Chillin'

Crsipy cold, a new and improved formula. Invigorating; I can hear the calories burning up inside to keep me warm. But even I felt cold after seeing the woman inside the boutique ice cream truck on 5th Ave in the Inner Borough. (Yes, Virginia, we have a fancy-schmancy ice cream truck charging the big bucks for a scoop; its saving grace is that it doesn’t have loudspeakers). She was wearing a parka and had the faux-fur-rimmed hood up. I don't think she was going to sell much ice cream. Unless she had Eskimo Pies. Later, I saw a ballerina, or something, wearing those little slip-on things I call ballet slippers because, alas, I’m no shoe fetishist and can’t much tell the difference, on otherwise bare feet. I’ve seen that a lot this winter. I mean, I’m curious to know how cold the concrete feels, but not that curious. The ice spikes trotskys continue. My ice cube trays, like all my big ticket kitchen items, are Susie Bake Oven sized, so I fill them a lot since a whole tray can disappear into one tall glass. You might not be getting this to happen at home if your water isn't filtered. This one formed a tear drop at the top, which fell off before a second photo.

Tomorrow morning, 8 AM, give or take a bit depending on where you are on the city's coast, there's going to be an unusually high tide. The moon, full earlier in the AM, is at its closet point, the proxigee. These Proxigean Spring Tides occur about every year and a half. So what I'm saying is don't sleep along the shore tonight....