Ides of May

Dear Journal and Whomever Else It May Concern,

When I last put down the pen, figuratively speaking, we were in the last throes of Winter. Growing up in Florida, they teach you "in like a lion, out like a lamb", good and early, however, it never sinks too deep: unless you grow up in a Wintering climate, this information gets pushed out of the way to make room for more relevant information, like how, for instance to avoid alligator attacks (run in a zig-zag Z formation--alligators have pretty prehistoric brains, and even stumpier legs) and how to deal with sharks when surfing (punch them in the nose, they'll go away). "In like a lion..." and "April showers bring May flowers", get to sounding like nursery rhymes at best. That is, until you move just down the lake from Canada, then those things crop up from dormant no-man's land brainspace.

I hated the insipid idiot-joy that the real Chicagoans let radiate once Spring finally broke. Floridians, like the weather, are pretty consistent year round, I couldn't stand the dramatic mood-swing for the better -- I questioned whether or not they decided to start pumping Xanax into the water supply following the depressing, nearly sunless Winter.

And now? I'm smitten. Floored by the newest MCA exhibit (I swear, I could taste the colors in Olafur Eliasson's exhibit. What came in my over-stimulated eyes had to come into my mouth as well, full sinuses.), Alexandar Hemon readings, and ICE playing Xenakis. I've died and gone to Spring, I swear, and the city is blooming, and I want to throw all my grey and brown clothing away for good in a city trashcan.

Glorious.