So, something to ponder about how the weather influences travel, while you wait for Seattle's buses to begin running after the Great Thaw Yet To Come.

Tuesday afternoon, Chicago was slammed with a snowstorm (we had another Thursday). Plows and salt trucks either were not sent out or were stuck in the rush hour traffic, depending on whether you believe your lying eyes or the Mayor's mouthpiece. Snow removal is a huge Chicago political thing, what with Jane Byrne having defeated the first Mayor Daley's successor due to his bungled handling of a blizzard back in '79. Ever since, prompt salting and quick plowing have been an entitlement, as well as a road to corruption—one winter with very little snow, millions were nonetheless spent on salt and the spreading of salt everywhere. The whole city tasted all winter like you'd just gargled with salt water, and some guys who later went to jail or died under mysterious circumstances got filthy rich renting trucks to the city.

But, back to Tuesday, the girlfriend and I were celebrating our lame-compared-to-Dan-and-Terry's 7th Anniversary at a restaurant at Congress and Dearborn, the Custom House (named, oddly, for an old vice district in the area. Chicago is full of places named after defunct brothels). We'd walked past the Federal Building, where Obama's transition office is located, and noted the barriers and cops keeping both Calder's Flamingo and the only hope for the Western World safe from snow-blinded pedestrians.

About halfway through our meal—which was great—we looked out the windows to see Obama's motorcade going by, in the slow and slushy traffic. A few cop cars, an SUV with its windows open (to let the Secret Service snipers have a clear shot) several more SUVs, then another Secret Service car and more Chicago cops, lights flashing. My friend Clare, who works at the Custom House, told us that this was unusual: normally, the cops block all the cross streets and completely clear traffic for Obama's roughly one mile drive from downtown to Lake Shore Drive southbound. But the blizzard changed even that tight security. She also told us that every one of the cars that doesn't carry Obama has an Obama look-alike in it. Imagine being recruited for that job: we need you to sit in the back seat, look presidential, and be ready to take a bullet in the head. Glad I stayed in school.

But back to the snow: after dessert we took the train out to south suburban Evergreen Park, and there found that other people who were driving had spent three hours getting from downtown home. Three hours we spent eating roast duck and steak tartare with the best au gratin potatoes EVER, drinking, and then reading the paper on a warm and timely train. How long till you guys get light rail?

A fucking Blagojevich update is forthcoming. . .