Walked down the block from work tonight to pick up a sandwich for dinner, looking into the Starbucks on the corner as I passed. Sitting at one of the tables with his friends was a stupid hipster dork wearing a fuzzy hunting hat at the end of a 95-degree day.
I hope he passed out from heat exhaustion on the way home.
We're stuck in another one of those stretches of hot, humid weather, and tomorrow Casey and I fly off to Chicago for the weekend. Should be fun, but in packing, we each found ourselves torn between feeling like we had to bring enough clothes to have a fresh set for the evening after a day of sweating and feeling like we were packing too much for a four-day trip. We've done Chicago in August, so we know.
The plans while there consist of tomorrow's Mets-Cubs game at Wrigley Field, a nice dinner on Saturday night, and ... more eating and drinking. We haven't really mapped out any other specific sightseeing plans, so we'll play it a little by ear and see what sparks us into action.
Not sure how much sleep I'll get tonight, but I won't sleep on the approach to O'Hare. I love looking down over northern Indiana -- or Lake Michigan, if we come in from the north -- and watching the Chicago coastline come into view, the neighborhoods stretching off as far as we can see into the haze, pools sparkling in the sun. I always look for the landmarks I know -- the Northwestern football stadium if we're up north over Evanston, Wrigley if we're close to the city itself, Miegs Field and Navy Pier if we're south of town (though that's usually only when flying into Midway).
My winter and spring memories of Chicago take me back to college, of two-hour road trips to the city at Christmastime or for a Cubs game on a frigid April day. But Chicago in summer has always meant Casey, and to go there with her is the best way to enjoy it. It's a break we both need, I'm sure, so I look forward to lots of laughing and smiling.
And sweating, I'm sure.
Lou Gehrig in Asbury Park
3 years ago