I honestly thought it was the end of the world.

Or that i was going crazy.

Or both.

I was walking Luke down Carmen, when i saw a dark mass on the sidewalk ahead. Luke, of course, was straining at the leash, eager to investigate. When we got close, though, i pulled him back. There, in the middle of the sidewalk, was a black bird, making creepy guttural noises, writhing around in its death throes. It was an eerie sight, but there didn't seem to be anything i could do. In the past, i've thought birds were dying but they turned out to only be stunned, and a couple of hours later, they're able to fly away. (Or fly, panicked, around the office kitchen, like the bird Tara and i saved one day. Boy, was that fun chasing that fellow around with a broom, trying to corral him back into a box to set him free outside.)

I shrugged off this early-morning incident on Carmen, though...until i cocked my head and strained my ears. Was that another gurgling noise? I followed it back the way i came, until i was in front of the Parc Paris (they took some liberties with the name), and i followed the sound around a bush. There, in the shade behind the bush, was another black bird lying on the ground.

Suddenly i spotted another one, not five feet away. Once i started focusing, i noticed one lying in the middle of the street, and one on the sidewalk across the road.

It didn't seem real. How could this be happening? When birds start falling from the sky, isn't that a harbinger of the freakin' Apocalypse?

There are usually people around, if not on Carmen, then certainly on Sheridan Road. But i couldn't find a single soul. I wanted someone else to tell me that they, too, were seeing shimmery black birds dying everywhere. MAYBE EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING WAS DEAD!

I ran back to our apartment, passing a couple more birds barely breathing in front of the now-defunct laundromat. Still no one around.

I darted inside, and i'm sure my eyes were wild, and i totally freaked Duke out when i said, "Listen. I need you to come outside right now. I think it's the end of the world. I saw something crazy out there, but i don't want to tell you what it was. I want to make sure you can see it, too, 'cause i think i might be going insane."

Poor Duke didn't know what to make of all of this, but he put on his shoes and came outside with me.

On the plus side, i wasn't going crazy. By this time, there were two women on Carmen, discussing the avian carnage. On the minus side, all of these beautiful birds, jet black, with iridescent blue patterns, were still dying painful deaths. One of the women lives in the Parc Paris, and she had called a bird rescue organization. The little gray-haired woman had come as soon as she could. She told us that the birds were grackles, and that they migrate over Chicago at this time of year. Her theory is that someone had put poison out in seeds, probably to get rid of some pesky pigeons, and this (murder?) of grackles must have dined on it en route.

The bird rescue lady had a box to collect the corpses, and a cage for those that were still alive. Duke and i offered to help, so we spent the next half-hour running around the block, gathering dead birds. There were at least 10 by the time we stopped, and about six poor grackles still making those awful gurgling noises.

Of course i had grabbed the camera when i ran in to get Duke. I mean, we needed some documentation of the Apocalypse -- and as it turned out, this was close enough for my tastes.

Left this godawful book at the Harold Washington: The Intellectual Foundation of Information Organization by Elaine Svenonius.

Svenonius is held up as some information science visionary.....but i found her to be utterly unreadable. (In fact, i've nicknamed her Svenghoulius.)

About a year has passed, when i get this comment on BookCrossing.com from someone who found the book. Surprise, surprise:

A dense technical book about the origin and reasoning behind library classification systems. Since I am without a background in library science I did not find it very compelling.

I'm dragging, so i take the el one stop north and get off to go to the coffeeshop after work, and when i walk in the door, Penny Farthing's eyes go wide and she's all, "WOAH! I don't think i've ever seen you in the evening!"

"And i'm alone," i point out. "Contrary to popular belief, Duke and i are NOT surgically attached."

Penny Farthing tells me that she was riding her bike home from work at American Apparel one recent Saturday (i think she should totally do one of those slutty ads; she'd be perfect!), when Broadway was blocked off by the police. She asked what had happened, and they said there had been a shooting earlier.

"It's strange that they came this far north," the copper said, which makes us think it was gang-related.

This happened right near the wig store where i bought my precious Rakaya, literally just down the street from Dik's, a few hours before the Wig Party. Penny Farthing reckons that if she hadn't stayed a bit late at work, she might've been riding along Broadway as it was happening. SHE COULD HAVE BEEN CAUGHT IN THE CROSSFIRE!

It really makes you realize not to take your safety for granted.

I hop online and do a search about the shooting. The kid is in critical condition. "And get this," i call out. "It was a BIKE-BY shooting!" We laugh about that, even though it's not really funny.

On the way home, i stumble upon this. It's not the coolest thing i've found lying on the sidewalk, but it's still a fun find:

 

It's sad that it has been abandoned there, on the wet ground. Doesn't anyone respect the sanctity of marriage anymore?!

Penny Farthing has poured four shots into my iced latte, and that, given all the stuff that's been going on of late, leaves me with insomnia...and i'm up for most of the night.

Every so often we get a letter from a prisoner. Years ago, we would get story submissions from a guy in a Texas correctional facility. We'd run them quite often -- they were short and sweet -- before  we realized he was cribbing them word for word from other publications.

My boss handed me this letter and said, "Send him a copy of the magazine, and return the check to him."

I always try to be as courteous as possible -- and i leave out my name. It just makes me nervous. I've always wanted a prison pen pal. But i just don't want to piss off anyone behind bars.

Nice signature, huh? And i love his sign-off.

  

Oh, come on. I KNEW you'd think that's what this flower looks like. Grow up.

Even though it was a pretty damn cold day out, we had passed the Chicago Botanic Garden, and in all the years i've lived here, i've never been. So i begged and whined and pleaded and protested and kicked and screamed...and eventually Mema and Poppa conceded.

Aren't they the cutest?

We started inside since it was so chilly. This classroom had walls full of botanical sketches...as well as an amateur ballet dancer.

There were a few greenhouses here, so we made our way through those.

We were big fans of the cacti. Maybe because of the simulated desert heat?

It got a bit Little Shop of Horrors there for a sec!

We made our way through the other hothouses.

The flowers below are called "pitcher plants." They're like Venus fly-traps, and give off a carrion smell to lure insects to their demise. Once a bug gets inside, the walls of the flower are slippery and they slide right down to a puddle that slowly digests them.

I saw a ladybug on a nearby plant, and i used to love ladybugs, but now we've got mutant ones that have bred with beetles, and they actually bite you. So i didn't feel any guilt about "feeding" one of the pitchers. I took the ladybug and dropped it in, watching it try to escape, only to fall farther into the depths. It was cute. NOM NOM!

These guys i left alone to do their thing. I mean, we need more ladybug/beetle hybrids to feed the pitchers, now don't we?

The Pyramids of Giza. Just joshin'. This is part of the roof of the building we were in.

Here's their library. Very nice, n'est-ce pas?

Venturing outside, we explored the walled English garden. I imagined i was the girl from The Secret Garden. I mean, who wouldn't?

I do love a good faun.

Finally, we went past the waterfall (dried up), crossed a bridge and explored the Asian isle.

We all zenned out in our own ways:

Emperor Constantine from the Star Wars flicks came in, though, at the end of the day. We fled in fear.

Duke found this hotel for us to stay in in San Fran. It's a green (eco-friendly, not the color -- they really need a new word for that) boutique hotel. "Boutique hotel," for the uninitiated, means it's cheap, trendy, cute and has smallish rooms. A-OK with us. It was located in SoMa, the South of Market neighborhood, so it was close to Market Street and Union Square. Best perk: The Blue Bottle Coffeeshop was within walking distance, as were some of the museums, such as the MoMA and Comic Art. It's slightly sketchy, though no more so than Uptown, my neighborhood in Chicago. And really you're only a couple of blocks away from the ginormous chain hotels. We also found that we were on major arteries for public transportation. But look at me, going on and on.

Here's the concierge desk. Right across from this was a photo booth that shoots out two copies, "One for you, and and one for us." People pin up their photo strips on the walls surrounding the elevator. Tres adorable. Not sure why i didn't take a picture of that. Ah, well, you can't have it all.

Here i'm enjoying the lobby.

The room had this fun piece of art above the bed. You could flip the picture around like leveler (i always pronounce this levelier) blinds, one pic of Chinatown in the daytime, and one at night.

There was a small "desk" against the wall, and the bathroom had a toilet that recycled water. Not sure how it worked, but it wasn't grody and brown, if that's what you're wondering.

We went to a hippie store in the Haight, where this adorable Asian woman served us tea and fruit, and we meditated in a small altar room, and we bought some trinkets, and before we left, she pressed small statuettes into my and Duke's hands, whispering what magic they held. We were entraced, and she gave us some much-needed psychic goodness, so i set up a small altar on the heater back at our hotel room.

(Paques is Frenchie for Easter, fyi.)

Easter wasn't three months ago, so i'm actually getting much better about posting things in a remotely timely manner.

Easter began with Duke taking the ham wrapping, pretending it was a hairnet and going all Martha Stewart on our asses. (The honey dijon glaze was delish, though.)

We had a traditional Easter feast -- ham, cornbread pudding, salad...and lasagna and garlic bread cooked up by Dave Smith, who was visiting from San Fran.

I'm thankful that Mema and Poppa are a part of my life. Wait, what? That's a different holiday? Oh, well.

After-dinner surprise guest! Hugonaut in from Brooklyn.

I know -- he wasn't awash in pastels as he always is for Easter. I'm still dealing with it. Hugo's usually my fashion soulmate.

We went over to Buttercup Park for an egg hunt.

Look at the cute lil baskets and bunny ears i picked up at the dollar store!

Awww. He's a mama's boy.

Thanks, Easter Bunny! BAWK! BAWK!

Mutant bunnies!

Again, as in the Jizz in Our Pants contest, Duke takes first prize.

David Jacob said it best -- "You've got a lot of awesome-slash-horrifying pictures."

It was surreal being a party where that frizzy-haired bird's nest next to you might or might not be your boyfriend or your buddy or that guy you just met or that fun gal... People were swapping wigs every 15 minutes, so you never knew who was who at any given moment. (Though of course my wig never left my head -- and has, only reluctantly, been off of my person since i bought it on Saturday).

I got a lot of Sideshow Bob and Justin Guarini's. I did not appreciate the two Carrottop comments, though.

Too many photos to give captions. You'll have to figure them out yourself.
Enjoy the madness!

 

Our mission: Be happy, be neutral, be sad, then be dead.

 

When Duke's parents were in town, we spent an entire day at the Museum of Science and Industry. I've been there at least six times, and still never fail to discover entire wings i've never set foot in before.

There's a circus-themed area we enjoyed immensely.

Fun-slash-scary fact: Mema and Poppa went to Clown College! Their clown names are Gabby and Gus. Gabby is more slapsticky, and i guess the teacher told her to keep her mouth shut -- her voice was apparently too screechy. Gus is a clown in the sad hobo tradition.

Duke and i tried our hand at clowning around as well:

Ladies and gentlemen! Step right up! See the Strongest Men In The World!

Funhouse mirrors are always a hoot.

In the Mirror of Erised, Wally sees that which his heart yearns most for -- a strangely ill-proportioned stretched-out body.

There were these spyholes you could look through and see your face on one of the characters inside the room. If you look closely at the little cowgirl you'll see a familiar fellow.