You're too cold. Seriously. Yes, the thought of two sold-out shows @ The Morse Theatre this week warms my heart, but your blustery winds and slippery sidewalks chill me to the core. My lips are chapped, furthermore, which makes matters worse.
On the way to dinner tonight, Luginbill asked each of us if, for $5000, we would jump into Lake Michigan (only 1/4 mile from us, if that) and swim around for 30 seconds. One stipulation that he was careful to point out: "...you have to put your head underwater." Immediately, I balked at the wager. Jerome, however, said he would dive in, backstroke, breaststroke, and swim laps for $10,000, upping Lugs' original offer significantly. Others shuddered at the sight of the frigid gray waters of Chicago's frozen shore and remained reticent, as if weighing the substantial monetary reward against the imminent hypothermia that would ensue from such a bitterly frigid dip. I mean, come on, the man said you'd have to put your head underwater.
A classic Luginbillian challenge that followed was to me personally: "Hey, Ryan, I'll give you five bucks if you jump on one foot from here all the way back to the hotel."
"Can I switch feet?"
Naturally, I entertained the thought of what the five dollars could buy me: a five dollar, five dollar, five dollar footlong at Subway, five small Frosty Dairy Desserts (don't you dare pluralize them into Frosties) from Wendy's, half a copy of "Holiday Spirits" on our website (which half, though?), a Lunchable...the list went on.
My reverie broke with me imagining myself slipping and breaking an arm on the cold, unforgiving cement beneath my feet and balked at Lugs' query, again. (Apparently, Atlantic put an "idiot prevention" clause in our contract and, apparently, I agreed to said contract's terms earlier this year when stinging snow and ominous ice weren't on the sidewalk begging for pedantic dares between friends.)
Pedantic. Write that down. Other great words from this email include, but are not limited to: reverie, ominous, reticent, & imminent. (Beep) That was me honking my own horn for those of you who aren't down with the lingo.
But I digress. It's not warm out. I'm sure it's going to be worse in Green Bay on Sunday @ the Packers game or in Toronto later next week, sure, but I am in serious need of a break from the Windy City's chilly temps right now. Someone get Skilling (the weatherman @ WGN) on the phone.
Aside: I wonder what happens when you blow into a pitch pipe outside at these temperatures. (Nerd, party of one, your table is ready. Nerd, party of one.)
Anyway, get ready for some fun clips of SNC on the road. Hopefully you'll find them (Sluggs (& Chuck!) in the Morning, Alone-ski With Rome-ski, and Gadget Hour With The Randawg) as funny as we think they are while we're stuck in traffic, entertaining ourselves at each others' expense and annoying our tour manager Texas Mike to the point of ending the tour (two days in) by driving us headfirst into an embankment on I-294. That's his name, too: Texas Mike. As far as I'm concerned, the man's last name is Mike. He's been catching on quickly to how we behave offstage and may prove to become, given a bit more time, the best Den Mother SNC has ever seen.
Thawing out from The (Very) Super 8 in Lakeview,