two seasons

Hello! How are you today, the internet. I have been gone for several reasons, ranging from winter despondency (which I solved by learning how to knit, more on which later, but it gave me sufficient reason not to be despondent while busying my hands so I could not type) to the need to have an IRL encounter with the excellent Diana Kimball of dianakimball.com and ROFLcon-organizing fame. Also my computer is continuing its slow and miserable descent into obsolescence and failure, which I probably just compounded by accidentally smearing peanut butter on the keyboard. Last night instead of writing a post here I made stoutcakes, inaugurating the oven in my new kitchen. (Oh also, I moved!) Then I played a couple rounds of Fruit Mystery because it is the greatest thing, and then the internet died as it tends to do every five minutes in this apartment.

Aside from epic broadband failure (which, we’re told, has something to do with the fact that this building is about a century old), the most recent excuse for my lack of an Online Presence is that spring is finally here to stay. I didn’t believe it for weeks; I’d check behind me constantly, thinking I’d left my coat, hat, and gloves at work or on the train, because surely I wouldn’t go outside in as little as a hoodie. No, my friends, today I broke a sweat biking home from work, and it wasn’t because I was wearing a down coat and three pairs of leggings. It was because it is ACTUALLY A PLEASANT TEMPERATURE OUT.

So that brings me to the saying that Chicago has two seasons: winter and construction. The first was illustrated by the five-month swath of frozen woe that was my initiation into really living here, the second appeared when, a mere week after I moved in, on my first coatless foray into the wider world of the new neighborhood, the park across the street, of which I’d been so much looking forward to having an unspoiled view from my deck, was encircled in a tall chain-link fence covered in green cloth. But hey, on the plus side, all the man-eating potholes are getting filled in!

I’m inclined to prefer Chicagoist‘s version of our two seasons (winter and festivals), and I’m very much looking forward to Pitchfork weekend, which I will probably begin calling “my birthday party with Les Savy Fav”, but I’d broaden the definition and call the seasons winter and redemption. I’m glad that spring, in its first moments, is already worth the wait.

(I have to go fix my bike now, but I have every intention of honoring the quasi-pact I made with Diana to write more things on the internet. Also, the new version of flickr uploadr is completely excellent and I want to cram it full of pictures all the time, so that is something too. Thank you for reading; please reward yourself by playing Fruit Mystery. Pinables and stratberries!)

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