I caught the Scissor Sisters at the Hammerstein Ballroom on Sunday evening, after another great home-cooked meal by Angela (coq au vin, a classic French dish). When I emerged from the cab in front of the concert hall, it was snowing. Or hailing. Or someone was pouring bags of salt out of an apartment overhead. And it was really cold.

Through a few hops of the social network, I ended up attending the concert with Chris and her friends. I had met Chris once or twice in Seattle, but in typical New York big city small world fashion, we ended up attending a concert together and catching up over beers afterwards. Six degrees barely covers six short city blocks in NYC.

DJ Sammy Jo (the Scissor Sister's personal DJ) and VHS or Beta opened. I really dug DJ Sammy Jo, who has a catchy, danceable pop sensibility. VHS or Beta sounded like the Cure, but more punk. The Scissor Sisters were crazy. They love New York, where they as a band were born, and New York loves them back. They once opened for VHS or Beta, and now the tables were turned.

After the concert, the temperature had dropped even further, into the low teens, and a light coat of snow dusted the streets, like powdered frosting on a chocolate donut. We shivered our way to the nearest pub, and after that, sprinted to subway stops to disperse across the city back to our respective holes.

My apartment was an ice chest, and it still is. I have really tall windows lining the entire side of apartment facing the street, and they might as well be screens so much cold air seeps through. I tried a ceramic space heater and promptly popped the fuse. Looks like it's time to layer, and I now look forward to the sunshine of southern California with genuine longing.