It’s cold outside.
Sorry, but that’s about the only thing I can think of to blog about. It’s the only thing on people’s minds here. It’s the only topic of conversation. It’s the only complaint, the only frustration. The only reason anyone even opens their mouth, letting in the cold air and numbing their lips, is to lament about the weather.
The cold turns us into lazy cave-dwelling creatures who won’t leave the house unless we have to. It turns us into anti-social loners who won’t take our hands out of our warm pockets to wave at a friend passing by. It rules over which meetings we attend, which parties we go to and which errands we choose to run. Yes, I need milk and stamps, but that trip to CVS would be deathly in this climate.
The cold tells us what to wear. Nope, you can’t wear your cute new halter top Saturday night. The dress code is formal and modest—turtleneck sweaters, boots, long underwear and lots and lots of layers.
It dictates what we eat. The dining hall’s cinnamon ice cream calls my name, but I know that my body will regret it when I go through the revolving door. The weather is surely sponsored by Starbucks.
We are Northwestern students, we’re Chicago residents, we’re Americans. Seriously, can we not think of anything else to discuss this week? Do we have no other common bonds that unite us as a people? Is that the only thing we can talk about—the wind chill?
My fellow Chicagoans, friends in Minnesota, neighbors to the north in Toronto and Eskimos in Alaska: We shall not put up with this any longer.
We are letting the cold weather reign over every aspect of our lives. And when we do that, we are most certainly letting the terrorists win.
We will wear t-shirts to class. We will stop in the cold to talk to friends. And dammit, we will eat ice cream!
…And until that point, I’ll just sit here in my sauna-temperature dorm room, underneath a blanket, drinking my hot chocolate. You win, weather.
