In response to CP and the easygoing temp of the Left Coast:
GP will tell you this much: the frigid, bone-chilling freezepot that is NYC has put everyone I know in a grumble-y, grumble-y mood. Except a man I saw on the train yesterday.
I was reading on a surprisingly f-icient train yesterday, when a man asked if I could move my coat to sit down. I obliged. He sat down, and put his bag down at his feet. I continued reading while we chugged along to the next stop when I looked to see where we were. The man next to me had taken out a Victoria’s Secret catalog and was reading it much as I was reading my magazine. The man had a big smile on his face. Why was he smiling? Thoughtfully studying the pages, the man had stopped on a model whose round bottom was adorned with underwear labeled “Pink.” And so it was. But there's a bigger point here.
[No, not that point, dirty Saltines!]
If we could all be so lucky! We must all find our Secret, much like this man. So, if everyone could be so lucky as to find their metaphysical lingerie catalog and read it on the 'f' train, maybe we could all just concentrate on naming our fast food joints with aggro names. May I suggest "the Antagonistic Burrito?"