I figured I'd start this blog sooner rather than later. And because I have a wicked sinus headache that's kicking my ass and doing a number on my head and don't feel much like doing work in the last hour I'm here, I figured the time to start this puppy is now.

I'm interning for a small, but successful marketing, advertising and branding firm in Downtown Chicago as a copywriter. About 15 minutes ago, I took a break from my copywriting to grab a snack from the convenient shop downstairs. The elevators have those little televisions that show you adds and all the current news clips, so it's not so boring riding up and down the 30th floor. On the way back with my KitKat in hand, I glanced at the screen to see an interesting fact: the CDC reports that one in 20 Americans, age 12 and up report suffering from depression. Furthering my procrastination, I just looked this up here:

According to the U.S. Bureau of the Census, the resident population of the United States, projected to 09/08/08 at 21:23 GMT (EST+5) is
305,097,830.

If you do the math (which I don't because my head is throbbing), that's a fuckload of people. And I remember a time when I was young and medical professionals SWORE up and down that children didn't suffer from depression. No! Kids are just watching their parents fight or in some cases go to blows, or get picked on and struggle in school and brush it off with a smile on their faces or ever try to off themselves out of sheer curiosity! Me? 60 pills in an hour when I was 14? Just for shits and giggles, my friends. Nothing to do with self-esteem or my parents fighting all the time. Glad to see people are waking up, finally. Maybe they can pull their heads out of their asses long enough to save some lives.

It's a rainy Monday, which in the history of folks is about as cruel as things can get next to that plague in the ye olde days of the Old Testament when it killed all the first born sons (okay, admittedly not THAT cruel, although God had a gnarly sense of vengance when it came to that shit). It's just shitty weather.

But back to the elevator. I then got to thinking (it's a quick ride, but kind of a rapid-fire thought process) about how shitty I felt today, physical ailments aside. I didn't really want to wake up and get out of bed (what's new? I love sleep and hardly got any last night), I didn't want to come to work (and I LOVE this gig--fingers crossed it becomes permanent), I didn't want to lug my light-ass umbrella into work just because I had to bring it and it wasn't even raining this morning, etc., etc. etc... If depression is environmental (influenced by the world around you), how much of it is the actual... environment (where you are)?

It was a total sleeper film, but it quickly became one of my favorites. The Weather Man with Nicholas Cage. It was based in Chicago, and yes, was about him being a weather man, but it had a lot to do with him being a victim of his surroundings. POSSIBLE SPOILER ALERTS FOR THE FILM NERDS! He wanted to be liked, he wanted to be a nationally syndicated Al Roker type of weatherman, but he was dealing with other forces: his divorce from his wife and her new boyfriend, living in the shadow of his famous author or a father (played BEAUTIFULLY by Michael Caine) who was slowly dying from a terminal illness and dealing with the fact that his slightly overweight daughter was being picked on and was suffering from low self esteem. And the worst bit of all, he wanted to be the happy guy who reported the weather accurately and had everyone like him (I equate his goal to local NBC5 meteorologist Andy Avalos, smiling and warm and likable). But if you know anything about Chicago weather, it can't be predicted. So either it wouldn't come out like he said, or it stayed shitty and snowy/rainy, so no one liked him, causing his unfortunate meeting with fast food (it's a great gimmick). My friend's older brother (an intellectual chap like myself: film fan, NYU grad, culture savvy) said it was an excellent parallel to the turn of the 20th century Russian novels with the well-intentioned protagonist who's constantly brought down by the grey and dreary surroundings of Mother Russia, which is the antagonist. All other problems are secondary to not being able to escape his dull, blank environment. And in comparison, Chicago in the winter is almost equal to that old Russian setting. Chicago winters are hard, and yes, it's true that a lot of people here just don't want to be bothered with other shit when you have snow and wind and hail and ice to deal with.

Oh well. At least we've got... what... two months until the frigid snow-type weather comes? Halloween is usually an indicator. And if I have to wear a fucking down coat over my bad-ass costume? Yeah. I'd be depressed too. And that costume thing I have planned is SO jumping off this year, I swear to GOD!

I want to see what the depression stats are for people who live in Brazil or the Caribbean Islands are like. Not... around hurricane season. Well, maybe.