Sunday, January 05, 2014
The Cold War
Given that I live in Chicago, it's likely that I've used that terrific pun-based title before on an entry about horrific, soul crushing weather, but if I start worrying about repeating myself now, this whole enterprise is likely to come crashing down. Basically, I see this blog as providing a series of infinite variations on the themes of weather, things I saw on television, awkward social situations, and random selfies. If I were concerned about boundary-pushing originality, I'd be putting together performance art pieces where I pee on national monuments or something. But I've got a shy bladder, so here we are.
Anyway, we've got snow and cold on fairly deadly levels here. This is not just the kind of winter weather they go on and on about on local news channels because it's not like there are any murders in Chicago or anything; this is the real deal. I'm wearing two pairs of socks and slippers and three layers on my upper body right now. And I'm sitting in my bedroom, not, say, Lincoln Park. And I'm still cold. I'm pretty much always cold, to be fair, but who the hell wants to be fair, anyway? And why did I make lunch plans for tomorrow when it's supposed to be -26 with the windchill? Am I going to die trying to get a Panini?
So yeah, I just kind of figured I should share the misery with all of you. Although if you read this, you're probably someone who knows me, which in 95% of cases is going to mean that you're somewhere in the Midwest or on the East coast trying to remember how to safely start your gas fireplace, too. So best of luck to you; wake me up in May.
Given that I live in Chicago, it's likely that I've used that terrific pun-based title before on an entry about horrific, soul crushing weather, but if I start worrying about repeating myself now, this whole enterprise is likely to come crashing down. Basically, I see this blog as providing a series of infinite variations on the themes of weather, things I saw on television, awkward social situations, and random selfies. If I were concerned about boundary-pushing originality, I'd be putting together performance art pieces where I pee on national monuments or something. But I've got a shy bladder, so here we are.
Anyway, we've got snow and cold on fairly deadly levels here. This is not just the kind of winter weather they go on and on about on local news channels because it's not like there are any murders in Chicago or anything; this is the real deal. I'm wearing two pairs of socks and slippers and three layers on my upper body right now. And I'm sitting in my bedroom, not, say, Lincoln Park. And I'm still cold. I'm pretty much always cold, to be fair, but who the hell wants to be fair, anyway? And why did I make lunch plans for tomorrow when it's supposed to be -26 with the windchill? Am I going to die trying to get a Panini?
So yeah, I just kind of figured I should share the misery with all of you. Although if you read this, you're probably someone who knows me, which in 95% of cases is going to mean that you're somewhere in the Midwest or on the East coast trying to remember how to safely start your gas fireplace, too. So best of luck to you; wake me up in May.
