I hate air conditioners. I hate them with a passion. Maybe it was the trauma of finding out how different my sister's concept of the weater was from mine. My parents decided to get all middle class and kitted out our Brooklyn row house with air conditioners. My sister, who would voluntarily play in the snow every winter while I filled in my coloring books, set the temperature to 65 degrees. I was forced to haul out blankets and winter coats and pile them up on myself. Even though I was 11 years old, I'd wake up with a stiff neck and creaking joints. My protestations fell on deaf ears.

So, I opted to sleep on the couch. I flopped myself down in the comfortable 75 degree heat and woke up like meat on a slab. My mother had crept down during the night and turned on the air conditioning because my brother, upstairs, did not have air conditioning in his little room. I was yelled at for trying to sleep in the kitchen with the doors shut. Mother did not want to walk into a hot kitchen in the morning. I was also informed that the basement was no good because only roaches lived in the basement.

I now live in coastal California and the nightmare continues. I have no control over the climate here and find myself piling blankets up three thick in the 59 degree summer nights. I miss the balmy nights where I could sit outside in a tee shirt with an ice cream cone. I miss the sight of my knees below the hems of my shorts and I miss sunburned arms.

Don't get an air conditioner. Move to the coast and you will find yourself very nostalgic about those hot days and nights.

The book upon which this movie is based was agonizingly long. Rowling desparately needed an editor to bring the beast to heel. I don't know how anyone could adapt that mess to a movie format and from what I could tell, they were unable to do so. 138 minutes is absurdly long for the subject matter, unless it is a closeup of Alan Rickman reading the phone book. That, I could tolerate.

The fashion industry should develop a robot skeleton that can do the catwalk stomp down the runway. That way, they can indulge in their desire to not have a pesky body get in the way of the drape of the fabric. Naturally thin girls would find better things to do with their time, like take up track. Girls who are not naturally thin can chuckle at the robots and go buy kicky fun things that actually fit.

Seriously, though, shouldn't modelling be covered under existing child labor laws?

As for any arguments about anorexia - the photos and models are a trigger to something that already exists in the patient. From what I can tell about anorexia or bulimia, there are other problems besides a desire to look like a fashion model.

In the early days of Apple, the programmers designed one of their computers with X amount of memory. One of Jobs' people, or Jobs, himself came in and said, "No, no, no. We only need X/2 memory." The engineers shrugged and wrote a simple programmatic switch to hide that memory. Then, just before shipping, Jobs or one of his suits came in and said, "We need X amount of memory. Everyone panic!" (Startups love creating havoc with engineers.) The engineers removed the switch and went out for beers. Genius!

You can bet that when someone comes along and makes Jobs a sweet offer, there's a little switch that will get flipped, engineers will have beers, and the next iPhone buyers will get all of Google's services.

That's why I'm not an early adopter.

Parents don't let their kids out anymore. The media have them all terrified that paedophiliac butt pirates want their children and are scouring the neighborhood, looking for fresh prey.

So, at least these guys are doing something to get the kids moving, instead of loafing on the sofa.