Signal #1571

This winter was undeniably, documented-ly miserable. Temperatures dipped so low that they were deadly ; five-foot-tall piles of ice and snow , black with exhaust and debris, clogged the city's intersections; piles of dog poop peppered the sidewalks . To put it mildly, that shit sucked! But I'm sorry to report that after the brief and glorious reprieve that was False Spring, we are officially entering the very worst stretch of the year to be out and about in New York City—when the cold snaps back into place, open-toed shoes must be shoved back under the bed or into the closet, and it is somehow always, always, wet outside. It's mid-March, and things are about to be gross for the foreseeable future. Turn your eyes, for instance, to this week's weather forecast: Rainy or overcast, windy, temperatures ranging from the mid-30s to the low 50s. That's certifiably ass—and if you think otherwise, get thee to London—but not miserable enough to free anyone from the shackles of social obligation. Temperatures in the teens or more than a few inches of snow in late January? You get a pass. Cancel your plans, stay in, snuggle up on your couch, and throw on a random episode of a TV show you've seen at least twice. Who cares! Everybody's doing it! But by the time March rolls around, there's no excuse anymore; you can't miss somebody's housewarming party because it's partly cloudy . Mid-March is the time of the year when the average New Yorker walking down the street is most likely to make contact with a random plastic bag or dirty napkin turned airborne projectile; it's a season for dodging water dripping down from awnings (bad), overhead train tracks (worse), or in an underground subway station (nuclear-level sickening). Its beautiful days are seductive, but full of lies: Wear a light and non-waterproof jacket , they whisper. It's so cute! And yes, shorts are an excellent choice . Cut to three hours later, when a light mist turns