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Badger calls it the Peaches weather report. (Yeah, he calls me Peaches. You wanna make something of it?)

The Peaches weather report goes something like this:

GodDAMN, it's fucking COLD out!

No, I mean it! It's really, really cold out here!

I'm not kidding around! It's frickin' freezing! I can't feel my thighs anymore!

I mean, I grew up in New England, and this is fucking ridiculous!

It is fucking ridiculous. It's so cold out there—I kid you not, you can't make this stuff up— that they canceled school for tomorrow. No snow. Just cold. I mean, we're talking 50 below here. We're talking wind chill advisory, whatever the hell that is. We're talking frigid air piped in directly from the arctic fucking circle.

And it all seems to end up in the uninsulated stairway to my apartment, which just HAPPENS to be adjacent to the uninsulated WALL next to my bedroom. Let's not even mention the Gulf Stream coming off the windows on the other side of my room. So my roommates on the other side of the apartment are sweating in their cozy little rooms while I'm chopping up furniture and burning it for warmth in mine.

Why, might you ask, are you paying &*@#$ amount of dollars a month to live in an apartment with leaky windows and nothing between you and the Great Outdoors but some plastered-over drywall reinforced with wood studs?

Why, because I wanted to live in Cambridge, of course. In the middle of it all. I didn't figure I'd be renting from a live-in slumlord. But that's another story.

I think the cold might be making me a little cranky. Maybe I'd better go cook my lentils and rice like a good starving poet.