When you live in a place like Chicago or any place that has Winter, but also other seasons, I really think an amendment needs to be created that allows people to take days off of work, let kids out of school, etc, on the first beautiful day of the year. That day was probably Wednesday here, but by golly Thursday was nice as well, and today ain't too shabby either. I've always considered Spring the time the trolls come out of their caves, sometimes wearing awesomely alluring things like white skirts. While it isn't quite warm enough for all that (although I could have gotten down with shorts today), it was still in the 60s and it's nice to want to venture out into the open and interact with a whole lot of humans. The sun will do that. I get why Sheryl wants to soak it up .
But it really does foster all sorts of pleasant behavior. Still, I made the original stipulations of places that have winter because you need that frame of reference right? Appreciate the Summer because of Winter. Or would we all be a Hell of a lot happier with the constant sun? Guess it depends. My excursions to very sunny places suggest that perhaps always sunny is not a bad thing.
Anyway, I took advantage of the nice weather to do something I have largely neglected to do not only in this city but in general: take some damn pictures. So I hit up Millenium Park for not the first time and basked in the reflections of the cloudgate aka the bean and took pictures of tourist groups. Actually for tourist groups. Pictures of tourist groups sounds creepy. The degree to which all of these people appreciated this — what I consider a rather simple act —was maybe not surprising, but certainly refreshing. Warms the damn cactus of my heart.
And since I feel like this needs an injection of humor I should mention how, a couple of weeks ago I was hurrying to the train and, stepping on a piece of ice to bypass an old lady, slipped and fell. I mean, I didn't step on the piece of ice on purpose, but there is certainly some correlation if not downright causation going on here. I thought only my ego was damaged, especially when this woman asked me if I was alright and she was like ninety-thousand years old, but I managed to rip the crotch of my pants in the whole ordeal. Not noticing this for the better part of two hours was awesome, but luckily I was wearing some slick boxer-briefs. And then I got drunk and largely forgot about my pants, but the pants, the pants never forgot...