AAAAA! We're All Gonna...Hey, Wait a Minute...

The snow arrived in Chicago about the time the forecasters said it would--flakes started tumbling past the bright yellow lights on the el platform as I waited for the Brown Line train to arrive.

However, though it snowed vigorously through much of the evening--somewhere between two to four inches, depending on where you were standing--it was over well before midnight, and the predicted howling winds have yet to make their presence known.

Instead of waking up to a winter apocalypse, our fair city woke up to...Tuesday.

AAAAA! We're All Gonna Dieeeee!

Remember that part where I was going to Mom's for dinner tonight?

To quote Willy Wonka: "Strike that. Reverse it. Thank you."

Mom just called and asked me to "go home and be safe."

Is that just Mom being Mom? Not really. The National Weather Service has issued the following statement:

A blizzard warning is in effect from late tonight through noon Tuesday.

Given how well CTA runs when the streets are clear and how well the city has cleared the streets thus far this winter, who knows when I'd get to her house with wind-driven snow clogging the main drags?

Mom isn't being overly cautious. They'd find me in a snowdrift at a bus stop--sometime around the spring thaw.

Back from the Dead and Ready to Party

I took Friday off.

I had been sick the previous couple of days, but had gone to work anyway because so many others had the bug that I couldn't be sure my position would have proper coverage. Thursday night, I went to Mom's house for dinner--yes, I know, I shouldn't have gone near Mom with a cold/flu/what-the-fuck-ever, but I hadn't seen her since Christmas Day and, besides, she works in a drug store; she's much more likely to pass the flu on to me than vice versa.

Getting to Mom's house, however, turned out to be a much greater challenge than anticipated, thanks to the CTA.

There were problems on the Blue Line subway--a "medical emergency" had stopped trains running north and, as far as I could tell, south. (The last time CTA announced a "medical emergency," a train had "made contact" with a passenger.) So I loped back up the steps and onto the street, where I caught a Milwaukee Avenue bus headed north. It wound its way through the West Loop and eventually got me as far as Chicago Avenue, where a couple dozen commuters were already milling about, waiting for a westbound bus and shuffling their feet to keep warm.

I walked east to get away from the throng (and, by virtue of being in motion, to stay somewhat warm) and waited at a stop. And waited. And. Waited. Only one westbound bus came through during my 15 minutes there, and in was so packed that passengers were standing on the bottom step just to get on. In that same amount of time, five buses, all nearly empty, were gliding east. After the fifth one passed, I flagged down a cab and made it to Mom's about half an hour after I ordinarily would have been. I could have gotten there just as fast by walking.

And Mayor Daley wants to have the Olympics here, when the transportation system can't handle an average rush hour? Brilliant.

My adventure with CTA did nothing to make me feel any more well. If fact, I felt worse Friday morning, and my workload at the job was relatively light, so I called in sick, stayed in, watched the snow fall, ate soup and drank the Walgreens equivalent of TheraFlu for the next three days.

Now? I feel so much better. Just in time for the next snowstorm, which will hit around rush hour--right when I'm supposed to head for Mom's house.

Better start walking now.

Urrrrrrr

There's a new bug going around work--there always seems to be at least one.

My supervisor has it. One of the guys I back up has it. The guy on the other side of the cubicle wall from me has it.

Can you see where this is going? I'm sure you can.

Is it just me, or is each cold/flu season worse than the last?

Are the bugs mutating? Or are we?

Vanishing Chicago: Rock Records

The independent or semi-independent (regional chain) record store has become an endangered species in recent years, driven to the brink of extinction first by national chains (Sam Goody, Best Buy, Walmart), then by online sales (Amazon.com), and finally by downloadable music (MP3s). These days, you're about as likely to see a cougar running through your neighborhood as find a small storefront hawking CDs or vinyl.

There used to be several such stores dotting downtown Chicago, but as with the nightclubs and movie houses, the small record stores have faded away. Now, another has gone: Rock Records.

I shopped there when I was in college (since it was a short walk away from Columbia), back when it was known as Rolling Stone Records, with a second location in the Near Northwest suburb of Norridge. Years ago, though, the two stores changed names: the Norridge location added an "s" to "Stone" (thus becoming Rolling Stones Records), and the Loop location became Rock Records. (Given the slight change to the Norridge store's name, I'd guess that Rolling Stone magazine threatened legal action, rather than the geriatric rock band.)

I continued going to Rock Records into adultness (since it was right across the street from Cardozo's and various jobs I've had downtown). It never had the greatest prices or the most expansive selection, but they had stuff you didn't see in the big chain stores as well as a decent selection of porn DVDs in the back (if one can use the words "decent" and "porn" in the same sentence).

In the last couple of years, selection was pretty thin (even the porn), and rarely did I see anyone but the clerks wandering the aisles. (I gathered that there had been a change in ownership.) It was no surprise, then, that the day after New Year's a sign had been taped to the door to let customers (however few were left) know that Rock Records had closed.

Rolling Stones, on the other hand, not only remains open, but seemingly thrives in its Norridge location. (It seems to have split in ownership as well as name.) The CD selection is one of the best I've ever seen, and it has a small-but-spunky DVD section (including, yes, porn). And since it's an easy (if long) bus ride from La Casa del Terror, I visit it with fair regularity.

I won't be able to visit Rock Records anymore, though. The store is closed, the cardboard cutouts of celebrities (living and dead) are gone, the building is for sale. (I hope it doesn't vanish as well--it's a lovely little Art Deco job with a fanciful musical motif on its facade.) If I want to kill time at lunch, I can't wander down its long, empty aisles. I can take the longer walk over to Borders or F.Y.E. instead, but it's just not the same. Few things are.

She's Right, You Know

One of my coworkers noted that so far this year, he's successfully written the correct year every time he's had to do so, whether a check or an internal business document. I noted that I'd accomplished the same thing.

The coworker between us: "Maybe you're just really glad 2008 is over."

Good observation, that.

Happy New Beer...Er, Year!

I spent New Year's Eve quietly at La Casa del Terror, with a shepherd's pie, a bottle of inexpensive (but tasty) white wine fished out of the discount bin of one of (many) neighborhood liquor stores, Olivia curled up at my feet (something she's done a lot more lately) and some incessant channel-flipping from one network celebration to another. (The local coverage on Chicago's ABC affiliate featured two of the hosts shivering out on a deck at the still-under-construction Trump Tower--at one point, they were huddling together for warmth, and I'm not so sure they were kidding.)

At around ten minutes after midnight, after replying to JB's text-message New Year's salutation, I went to bed. Excitement! Given how disastrous most of the New Year's Eves spent out and about have been, though, going to bed early wasn't such a bad thing.

New Year's Day was arguably even quieter, with little more accomplished than straightening up La Casa a bit (it needs much more than "a bit" of straightening, but this will take time and effort) and packing up items I wanted to send to either storage or the Dumpster out back. I unearthed my exercycle (which had become a de facto coat rack) and weight set in the hopes of using both more frequently in '09 and put away all the Christmas decorations for yet another year.

I haven't made any resolutions for this year--since, in years past, I've broken most of them before January is over, I don't see the point. I just want this year to be an improvement over last year. Given how hard 2008 sucked, that shouldn't be too difficult.