It’s cold, but then again, it seems to be cold everywhere, so what the hey.
This afternoon I went out, foraging for nerd lore and vittles in the bland wasteland that is Grant Park mall. For those of you not from “these parts”, Grant Park mall is one of those malls that is so overwhelmingly beige it’s almost painful.
But, this post is not about Grant Park mall. No, it is instead about the weather. This is partially due to the fact that I am Canadian, and thus I, like ever other person in this vast, hinterland-dominated country of ours, am obsessed with the weather.
There are people who revel in the cold grasp of winter. These people almost always end up seeming (to me, at least) to be incredibly, almost preternaturally cheerful, with an endless supply of Gore-Tex clothing, and tuques with large, bouncy pom-poms hanging from the top.
I am not one of these people. I hate winter.
That said, I can’t imagine living somewhere that did not know four distinct seasons. Winter (and fall before it) brings out the deep introspective side of me, which is probably a damn relief to anyone who has put up with my superficial “who-gives-a-shit” spring and summer demeanour. Warm seasons are for mucking about, languid lounging, and letting my cajones get the better of me; cold and blustery equals pensiveness. When it becomes cold out, the smog lifts from my brain, and I can think again.
And it’s damn cold out there, which means that there’s a lot of thinking going on. Walking through the parking lot of the mall this afternoon, the one thought that dominated my brain was:
It’s time to get the hell out of here.
