Hot Flashes? Seriously?

For anyone I haven't already spilled the beans to yet, I am now officially a salaried writer at BuzzFlash. I even have health insurance for the first time in years!

Anyway, I wrote this essay as part of an application for a writing job awhile back, so I thought I'd share it with you all. The assignment was to write 500 words about hot flashes, believe it or not. I mostly just applied because I like writing challenges... So, here it is for your non-commercial enjoyment:

I've changed quite a bit over my 26 years on this earth. But the one thing that has remained constant is my hatred of winter.

Although my last move technically was southward, I wouldn't say it's much of a weather improvement. In fact, I remember saying as a teen that I'd never move to Chicago, because it was too windy for my tastes. The gusty downtown corridors made me feel even tinier than I already was. Add that to the big shoulders, and you get a "Hey, no thanks."

Yet, here I am. And if I've learned anything about Chicago, it's this: rather than the Land of Lincoln, it's the realm of sideways frozen rain.

You may wonder why I don't just haul off to warmer climes. Well, I tried, but I found that I like what this weather does to the size of both insects and arachnids. I also look terrible in shorts. Furthermore, I don't think I could give up on the amiable Midwestern personality that surrounds me here, fostered by mutual suffering.

I saw an ad for clothes with little built-in heaters on the El the other day, and considered the innovation for a moment. But wearing a battery seems silly, and might interfere with my pacemaker, should I ever decide to get one.

Then, I remembered talking to this middle-aged woman at a chiropractic clinic at which I used to work. She was cranky about her hot flashes, especially because of the 90 degree weather we were currently enduring and her broken car air conditioner.

Then, the epiphany. Of course! Hot flashes are the answer. They're totally natural, carbon neutral and above all, good and toasty.

According to a recent study by the University of Illinois at Chicago, hot flashes do have the drawback of decreases in memory performance. But I'm sure I'll forget all about that in time. Also, hot flashes have the side effect of producing sweat, but that may be my solution to dry winter skin. Some women complain that hot flashes cause insomnia, but I find that sleep often interferes with both my work and play schedules, so that might be a hidden benefit for me as well. And who doesn't love rosy cheeks?

Now the problem of procurement. The average age of menopause is 51, so I've got two decades and some change to go. Hot flashes are thought to be exacerbated by hot drinks and food, caffeine, chocolate, alcohol and spicy food, all products I've been known to enjoy. On the other hand, soy products are thought to reduce the chances a woman will get hot flashes, and I'm not giving up my Tofutti.

Ah well. All good things come to those who wait. So, whether it be springtime or menopause, I'll just have to keep wearing long underwear and ski masks until it arrives.

Thank you for riding the CTA

It was my first day back to work in about two weeks today, and what I really missed is rush hour. Thankfully, the CTA spiced it up for me by increasing both incompetence and fares while I was away.

My morning ride was pretty uneventful, other than a delayed Red Line train and a strangely unidentifiable smell in the Jackson tunnel (usually the stench is unmercifully familiar).

My evening commute was really a treat, however. In transferring to the Red Line from the Blue Line, I noted the tell-tale sign of another delayed train: the platform was so crowded as to be nearly impassable. Then, the overhead speakers sounded a note much like a phone ringing. An effeminate man's voice came over the loudspeakers:

"Attention CTA riders: At this time, all trains are running on time. We thank you for your business."

OK, not only is that statement a near impossibility with the sheer number of rush hour trains running coupled with the ineffectiveness of the CTA in general, but from the exasperation issued from the platform crowd, clearly not true.

When the train finally arrived, I was lucky to squish in. The frustrated young woman running my particular train kept screaming to the would-be passengers trying to squeeze onto the crowded cars that "there is an immediate follower," something that clearly contradicted the vaguely homosexual voice that issued from the stations assuring us that all trains were running on time.

There were a few other unexplained delays, a blackout at Sheridan and an equipment failure at Berwyn. A woman behind me questioned the fare increase, saying to no one in particular, "We paid $2.50 for this??"

That, however, is the wrong question to ask. If the CTA's problems magically disappeared after a fair increase, we Chicagoans would surely be a happier bunch. For that day, at least. But six months or a year later, when Ron Huberman comes shuffling down the aisle asking for another fare increase, we would be incredulous. If only by their ineptitude, the CTA proves it needs our money.

I did not share this with the woman, as she did not seem interested in what she did not pay $2.50 for. Were I interested in engaging in conversation with strangers on public transportation, I might have said this:

"Do what the signs say, lady. Stand clear of the doors and thank your lucky stars they completed the 3-track operation. It could, and probably will, be worse."