked like they were about to fall off and urged me to come to my senses...after I had turned down his offer earlier in the afternoon. So I put it on.

My fingers -- though properly covered -- still suffered. The Raynaud's disease (the poor circulation problem I have in my fingers) raged, and I almost sat on the quiet residential street because I swore I was a minute or two away from throwing up due to the pain. Damn you, Raynauds.

Next time -- if there is a next time -- I will have a hat, the expensive pair of "warmest" gloves I own from the Running Room and boots with a wool-lined interior.