**STRANGER to Me: "Yeah,...I totally read that in your blog..."**

Before I explain the titular comedic value (true story, real quote, said by a stranger, to me, recently) of this post, a quick photo that I like but that needs no real contextualizing or elaboration. I always equivocate about showing stuff like this for fear of it seeming boastful. But I'm proud of my dad! VERY. He's fallible, he's a regular man, he's human, he's a dad who adores me but has faults, but despite all of the benefits & disadvantages both that accompany his unique station, the bottom line (no pun intended, lil' corporate parlance for you) is that I'm proud of him. Cool photo.

"Hu are you....HU HU, HU HU!" President Obama. Dad. The president looks like he's genuinely paying attention to my dad. Premier Hu looks like either his earpiece translator isn't operational or he just has a severe need to urinate. Either way, kind of cool. Dad does that with his hands a LOT--it's not contrived to make him look important; it's just truly one of his innate characteristics. I will see it no fewer than 40 times when we meet for coffee today. :-)

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MOVING ON, but not in a Soros kind of way (anyone else feel like the man kind of appropriated what has historically been a pretty broadly used phrase? Move on? Bummer). ANYWAY, WE SHALL. :-)

As for the blog post's title, I was sitting in the first of a set of three interviews for a marketing position at a company in rural Vermont about three weeks ago. The two folks I sat down with initially comprised the design team, and were both pretty cool, very inviting and disarming. At one point during the requisite 'get comfortable with small real life talk woven into a discussion about the actual purpose we're here for--second round job interviews', I mentioned that I'd worked on a dissertation a long time ago for a woman for whom English is a second language. --Honestly after she tried to stiff me on three months' work by claiming that the language barrier had prevented her from understanding what hourly rate we'd agreed upon combined with the fact that the first 100 pages read like Wing Dings on crack, I would have easily believed English was not her second language. More an aspiration at that juncture! 

ANYWAY, I referred to it, and the dude in the interview giggles good-naturedly and says, "Oh yeah, totally, I read that in your blog." Whoa. I guess what one "publishes" is as far away as a Google search. While I certainly knew that to be true, it was still momentarily alarming to hear a man I'd never laid eyes on before casually refer to the Chronicles. Like he knew what was up. Hey: I don't know what's up, kids!! I guess Jim Morrison was right, on occasion.

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It absolutely never fails to be humbling to resume running after having stopped, even intermittently. My desire to battle the whole post-holiday (I'm aware that I tread dangerously close to cliche status here but I suppose it's true for a reason) lethargy and weight gain was derailed by the oral surgery debacle. The 9 or so days preceding it were sort of a blur of pain, and the days following the actual deal I was of course not supposed to be exercising--nor did I feel up to it. 

I began this week, and again was reminded how much easier it is to lose fitness than to regain it. But, I enjoy the challenge, and as twisted as it sounds, feeling out of shape reminds me that being in shape is absolutely attainable again. 

So I was in the Forest Preserve the other day, and Chicago's been remarkably indecisive with the weather of late. I certainly don't mind a jump from 15 degrees to 40, but the ensuing melt/refreeze/mud combo isn't the most pleasant. A couple things result: I look like a total a$$ clown sporting YakTrax on a path where during the 6 mile stretch I'm puffing through there are a total of three significant ice patches (but they're stubborn!)

I did note a few really interesting things about this awkward Winter/Spring breach we're experiencing here. Ducks. Ducks everywhere. I stopped at a place where I generally stop (let me be totally honest with you and disclose this right up front: I stop a LOT. I've had severe asthma since age 5, and take three medications daily, yearround, irrespective of illness; in other words, in order to maintain a baseline of pulmonary NORMALCY, I take medication. Beyond that, there are other measures....hospitalization is my least fave) to stretch and take my inhaler. To my left was a field where during warmer months, some after school soccer and XCountry teams practice. It's pretty large, but I'd never before noticed how concave it is. The combination of rain we've received and snow that's melted had rendered this thing a total pond. Like, if you'd never happened by before? You'd be convinced this was a pond. I counted NINETY FOUR DUCKS. 94. 

You're welcome: it's like I thought you'd take me more seriously if I busted out real integers. 94!!!!! 

It was pretty bleak out the next day, but I decided to try and consider the mix of ice and water "pretty" rather than just signifying yet another bizarre weather fluctuation. Here's a pic. Gives you an idea of how small an area these 94 ducks were sharing the previous day. I also thought it was rather pretty.

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"Annal(s) Surfing"

This edition of "Annal(s) Surfing" (which I hope I'm not insulting either your ignorance in assuming you get it nor your intelligence in wondering if you don't, but is a play on CHANNEL SURFING...) isn't photographic like the first few have been. It's anecdotal. I KNOW: you're in luck! I'm gonna WRITE MORE. 

So, I know I'm by no means unique, nor a pioneer in this field, but I'm realizing that college was two things: a) a charmed time--and--b) a time during which I did some really strange stuff. One afternoon, a group of my close friends and I decided--and it must have arisen from some casual comment and escalated, as these things no doubt do,--that the following evening, when the campus library (a mammoth behemoth of an old building--absolutely your prototypical wealthy yet weathered Liberal Arts school's academic fortress--closed, we would remain inside, elude the closing staff, some of whom were students and others librarians and 'real adults'. 

This plan involved eight of us, and we assembled the materials and concocted the strategy relatively quickly. Now, this was an enormous building. But there was a large contingent of people we'd need to avoid at midnight (EIGHT OF US!), including maintenance workers, in order to pull it off. Logically, we determined we'd have separate stations. That's a euphemism for "hiding places". I was in a particularly popular reading room that our one night's surveillance indicated would be checked just before midnight by staff, as they did a sweep through for errant books or sleeping students. 

I HID IN A CUPBOARD. FOR OVER TEN MINUTES while they cleaned the room. My 7 compadres were all stashed in similarly ridiculous places, but I suppose if the proof is in the pudding, our planning wasn't entirely unsuccessful. Eventually they closed, the lights were shut off, Security locked the building, and there we were.....I remember it as being the most irreverent, subversive thing I did (in the sense that it broke the abject rules of a real institution...of course I broke more broad rules & made some poor decisions in college, but those were rendered more abstract and FELT more innocuous considering the culture). It was a hilarious, fun night. We did absolutely nothing to harm any of the books or other contents of the library. Just set up shop in one of the large study rooms, the one with the most couches, and had a veritable sleepover.

Also, I'd frequently buy orange juice and instead of paying for a small refrigerator, keep it outside my first floor window in the snow. VHS yoga tapes, alone, in my room? You betcha.

Annal(s) Surfing, concluded.

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Could someone please explain to me why this is the honorary name of the Evanston Civic Center's main road? Look closely. It's the avenue to many civic offices, but that seems like a stretch. Like, for real: someone alert evangelists the world wide--all they need do is direct people to 2100 Ridge Ave in Evanston. 
                        Done deal, apparently.