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.

Get your kicks...

What CTA denizen dares to complain about transit these days? I like to call it cheap entertainment.

Scene: Clinton/Lake CTA stop, on the Green Line toward the loop. 12:30 p.m.
A grey-haired, lightly-bearded suit boards the train and, finding no one he'd like to sit next to, stands on the other side of the doorway. No, he hasn't heard if the Red Line northbound is re-routed today, but he wouldn't be surprised.
"The things I do to save gas," he says, shaking his head. He wishes me good luck, and gets off at the very next stop.

Scene: State/Lake Red Line Subway Station. 12:45 p.m.
A short, middle-aged man in dark slacks, a button-down and a vest stands next to a small boom box.
"Good afternoon, Chicago!" he says to lunchtime commuters on the platform. "I had to unbutton my vest, because I'm ready to fight!" He smiles so widely that no one looks like they believe a violent, headline-grabbing episode is about to unfold. Plus, a Chicago police officer and her K-9 are looking on.
He starts up the boom box, which plays "Eye of the Tiger." Just like his muse Sly in Rocky III, the man punches fiercely, connecting with the air on every beat, each hit accompanied by a spirited "Uh!"

Scene: Devon & Lakewood bus stop, WB. 5:40 p.m.
The green and white quilt with the stuffing coming out of one end looks strangely familiar. Not the blanket itself, mind you. I recognized the form it took at one end of the bus stop bench, like my quilt looks at the foot of my bed after being rudely awakened by an alarm clock. At least it's warm out now.

Wither Channel

After an early Easter and only our second year of a bumped-up daylight savings time tricked the Midwest into thinking spring was right around the corner, the extended winter felt especially cruel. But Chicago hit the 70-degree mark for the first time since October 21, 2007 yesterday, and you know what that means...

Yes, folks, it's officially that time of year when you don't have to listen to me bitching about the weather.

Some of you might be saying, "C'mon, now. As soon as it hits 95 degrees in the big city you'll be complaining along with the rest of us."

You must not be aware of the public service pact into which I entered two years ago. I came to a collective agreement with everyone I might come into contact with never to complain about the heat, no matter how much the outdoors might resemble the depths of Hades.

Some were skeptical. And I'll admit that it does get tough, especially when you hail from Minnesota. That's not just because we're hard-wired to yap endlessly about the weather, either. Say I'm in an elevator with some sassy old woman who's telling off the weather gods. It's all I can do to keep from adding a "Yeah, and how 'bout that humidity, eh?" As if elevators weren't uncomfortable enough.

But I've managed to stick to my pledge for two years running now. And really, it's the least I can do: you all have been so patient.