*beep*

Sometimes I have this conversation.

Amanda: I don't believe in you, God.

God: Ah. So who are you talking to, then?

Amanda: Oh, f*ck!

I think if God had an answering service, that might be his recording. Not the last bit. The middle bit.

I think I was having this conversation on the way to the subway this morning, but I'm not sure. It's hard to hear anything but unintelligible muffled noises from within this mountain of clothing I have built for myself to live in. It is COLD in NYC, boys and girls. It's about -15 celcius, which is much colder than fahrenheit. I finally had recourse to the Big Ugly Parka, even.

The Big Ugly Parka is a hand-me-down, several times over. It is either some sort of military surplus, or it would like to be. It is big. It is ugly. It is also a parka. I've been trying to give it away for a year, no one would have it. This morning, when I tumbled regretfully from my nest of warm air that is a loft-bed (heat rises) I shrieked with the draft coming through my window and I knew I was going to have to play nice with the parka.

It's about 4 feet long, green on the outside (slightly reflective) orange on the inside (slightly introspective) with a collar/hood of grey fake marmoset fur. If the rest of my wardrobe were skimpier/cooler/more ironic/80's inspired, this coat would likely be my most valuable accessory, matched to, say, a pair of turquoise pumps and hot-pink fishnets. Alas, instead it transforms me into a long green turd-shaped object.

But!

I fell in love with the Big Ugly Parka, ladies and gentlemen.

I was (and am) already remarkably layered. I am wearing, in rough order, a pair of my old thick ballet tights, a pair of "wool thermal boot socks", a pair of long thermal pants, a pair of flannel leggings, a log thermal slip, a thinnish wool skirt, a cotton cardigan, a thinnish wool dress over all of that, a heavy wool sweater, and a wool scarf. And it's still cold, until I put on the Big Ugly Parka. Then, only my face has to deal with the unfortunate choice of breathing or freezing. The rest of me is toasty, oblivious to the outside world. Bad luck, face.

Anyhow, thanks, Big Ugly Parka.

Also, in a bit of extreme oddity, perhaps you have all read this, but newscientist.com is reporting on recently declassified papers about "Really Bad Ideas For Chemical Weapons" (my title) rejected by the pentagon. One of these ideas is a "Gay Bomb" which would apprently turn entire platoons of enemy combatants into raging homosexual monsters. Such a weapon, says the proposal, would strike a "distasteful but completely non-lethal" blow to morale.

For the love of God.