stuff that happens
If the hours of my day are left with an impression of the events held therein then slicing through them you would see strange colours in a repeating pattern of late. Underscoring all of this for the past 24 hours would be a definitely brightening as mandellebrotte has arrived back in Chicago. But let me focus for the moment on the concentric rings of weirdness.
One of our neighbours is having a no holds barred screaming match with some guy, the reasons for which I have yet to determine not fully understanding the african american dialect which this dialogue is being conducted in. I am however learning how to most effectively talk over someone while disparaging their appearance/demeanour/sanitary habits/parentage and implying that there is something seriously compromised in their ability to string coherent thoughts together as would be fitting of even the most basic primates. This epic battle - which is into it's fourth day of hostilities - is conducted between the hours of 1 and 4pm, on the sidewalk which it seems is the appointed place for such showdowns.
Scattered throughout the day is the frenetic yipping of the 3 small lapdogs downstairs whose cursory level of training has not made them grasp the concept that people walking past the front door is not reason to bark their tiny lungs out. Exacerbating this is that their minute brains soon forget what they were barking at but by now they have warmed to the task and continue yipping for a good 10 minutes until I want to go downstairs and post them to a small deserted island. The problem with this plan is that they are the landlord's dogs (I wince at using this term for them as it cheapens doggydom) and he doesn't treat them as they need to be treated i.e. as dogs, so there is little chance they will grow out of this. I mean, honestly, who names their dog 'Precious'. uuegh.
Every sunday morning a bunch of us have been searching out new places in chicago to have brunch as we recover from saturday night and/or avoid commencing the days work (the crew is pretty much PhDers and their respective others and is also great because they are all both funny and clever, a combination of traits i have a soft spot for). I am continually surprised at how awesome the food is in chicago. Each week we pile into some other place and invariably are treated to brilliant eats. I have been afraid to lend breath to my amazement in case I break the magic which guides our movement and we discover that chicago is not completely full of diners and whatnot that know how to make awesome breakfasts. In short I am becoming tubby and can be found of a sunday afternoon lying in the sun streaming through our bay windows rubbing my distended stomach and smiling like an idiot.
One of our neighbours is having a no holds barred screaming match with some guy, the reasons for which I have yet to determine not fully understanding the african american dialect which this dialogue is being conducted in. I am however learning how to most effectively talk over someone while disparaging their appearance/demeanour/sanitary habits/parentage and implying that there is something seriously compromised in their ability to string coherent thoughts together as would be fitting of even the most basic primates. This epic battle - which is into it's fourth day of hostilities - is conducted between the hours of 1 and 4pm, on the sidewalk which it seems is the appointed place for such showdowns.
Scattered throughout the day is the frenetic yipping of the 3 small lapdogs downstairs whose cursory level of training has not made them grasp the concept that people walking past the front door is not reason to bark their tiny lungs out. Exacerbating this is that their minute brains soon forget what they were barking at but by now they have warmed to the task and continue yipping for a good 10 minutes until I want to go downstairs and post them to a small deserted island. The problem with this plan is that they are the landlord's dogs (I wince at using this term for them as it cheapens doggydom) and he doesn't treat them as they need to be treated i.e. as dogs, so there is little chance they will grow out of this. I mean, honestly, who names their dog 'Precious'. uuegh.
Every sunday morning a bunch of us have been searching out new places in chicago to have brunch as we recover from saturday night and/or avoid commencing the days work (the crew is pretty much PhDers and their respective others and is also great because they are all both funny and clever, a combination of traits i have a soft spot for). I am continually surprised at how awesome the food is in chicago. Each week we pile into some other place and invariably are treated to brilliant eats. I have been afraid to lend breath to my amazement in case I break the magic which guides our movement and we discover that chicago is not completely full of diners and whatnot that know how to make awesome breakfasts. In short I am becoming tubby and can be found of a sunday afternoon lying in the sun streaming through our bay windows rubbing my distended stomach and smiling like an idiot.