Sunday, September 16, 2012

Celsius to Fahrenheit: More Than Just Simple Math


            I am not one that deals well with discomfort in the elements. I have been known to take drastic measures to change my situation immediately when too cold or too hot, like when I was taking a walk on a chilly beach without a sweatshirt, and instead of going back to my condo a mile away, had to buy a new sweatshirt at the nearest gift shop. Or the time when I was wearing jeans in a tailgating parking lot at Notre Dame, and was so hot I went to the bookstore to buy shorts. In sum, the idea of “sucking it up” or “toughing it out” does not register with me when it comes to temperature. You’d think, logically, that I would be very aware of the weather reports in order to avoid impromptu purchases of tacky souvenir sweatshirts, and I am. However, I am further impeded by an inability to correctly comprehend exactly what the temperature is suggesting I wear. 73 degrees: Is that shorts weather? But I get cold easily. I’ll put on jeans. But what if I’m hot? I’ll bring shorts. Or maybe wear shorts with a cardigan. Basically, I end up wearing shorts with a cardigan, bringing jeans, and changing when I reach the place that I am at because I’m too cold. It’s not a great system, but it works, and it gives me options.
Sicilian summer house - You could fry and egg on those 45 degree stones.
        Recently, a wrench was thrown into my method of dealing with the weather: I began working, traveling, and living in Italy. And there, they use Celsius. My Italian boyfriend would warn me about Sicily’s summer: It’s going to be 42 degrees every day. Prepare yourself! I’m not so naïve that I didn’t think it was summer, but I did bring light scarves and jackets just in case 42 meant it was chilly at night. Long story short, 42 (107 degrees Fahrenheit) is not scarf weather. It’s wear-as-few-clothes-as-is-considered-decent-in-order-to-prevent-completely-melting-into-nothing weather. 
            Another instance, again in Sicily, but this time in November, involved extra layers of confusion because Sicilians have a particular view of weather (anything below…65°F - again, guessing on the numbers, but I think it’s something around there - is cold). Anyway, it had been drizzling on and off all day, and I had been in the house helping Nonna cook (…okay, helping is a little strong, watching the master and hoping that some of her skills would transfer magically via osmosis to me is more like it). Our cousins asked if I would like to join them for a freshly mixed soda at the kiosk around 10PM. I agreed, and was immediately forewarned that the weather was 13 degrees and I needed to bundle up so that I wouldn’t get sick. They donned me in a wool scarf, told me to zip up my jacket and decided that we had to take the motorino because it was too cold to walk. I was ushered out the door, but too focused on how to get on the motorino without looking like a fool to notice the temperature. It was only when I began to sweat after driving the two blocks to our destination that I realized…13 degrees does not equal cold. I peeled the layers off and after a refreshing Italian soda, walked home, beating the motorino.
            I’m beginning to learn to adapt to my inabilities: in addition to buying large purses that allow me to cutely conceal all extra accessories/changes of clothes in case I guessed wrong about the weather, I have learned how to quickly convert Celsius to Fahrenheit, which at least gives me a ballpark idea of the temperature. Fahrenheit is officially Celsius x 1.8 + 32, but to make it easier you can just multiply by 2 and add 32, taking away a degree or two (luckily I am blessed with being able to do simple math in my head). With this new trick, when I visit Italy I’m at least not bringing my winter boots for 25 degrees or wearing a wool scarf in 13. And I still have hope for the future…or maybe I’ll just get a bigger purse.

2 comments:

  1. Don't worry the whole metric conversion thing even got NASA a time or two. But remember, fool me once...

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  2. There's an old saying in Tennessee — I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee...

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