If Chicagoans didn't hate me already, this should do the trick

You guys doin’ OK? I just wanted to check in because it seems that the Seasonal Affective Disorder has been kicking in pretty good. More than other years, Chicagoans seem to be bemoaning the winter. Some are lashing out with blogs, others seem ready to punch the sky in the face should it yield one more flake. I even had a lengthy chat with the official legal aspirant of the Debaclypse about the possibility of serving the weather with a cease and desist to stop the Tyranny of Wintry Mix. O Wintry Mix.

Shockingly, I am feeling contrarian. I tend to get glum, anxious and fidgety (think adolescent emo squirrel) as the winter slogs on, and I was certain that this one was going to be a mental health nightmare. Still, I have to say that I have been loving this weather. Fear not, I am not going to get all chipper on you. It hasn’t been that good of a winter. But I have no desire to challenge the jet stream to a throw down.

The disclosure here is that I have long been a fan of weather extremes. The reason that talking about the weather is both a dull and a default when nothing else happens is that it is usually reliable. I won’t say “predictable,” but “reliable” is more than fair. “Average” is even fairer. Also, really boring. Boring is leading cause of Seasonal Affectation.



In the extremes crazy things happen. Sounds change, landscapes transform, and, if you’re lucky, schools close. One thing that has been different about this winter is that it is the first one for which I have had my trusty DSLR. Hard to get cabin fever when you’re dragging your bundled ass to the Lake at dawn for some senseless subzero snaps.

More importantly, the clockwork, twice-/thrice-weekly snowfall has negated the worst part of winter: slush. No, atmospheric slumlords here. Every few days the weather gods have heard our complaints about graying ice piles and unseemly trampled grass patches and slapped down a new coat. And it’s amazing. The city at night when it’s snowing! So good! Each time it’s a new city. We know the fetid, grey slurry is waiting underneath, but for the time being Chicago is pure and pristine. (Insert analogy to the slutty minister’s daughter who vows to be revirginized.)

I say that winter should fight until the bitter end. I’m not looking forward to the sweat and swelter of summer. Feh. One last deep freeze! Spring snows! Thundersnow! Shit, let’s redo Groundhog Day and see if we can get another six weeks.