Why ‘wicked cold’ is scientific enough for me

Midwinter, 2001

By Tom Snyder
Let me thank you in advance for your time. And now to the body of my remarks.

I don’t know if the “wind-chill factor” is legitimate science, but it has always struck me as a way-too-elaborate means of declaring that cold air feels worse when the wind is blowing. Here’s how the wind-chill index was actually developed: A group of frustrated meteorologists with a serious case of “physics envy” were complaining over dinner that no one took them seriously. In a flash of defensive inspiration they constructed a wind-chill formula that can predict with great accuracy just how awful moving cold air will feel. They then worked on a name for the equation until they came up with something that would appeal to both the common guy and to TV weather personalities.

Again, I am sure that the concept has some physical merit, but have we not all witnessed rampant abuse of the system, granted, mostly by amateurs in offices? “It’s supposed to go below freezing tonight, and with the wind chill factor, it will get to minus 80 degrees.” If this general formulation were true, refrigeration sure would be cheap.

It’s great fun to watch TV weathermen apply the chill algorithm with precision. “Stay in your homes tonight – with a 15-knot breeze, Channel 7’s new Wind-chill 7000 Translator predicts wind-chill temperatures between 11 and 13 degrees. Most impressive is that they usually keep a straight face.

Wind chill brings a lot of joy to millions of people so I should probably shut up. Also, I would never want to keep the fun from that other group of people who like inventing systems. It’s a great way to spend a day off. Let’s do it now! How about deriving a formula to predict how much thirstier we will feel after eating a serving of salted peanuts? Presenting the Nut-Parch Factor. Simply take the number of ounces of nuts to be eaten, multiply that by an honest assessment of how hungry you currently feel on a scale from 1 to 10, and then divide that result by the constant 2.27. For example, I now am feeling about 6 hungry. If I ate 5 ounces of peanuts, I would be looking at a nut-parch factor of 13.22. Notice that the result is actually higher than 10, which gives you an idea of just how serious an effect this index measures.

I know I should not want to rob the world of the joy of these systems. But I do. Also, I am well aware that frostbite is a serious thing. Of all people, I should appreciate advances in math that allow us to calculate nose discomfort. I actually have no feeling in the tip of my nose. Really. On the painful day that I skied without a mask, the wind-chill-corrected temperature was reported to be 0 degrees Kelvin. Like wintering on Neptune. Not to dwell too much on me, but with no feedback from my nose, I cannot reliably execute a social kiss at an informal gathering. Think about it – all because I once underestimated the cold. So I should appreciate the wind-chill factor. But I don’t. The whole thing embarrasses me.

Incidentally, on a related matter, I also get embarrassed when patrons at a chain restaurant order with the exact words that the guys in the menu department come up with. “Yes, I’ll have the Frosty Orange Beverage Tango!” It’s true that there is such a thing as a Frosty Orange Beverage Tango. And it’s also true that wind makes the air feel and act colder. Perhaps I am simply embarrassed by the whole-hearted embracing of the terminology.

Thank you for your time. I am but one man registering a vote for a slightly more instinctive view of the cold.

(By the way, if this were a legitimate comedy article, I would have ended with what is known in the business as a “call-back,” where I would, for example, say that until boat launching time, we should all sit back, stay out of the wind-chill and enjoy a Frosty Orange Beverage Tango. See how that works? It’s not funny, but people tend to chuckle anyway because they are in on the joke. Maybe that’s why the nation loves the wind-chill factor. We’re all in on it together.)

Thanks again for your time.

Tom Snyder lives in Cambridge, Mass., with his wife Anne and children. He sails his Island Packet 350, Blue Moon, out of Hingham, Mass., and Peaks Island, Maine.