Couldn't Stand the Weather

One of the many things I love about the Midwest, and Chicago in particular -- and one of the things I think makes Midwesterners more even-keeled and better-equipped to deal with adversity than people in other parts of the country -- is when the weather drops faster and more violently than Barbaro at Pimlico. Take today, for instance. As I write this (at 1:18 p.m.), it is 49° -- relatively balmy for late January. This afternoon the temperature will drop, after some snow of course (because God's funny like that). The low today will not be in the lower 40s, or even the 30s, 20s or teens. No, the low today will be 2, and wind chills are expected to be in the 25-30 below range tonight (for you assholes who live in warmer climates or those of you who have a marginal understanding of context or the English language, a "wind chill" is what the already-frigid temperature feels like when adding wind). For you non-math speakers, that is a potential difference of 79°. While I wouldn't necessarily want a heat index of 128° (i.e., what it would be if it went up instead of down), at least 128 would vaporize the various viruses, bugs, and bacteria that are spreading across my body like Mormons. 128 would be the New York, Ohio, Illinois, and Missouri to -25's Utah. Too soon? Seriously, though, I think I have a fever, which may be the first time since grade school. I'm falling apart in my old age. It feels like Magnus Ver Magnusson and Bill Kazmaier are trapped in my cranium, back to back, pushing as hard as they can with their arms and legs in an attempt to cause some sort of fissure from which they can escape. Despite what Bruce Dickinson would lead you to believe, the cure is not more cowbell. So far, it's actually only made things worse.