THIS COLD IS KINDA HOT, ACTUALLY.
Given that I come from a place where winter is the native tongue, and I haven't moved all that far south, it does surprise some people when I tell them that I hate the cold weather. But I do. I hate it with the flaming rage of a thousand suns. (I know that said flaming suns would warm things up, and really, that's my hope. But I digress.)

Now, given that this week has been the coldest week I have witnessed in the three years since I moved to New York, and given the cruddy brown snowfall that might make my admittedly short bicycle commute this morning a little treacherous, given all that, this 'worst day of the season' isn't so bad. I have heard people whine and kvetch about this coldness as if the sled dogs had all died of exposure, and we were actually on the surface of the planet Saturn, the Kelvin-scale temperatures falling into the single digits, so removed from warmth that our molecules were about to stop moving, time slowing to a glacial creep.

Piffle. Our breeding stock is hardier than this. There's not even any wind out there, and we've had, what, a inch of snow in Manhattan?

Gawd. New Yorkers are such wusses. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going back inside for a warm toddy or three and a steaming bath with selected members of my imaginary harem.

And then I'm off to work.