It continues to be cold. Chicago feels like the capitol of Siberia. I don’t want this burst of frigid air, don’t need it, wish it would go away.
Maybe I am feeling surly for other reasons. Maybe it’s the shopping thing. A daughter tells me that several million have entered Walmart in the first hours of its opening after the holiday. Cool. I hope they found what they were looking for. Me, I hate being part of this buying madness.
I have no problem with laying down the credit card, nor with gift giving. I think commercialism (a euphemism for having warm and fuzzy feelings toward another as manifested by a burst of shopping on their behalf) in small doses is just fine. Sure it helps the corporate giant, but it also places a penny in the stocking of someone you care about. But I do not like milling around with a crowd of a million where half are sporting bags the size of large mammals. And sorry, but waiting in line just to get through the revolving door of Marshall Fields just isn’t right.
Still, I am surly only in short snippets. My daughters are in singing moods, Snowflakes are falling rapidly. I meet a blogging friend for a cosmo at the deco-ish Orrington Hotel Lounge. All good. Just take away the cold spell, please.
Oh Chicago, Chicago, you play with my senses way too much.
madness: hundreds pouring in
sanity: an evening cosmo with a blogger pal