Hi, Sun. What's new? Why is it, like, ninety fucking degrees in here? Why am I sitting here sweating, wearing shorts and bra, and thinking about taking my sick little son, who is furious at me for taking off all his clothes and making him take a nap in this ninety-degree apartment when he has a temperature of 101°, to the beach just so we can breathe? Why are my sweaters still crunched up at the back of the closet? I'm sick of t-shirts. I look better in boots and coats and hats and wool in general. Not that I'm so hideous that I must cover myself from head to toe so that passersby won't be sickened by the sight of my pasty-white everything and witchy-poo hair. But I am a cold-weather-dressing kind of gal and I am tired of you, Sun. Why don't you go blaze on people who need it, like those poor bastards in Seattle? You really should think about heading north for a while. You'd like it, there's a ton of cool shit to melt in Canada and Alaska. What about Greenland? They just call it that to fool people, it's totally made of ice! Iceland is the green place! Those Vikings -- so much tomfoolery. But anyway, think about it, huh? I think a nice little diversion would do us all a some good. Just remember to come back down before the polar ice cap disappears. Hey! Nice talking with you. Sorry I was in such a bad mood a minute ago. Whew! It's just these darn sandals, they heat your feet right up if you're not careful. So, you take care! Send us a postcard! See you in the spring!