So our token guest blogger Hotpants Askance finally decided to write a new post for the holid… err… weather in Chicago. Listen up kids!
Every month or so, some guy has to make the quip, “If you don’t like the weather in Chicago, just wait a minute.” We always let that slide, but only because it’s true. It’s nearly sixty here, wavering between drizzle and thunderstorms. The last two weeks we had two weather options: no snowfall, but two-minutes-to-frostbite temperatures with neigh-50-mph wind gusts; or tolerable mercury levels but with snow falling in such volumes that, should you stand still outside and stop paying attention for a moment, you’d find yourself buried up to your shins in powder. Sure, snow fell like that all over the nation (welcome to my hell, Las Vegas), but this shit is old hat for Chicago. They wouldn’t’ve canceled school if everyone hadn’t been off for break already.
But today, we have veritable paradise, provided your vision of paradise includes a rain slicker and umbrella and quickly-fading warm front. The piles of snow are all but gone; flat micro-glaciers lay in their place, and they too would be gone in a few hours, if it wasn’t going to drop to twenty-nine degrees tonight.
So, where does Atom and His Package or ska come in, here? Nowhere! And you say, “Wait, did Sasha finally get her computer fixed? That’s so awesome, now I can continue learning what’s jangly and catchy in the sweet candyland of awkward indie pop. Or at least continue stealing ideas for my Reason-the-Mountain-Goats-Are-Awesome-A-Day Calendar.” But no such luck, dear reader, this is one of those seemingly semi-annual Hotpants Askance posts. You cry, just a little bit, and say, “What a damn stupid name, the schmuck.”