Dear Reader,

As I write this, the sun is out and it’s an almost 60-degree day in early February. Which means it’s probably going to be snowing by the time you read this. Either way, after last winter’s slog fest of slush mountains measured in feet, not inches, the mild days are making for some interesting scenes around Boston.

The most significant one I’ve noticed also happens to be a fairly common one regardless of the temperature, only now it’s on steroids. I’m referring to wearing shorts in winter, of course. Along with an iced coffee from Dunks, it’s not uncommon to see people, primarily men, wearing shorts around town even as the snow is falling. Call it Yankee pride or sheer drunkenness, there seems to be a sense that it’s always warm enough to throw on some cargo shorts along with snow boots and brave the eastern wind. But lately, and by that I mean since last summer, we’ve had a mild enough post-Halloween season that people in shorts are everywhere. While visiting a friend for a quick drink in the Back Bay, I counted no less than four dudes showing skin. Walking through Haymarket Square, there was a gaggle of women donning skirts and open-toed sandals, seemingly oblivious to what town they were in and during what month. Frankly, as a year-round flip-flop guy myself (I have beautiful feet so it works), I find all of this perfect and ideal. Don’t get me wrong, I love the snow, but that’s why we have Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine. Send it up there so we can ski on weekends, but keep this sunshine shit rolling as-is down here.

Speaking of heading up to New Hampshire, the fine folks and our dear friends at BINJ will be in Manchester for the upcoming primary. You can follow their coverage all this week and up to the last vote right here at digboston.com. You’ll be able to read all about the local pollster and national figures, as well as all the drunkards and bar flies who gather in town every four years for this political donnybrook. Chris Faraone leads the charge, but look for a stable of writers churning out broken dreams into beautiful copy at the The Shaskeen Pub and they just might buy you a PBR.

Flip or flop, everyone wins!

Jeff Lawrence, DigBoston Publisher + Editor

Oh, Cruel World

Dear Upstairs Neighbor,

I can’t believe you threw your fucking Charlie Brown piece of shit Christmas tree out of your window on January 28th you lazy dickhead. I think I know who you are, the asshole on the third floor who wears sunglasses indoors. Because you can’t wait to get onto the street to show off your guido frames. You look like Snookie, and you fucked up my air conditioner. The way things are looking, your holiday accessory will remain dead and rotted on the path where I walk my bike every day. Because while it might make my life a lot easier, I would cut my leg off with a chainsaw before moving your tree even an inch.

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