Monday, February 07, 2005
Spring is (Not) Here
This weekend we were graced with some truly beautiful (for February) weather in Chicago, and as tends to happen in these circumstances, everyone went totally batshit insane. Saturday I awoke to the sound of children screaming in glee as they vandalized my neighbor’s admittedly excessive lawn statuary (the lawn being perhaps five feet by five feet), and I was nearly mauled by a pack of rabid runners in the park. Later, I spotted a girl wearing honest-to-God Daisy Dukes (along with her Uggs) for her fifty-degree trip down Michigan Avenue. This would have been less of a problem had she been more of the proportions of Daisy Duke and less of, say, Marmaduke, but I’m not one to judge. Oh wait, no, I completely am.
As could perhaps be expected, the weather-induced insanity did not bypass my doorstep. After spending several hours staring at random television with my roommate, I finally realized that Mickey Blue Eyes was never going to be a good movie no matter how many times TBS put it on, and I decided, for reasons unknown and perhaps ultimately unknowable, to go to the zoo. This led to several important realizations:
– unlike humans, most animals are bright enough not to stand around outside in the winter
– most parents sort of hate their children, if children’s fashion is to be any indication
– when snow melts it turns into water, which, when ankle deep across a sidewalk or lawn, is in and of itself sort of unappealing
– going to the zoo alone makes me feel like everyone’s going to think I’m a child molester
At which point I headed home. Who knew that a botched attempt at viewing giraffes could lead to such a high degree of self-awareness?
This weekend we were graced with some truly beautiful (for February) weather in Chicago, and as tends to happen in these circumstances, everyone went totally batshit insane. Saturday I awoke to the sound of children screaming in glee as they vandalized my neighbor’s admittedly excessive lawn statuary (the lawn being perhaps five feet by five feet), and I was nearly mauled by a pack of rabid runners in the park. Later, I spotted a girl wearing honest-to-God Daisy Dukes (along with her Uggs) for her fifty-degree trip down Michigan Avenue. This would have been less of a problem had she been more of the proportions of Daisy Duke and less of, say, Marmaduke, but I’m not one to judge. Oh wait, no, I completely am.
As could perhaps be expected, the weather-induced insanity did not bypass my doorstep. After spending several hours staring at random television with my roommate, I finally realized that Mickey Blue Eyes was never going to be a good movie no matter how many times TBS put it on, and I decided, for reasons unknown and perhaps ultimately unknowable, to go to the zoo. This led to several important realizations:
– unlike humans, most animals are bright enough not to stand around outside in the winter
– most parents sort of hate their children, if children’s fashion is to be any indication
– when snow melts it turns into water, which, when ankle deep across a sidewalk or lawn, is in and of itself sort of unappealing
– going to the zoo alone makes me feel like everyone’s going to think I’m a child molester
At which point I headed home. Who knew that a botched attempt at viewing giraffes could lead to such a high degree of self-awareness?
