Fifteen billion degrees.

I’d like it if some company somewhere would invent a laptop that does not moonlight as an oven.

(I’m writing this in the customer lounge as I wait for my car’s serving to finish. Not a very private place, but I’d managed to snag an entire seat for myself and did not have to worry about anyone peeking at my machine. Until this lady sat down next to me and started peeking at my screen. She apparently is very interested in what I’m writing.

Well, she just read that last paragraph, and now for some reason she is staring glassily at the opposite wall. I suppose that there was a more diplomatic way of handling that, but I had to wake up at a half past six to get here on time and right now I’m not very well disposed towards the world. Also the laptop is reaching the temperature of a furnace, an enthusiastic furnace at the center of the sun.)

So yeah, hot laptops. Bad for the whole lap part of the body.

(And before I get yelled at, I give complete credit to someone else for first mentioning the hot laptop issue.)