Sablesma

gusmenary:

irreverentfoolishness:

illinoisairship:

It has begun snowing here in Chicago again.

If you’ve never been to Chicago then you might not know that the only thing more intense than our weather is our ability to talk about it. It’s an inevitability. With minus zero winds and freezing rain we talk about weather (a conversation topic usually reserved for awkward moments on dates and at bus stops) with an excitement and fervor usually reserved for politics and sports. Everyone has their own theories on what will happen day-to-day with the weather, each person agreeing that trusting the “Weatherman” is a cardinal mistake and the equivalent of listening to eastern mystics or trying to divine the wind pattern from the entrails of birds and chicken bones flung against the ground. What can be agreed upon is that weather becomes a monster in Chicago. Cold freezing impasses at intersections and shin deep slush anticipating ankles and dry socks. One walks down the street swearing into the wind and when finally climbing aboard a bus or train is greeted by a host of red noses and empathetic eyes as the caked snow sloughs off shoulders to become puddles on the floor. But somehow this intensity of pure cold hell becomes a badge of honor. We literally weather the weather. Perhaps our complaining is really bragging. We snuff at others who come from warmer clients and enjoy enlightening new residents as to the severity of the winter they face. “You think this is bad? You just wait.” is the preferred answer to autumn cold complaints. It is our shared burden and our collective pride. I dread it, hate it and thrive on it.

But sometimes it’s majestic. Sheets of ice that stretch across the lake heave and crack while icicles descend crystalline off the gargoyles on the gothic downtown buildings. On late nights, with beer jackets wrapped tightly around us, the pristine uninterrupted expanse of freshly fallen snow glows orange under streetlights as if bathed in a candles warmth and we catch snowflakes on our tongues as we struggle laughing through cold drifts, our ankles dry and cheeks flushed. We strip to long-johns and cuddle under covers reliving childlike games of eskimos and arctic tundras.

Today the flakes fall lightly and the air is crisp. I’m going to take a walk and listen to Arcade Fire’s Funeral on my ipod. I’m through worrying about the fucking weather.

I started writing Illinois Airship again.

That’s a good thing.

skeetonmischa:

The Fantastic Mr. Fox is the best Wes Anderson film since Rushmore.

Leave the live action to Paul Thomas Anderson, Wes Anderson and stick to stop motion.

Absolutely fantastic.

Chris Johnson is the AFC offensive player of the month for November.  Big ballin bonafides:

• Johnson rushed for an NFL-best 800 yards (6.6 average) on 122 attempts and tied for a league-high seven touchdowns as he helped the Titans post a 5-0 record in November. He also added 168 receiving yards.
• Johnson’s 800 rushing yards were the most by a player in a month since 1970.
• In Week 8 against Jacksonville (11/1), Johnson had a franchise record 228 rushing yards.

• In Week 10 against Buffalo (11/15), Johnson (1,091 rushing yards, 6.4 average through nine games) joined Pro Football Hall of Famer JIM BROWN (1963) and Vikings running back ADRIAN PETERSON (2007) as the only players in NFL history to rush for 1,000 yards and average 6.4 yards per carry in a team’s first nine games of a season.

• He has posted at least 125 rushing yards in six consecutive games, tying the NFL record set by Pro Football Hall of Famers EARL CAMPBELL (1980) and ERIC DICKERSON (1984).
• He is the first player in NFL history with six consecutive games of 125 rushing yards and a 5.0 yards per carry average in each of those games. Pro Football Hall of Famer JIM BROWN (1958) accomplished this feat in five consecutive games.

That is exactly how you do.