Whomever Wrote That Song Should Be Shot

You know, the one that starts with, "I love Paris in springtime..."

Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole are already dead, so I'm putting out a hit on the tunesmith who came up with this brutal lie.

I'm keeping this post short not because I'm having any issues with my shiny new iMac's AZERTY keyboard (the French way of thumbing their nose at QWERTY standards) but because this sleek aluminum beauty is FREAKING COLD.

I'm looking out at the layer of snow settled on the roofs and windshields of the cars parked beneath my window, all the while trying to maintain as little physical contact as possible with the thin sheet of ice under my fingertips.

The only joy I'm getting this morning is watching kids make snowballs to chuck at their friends, and I'm wishing I could be out there with them. You know, packing one of those super-tight, lethal, compressed ice balls to bean the asshole who wrote that song. False advertising should be punishable by cold, icy death.