I've got too much to do to write a long post right now. I've spent most of superbowl sunday caulking my bay window. I had to pull down all the thermal plastic I had put up in November because all the wind blowing straight through the window had pulled the thermal plastic from its mooring tape. Yes, it's really scary that wind cuts right through my bay window, which is why it as of tonight sports more silicone than all tonight's half-time show dancers put together.

With most of the sources of leaks accounted for and plugged the next round of plastic should go on far easier and stay on far longer. It's kind of depressing, though, that what should be the comfiest room in my house that I should find the most soothing has turned into that which is most painfully cold. Home should be the place that makes you feel comfortable for the few hours you get to spend inside of it, and I'd like for my living room to exemplify that. I won't bitch and be a pussy about having to walk outside in freezing temperatures wearing a big down jacket that everyone says is way to heavy. I'll take those lumps. But inside my own damn house, things should be different, dammit.

Incidentally, the really sick part of my personality feels that it would have been splendid weekend for an outdoors ice cream party. I keep imagining a box of ice cream sitting outside on a table, and it never melts, and it all seems really cool.