Vernal thoughts

The current freakish warmup is only confirming what I've always claimed: Chicago doesn't have a "spring" as such; it just alternates between winter and summer until it's out of winter. This morning, there was still ice packed along the coast of the lake almost as far as the eye could see. The only exception was an odd channel a few dozen yards from shore that looked like it had been sliced out with a schooner. But by the time I headed home, there were only a few pockets of shattered floes in sheltered areas of the shore. I'm curious to see if anything will be tricked into sprouting before the bottom falls out again.

When I came home, I found monshu on the back porch sipping a gin-and-tonic. As a harbinger of spring, this is up there with the first robin or snowdrops pushing up between last fall's petrified dog poop. I decided I wanted something with tinge of green to sip at his side and he reminded me of the Last Call: equal parts gin, Maraschino, lime juice, and green Chartreuse. It's a powerful concoction, so I drank it tall while I relished the fact that I was standing outside in short pants. Not too soon to being thinking about what we're going to be sticking into our square metre of black earth, is it?

First feline photos!

This one always makes me nostalgic for welcomerain's Sudden Giant Nostril Gallery even though it misses the criteria for inclusion by a hair.



Piqued? Find more here. WARNING! Other pictures all ruined by unfortunate inclusion of big, funny-looking, non-feline doofuses.

(Yes, I know I'm fucking up your Friends page something awful. WATCHA GONNA DO ABOUT IT PUNK?)