Report from New York: it is now basically mid-April and still 40 degrees. Turn on your space heaters; pull out the wool blanket; guzzle steaming cups of tea; furiously re-evaluate your lives*—all will be to no avail. Winter has unconditionally won, and the only thing that can heal this late-stage frostbite in our icy hearts is Madonna.
*Do you think I can type in gloves? What would happen if I microwaved this hummus? Why did I ever leave Texas?