...it's a beautiful day in Chicago. It's rare you get to write those words. I come from a city where the weather will pummel you, it will tackle you, it will freeze and stomp on you. It will also blow holes through you. It will slap, and taunt and yes, even torture you. It will make you wonder, if there is a god, why is he or she so damn cruel? You might even ask yourself, in a moment of weakness, "why does god hate me so?"
I've been on that piss-stained platform at Howard street, freezing my ass off, stomping up and down, trying to stave off frost-bite. I've ridden a bicycle down those concrete canyons downtown, where the winter winds seem to blow through you two ways simultaneously. I have slogged through snow drifts, been pelted by rain, sleet and hailstones. I have an old leather jacket and a pair of boots that carry the scars and wounds from the elements (I look in the mirror and those same scars and lines are there too!). I have also roasted in sweltering summer heat and humidity. The weather can kill you six ways to Sunday, my friend.
Then, once in a great while, the weather will carress you. It will lightly pat you on the head, it will tell you, "hey, it's good to be alive." it will give you a kiss on the forehead, it will hold you by the hand, it will whisper sweet endearments in your ear. It will make you stop and wonder at the beauty of your life and it will make you thank your lucky stars that you are healthy and happy, and well, it will remind you that nothing can stop you from living life to the fullest.
So, yes, it's a beautiful day in Chicago...
