Cold Hearted

It's summer and I am currently sitting at work, wearing sweatpants, a t-shirt, a sweatshirt, big fluffy socks and a throw blanket.  I do have gloves in the closet here and don't think I haven't considered putting them on my hands as I slowly ruin the economy with my reckless speculation trading (you're welcome, everyone!  Enjoy your Hooverville box).  This is typical attire for me when it's 100 degrees out and the air conditioning everywhere is set at sixty.  Sometimes I walk into grocery stores and wonder why I can't see my breath.  If I were a complainer, I'd moan about this daily, but thankfully I am perfect so I suffer in silence with a smile on my face and a song in my heart.  It's a gift.

I HATE being cold.  When I had my mouth surgery this month, I complained to my friend about pain and swelling in my cheeks.  He asked if I had put ice on it.  Ice?  On my face?  I wouldn't do that even if it swelled up so much I needed a special face sling to support the massive weight of the swelling.  (By the way, I have an appointment with the surgeon this morning and if all goes well, I can start eating normally again.  Watch out, Chicago.  None of your solid food is safe today).

So I found this column by Esther Cepeda in the Chicago Sun-Times to be laughably ridiculous.  Ms. Cepeda and I are kindred spirits in that we both wear sweatshirts in the summer and bring throw blankets to movies.  I blame my cold aversion on thin skin and the fact that I'm an extra sensitive little snowflake, but Ms. Cepeda has a different idea.  She thinks that the temperatures are set to arctic levels indoors because so many darn obese people demand it to help with their disgusting sweating and the heat that just radiates off their massive bodies.

I'm not one to get offended very often by people who rally against the fat people of the world.  Life is short and I have better things to do than get worked up about people who might hate me just based on the number on the tag on my dress.  However, I find this column offensive and not because of Ms. Cepeda's bias against the fat.  It's offensive that someone who is this crappy of a writer is being paid to write a column in one of the nation's biggest newspapers.  I mean, really.  This thing reads like my thirteen-year-old cousin wrote it at the last minute for debate class.  I have so many friends from college who majored in journalism and who can't find jobs.  They are supremely talented and do not litter columns with bizarrely flawed logic, refute their own arguments and end with the powerful rallying cry of "Skinny Grumblers unite!"  Please, Chicago Sun-Times, hire some of them and maybe we wouldn't be hearing so much about the death of the newspaper industry.

Haters of Crap Writing unite!