I grew up in northern Montana, where it's windy, cold, and generally depressing maybe nine months out of the year. (Maybe not, but close.) Although I don't like winter, or do any winter sports; usually it didn't bother me. In fact, most of the time, I wear shorts. Yeah, I'm that guy.
Now I don't live in Montana anymore, but it's currently 20 degrees here, and I'm wearing about three layers of clothing. And gloves. Not sharp leather gloves, like a businessman or Hannibal Smith or Batman would wear; but ugly green ones that look like a little kid's. My son said they smell like my feet, which is a plus.
I feel old. I used to be able to run the streets of my hometown in December in aquasocks, sprinting through the snow to get to Safeway during lunch to buy twinkies and Savage Sword of Conan. I used to be able to wear a hockey jersey and shorts any given winter day, whether I was staying in, going out, or drunk in a ditch. In fact, I was bitching about it earlier, and my wife pointed out that when she met me, I did wear exactly that. Now I have to wear a fleece thing all day, make the dog lie on my feet during dinner, and sleep in my socks. Death is coming.
Today's panels are from Conan the Barbarian #16, reprinted in Conan Saga #6, "The Frost Giant's Daughter" Based on the Robert E. Howard story, written by Roy Thomas, art by Barry (Windsor) Smith. Did any people in history, ever, roam the snowy hinterlands in just loincloths, with maybe a fur over their shoulders if it was nippy? Or is that just Conan?
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