Commutable Diseases

Every morning and afternoon I step on the train I risk becoming an excessively grumpy customer as I am confronted by the excessive rudeness of a large number of humans. Like the guy this morning who really needed his personal space to very slowly read the top stories in his reader on his iPhone. Yes, I'm belittling his reading pace. He also seemed grumbly about my being as close as I was. Well, see my friend, in the morning at standard commuting hours (let's call them 7:30-9:30am) you run the risk of public transit being crowded. Hey, I don't love it, hence much of my griping in this here blog, but it would be better if people stuck to certain rules of politeness.

Someone is exiting the train, and you are blocking the doorway. You step off the train and get back on. I know it's a mad rush, and others are trying to storm on from the new stop, but you'll get back on. And then you want to keep that space right where you were, except that the new folks need to get in there, and that requires getting around you. Simple concept, but complicated enough it would seem that walking and train riding could become Olympic events.

Anyway, since I've written probably those exact paragraphs above probably a half-dozen times in here, let's talk about Taylor Swift and have me point out that we should stop talking about Taylor Swift, the old Catch-22. Try as I might to avoid her though, I'm sure to see her peddling goods at Walgreen's, further proof that for however much I understand marketing, I'll never approve — unlike Ms. Swift, who I guess approves all sorts of Walgreen's goodies.

But hey, she's got a formula, it works. I did find it amusing when my girlfriend and I saw her on the cover of one of those big time magazines at the grocery checkout and there was a headline about her dating a Kennedy, which she's already no longer doing. It's sad that a) I know any of this and b) this magazine's December issue was prepared apparently so far in advance that this story that must have been written ages ago would just now be seeing the light of day.

As for the light of day, there are all kinds of nice lights these days, as it is holiday season. I can be a bit of a Christmas grumpus, but the lights look damn nice, and I think they warm the soul through the otherwise bleak winter (which technically doesn't even start for 3 weeks). Some pleasantness must be there in the hibernatory months. What's that, hibernatory not a word? Oh well, if I just keep typing hibernatory, perhaps some bloke'll toss it into the dictionary. Maybe I can be the top hit when people search "hibernatory."

See you in December.

Winter Warmer Words and Whiskey

If you live in a place that experiences winter you, like me, probably have your favorite winter albums. I enjoy music at all times of year, but when the temperatures dip and the days get short it activates parts of my brain — or, perhaps, deactivates others — and shifts my musical tastes to decidedly more mellow or even melancholy tunes. It's a good time for Bon Iver and Belle and Sebastian among others, and ever since I lived in Vermont for a time, I was draw into Camera Obscura. I will explain by saying I have no real explanation but sonically this stuff just works, and embedded below is the first track I heard from the band, one I instantly fell in love with:



It would seem as if winter is about to break as, though I did no follow-up, I heard strangers on the street mention that Punxsutawney Phil (PP for short, and yes, I have to verify the spelling of Punxsutawney every time I type it), did not see his shadow and winter should be receding. This would be cool or, rather, warm, but while I'll complain about winter, I kind of like it all the same, and I was settling in for a little of it. I think it's simply that, when it's over, it is another indication to me that a lot of time has passed and I stop to assess where the old life is headed.

In the name of alliteration I alluded to whiskey as well, and boy do I ever love me some of that. Winter has a way of improving the taste. And, thanks to a tip from a chum of mine (I resist the urge to draw in real names sometimes in here due to the internet and anonymity and stuff and things), I read about the following earlier this week or late last. It's a quick link, or concise summary rather of a man who survived near-nakedness in sub-zero temperatures due to an excessive blood-alcohol content (BAC, which might stand for bad-ass constant except that to drink that much is actually just stupid). Cool story though. I'm excited for the roaring 20s to be a historical epoch and not the weather forecast which isn't even accurate because it's been teens and single digits. It's not even that bad, since I kind of like the feeling of my beard and nose-hairs freezing.

I'm already a little bit excited for it to be 11:11 on 11/11/11. And it'll happen twice. But I'm also in no hurry for it to get here.

Anyway, my feet smell. Time for new insoles, new shoes, or perhaps new feet. Come on science, redeem this stinky-footed bastard...

Preemptive Punxsutawney Phil Post

February 2nd, aka Groundhog Day is just around the corner, and considering that spring officially doesn't begin until March 20th or 21st, I think six more weeks of winter might be a guarantee irregardless (love those nonsense words that sneak into the dictionary through overuse of their misuse. When will my beloved believance join the fray?) of Phil seeing his shadow. Stationed briefly on the east coast, I can see the effects of a harsh winter with the snow piled mountainously and another storm allegedly on the way in hours. Yesterday, that being Sunday, the climate did make for quite perfect snowball snow and I was able to explore my waning athleticism as I struggled with my brother to hit various street signs. Mercifully I am not sore today, as that would have been some true, though light-hearted, embarrassment.

And after that action-packed opening I believe I should transition to further diminishing vitality. In other words, I am tired, but feel good about cranking out at least four posts per month. Would I prefer they be well-constructed? Sure, but it's simply not a reality and it would limit these recurring instances of my analyzing my failure to spawn content as opposed to simply writing content. And without that, I just might not be content.

One thing I can do is to take a moment to appreciate that to be using the internet is a privilege as, at the moment, those in Egypt have no such luxury. They are, it would appear, feeling e-gipped. That's a repeat and slight modification of a joke I posted to Twitter, but assuming you don't follow me there (could they have chosen a creepier descriptor?) it will be new to you. Stay warm and get some supplies those of you in areas of alleged incoming storms, just in case. This entry has snowballed from bad to worse. Cheers.

Spring Into Action

When you live in a place like Chicago or any place that has Winter, but also other seasons, I really think an amendment needs to be created that allows people to take days off of work, let kids out of school, etc, on the first beautiful day of the year. That day was probably Wednesday here, but by golly Thursday was nice as well, and today ain't too shabby either. I've always considered Spring the time the trolls come out of their caves, sometimes wearing awesomely alluring things like white skirts. While it isn't quite warm enough for all that (although I could have gotten down with shorts today), it was still in the 60s and it's nice to want to venture out into the open and interact with a whole lot of humans. The sun will do that. I get why Sheryl wants to soak it up .

But it really does foster all sorts of pleasant behavior. Still, I made the original stipulations of places that have winter because you need that frame of reference right? Appreciate the Summer because of Winter. Or would we all be a Hell of a lot happier with the constant sun? Guess it depends. My excursions to very sunny places suggest that perhaps always sunny is not a bad thing.

Anyway, I took advantage of the nice weather to do something I have largely neglected to do not only in this city but in general: take some damn pictures. So I hit up Millenium Park for not the first time and basked in the reflections of the cloudgate aka the bean and took pictures of tourist groups. Actually for tourist groups. Pictures of tourist groups sounds creepy. The degree to which all of these people appreciated this — what I consider a rather simple act —was maybe not surprising, but certainly refreshing. Warms the damn cactus of my heart.

And since I feel like this needs an injection of humor I should mention how, a couple of weeks ago I was hurrying to the train and, stepping on a piece of ice to bypass an old lady, slipped and fell. I mean, I didn't step on the piece of ice on purpose, but there is certainly some correlation if not downright causation going on here. I thought only my ego was damaged, especially when this woman asked me if I was alright and she was like ninety-thousand years old, but I managed to rip the crotch of my pants in the whole ordeal. Not noticing this for the better part of two hours was awesome, but luckily I was wearing some slick boxer-briefs. And then I got drunk and largely forgot about my pants, but the pants, the pants never forgot...