DEAR READER

Hopefully you’re reading this while sitting outside on a park bench or sipping a beer on the patio at a local bar, taking in the spring sun. While I’m sure there’s still an outside chance we could see a snowstorm in April, the cold short days of winter are behind us, and all that lies ahead is a sea of warmer weather and an eventual avalanche of bitching and moaning that it’s too damn hot.

That’s how it works around here now. The spring and fall seasons seem to be shorter every year, and we get to complain about the cold and hot temperatures in between. Thankfully, this past winter was a big pussy, and it never really got to a point worth complaining about. That bodes well for the warmer months, I think. Or probably not. We love to bitch about the weather in Boston regardless.

As the flowers start to bloom and the pants turn to shorts, the city starts to come alive with more outdoor arts and entertainment, be it a music festival or a rooftop patio bar. We’ll do our best to talk about these and plenty of other goings-on. For now, though, rip into this week’s issue and check out Joshua Eaton’s feature, part three in a series on transnationalism in Boston, as well as Jake Mulligan’s dude fest on the latest Linklater flick, Nina Corcoran’s cover feature on Savages, and a host of other top-notch content that you won’t find anywhere else under the early spring sun.

Jeff Lawrence, DigBoston Publisher + Editor

OH, CRUEL WORLD

Dear Moo Cow,

You use to give me all the damn milk, moo cow. I’d come back to the ranch after peddling fish at the market all day, and you’d let those teets run like a symphony of faucets. I’d tweet about your teets. But lately you’re beginning to dry up, or maybe you’re just saving it all up for another farmer. I’ve suspected that something is wrong in our relationship for a while now, but as long as my milk cup runneth over I’m ashamed to say I didn’t think to mention it. My uncle says that moo cow without milk is steak cow, whatever that means. Please just milk again for me moo cow. This cereal ain’t the same without your booby juice.