Yearnings for the Eagles on a Sub-Zero Wisconsin Morning

Well, I was going to listen to the Eagles, since I had some strange, inexplicable yen to do so, but I can't get the damn computer to play the disc so I guess that's out. I don't even know what possessed me into wanting to listen to the Eagles. My parents don't even listen to the Eagles anymore. The last major reference to the Eagles that I can recall is from that cab-ride in the "Big Lebowski," and he hated the fucking Eagles.

Perhaps it is not the Eagles themselves, but all that their music seems to conjure up--those carefree southern California scenes of sunshine and tequila. Or maybe something is making me nostalgic for my early childhood of riding around in the family car on hot vinyl seats that your ass would stick to on humid summer nights while "Take It Easy" played on in the background. Who knows? I think its my psyche trying to somehow thaw myself out of this inhuman cold. And it is cold here, have no doubt of that in your mind, gentle reader. Jack London cold, where if you were one of those inclined to chew tobacco, you would soon find that the thick brown stream of tobacco juice would freeze to the side of your face. Not a pleasant thought. But in the dead of winter, Wisconsin is not a pleasant place. The gods of natural selection are at the helm and do not know the word mercy. If one is foolish enough to venture out of doors for any length of time, they soon find that Nature is in no sort of mood for "communion." They'll get the idea after a few lashes in the face by the cold whip of wind. So go stuff your naive hippie ideas about achieving oneness with the goddess--she wants no part of you, and will tear your arms off if you are so impetuous to approach her on your own terms. Nature is not about feel-good; it is about respect. And don't dare venture outside until you can do so with the proper reverence winter demands, unless you wish to end up like some ill-fated British explorer searching for the Northwest passage. Until then, best not leave the safety of your local outfitting store. And watch out where the huskies go . . .