Ways to die in old Chicago

I feel bad about the lack of blogging – but there is just not much going on. Someone again called Cadfael a husky, I’ve been posing for more paintings, and Chris got a cold. It was Lucy's (Dave's French housemate) birthday and to celebrate we got her a balloon and tied it to Cadfael and walked him over to her house. To say this was funny is an understatment.

I feel old, I went along and taught a high school English class for our friend Dave – it is so odd to be on the other side of the desk – I don’t feel old/responsible enough to be there. I also feel old because we saw Narnia last night and I realize I’m too old to fancy Peter Pevensie.

In other news if you’ve ever heard me talk about my undergraduate degree you’ll know I always say there was never a class there that didn’t reference the Simpsons at some point and as to prove my point they are now offering a class on just that – the Simpsons. I don’t know if I should be proud or ashamed, but I saw it coming.



Speaking of seeing things coming I’ve been Chicago psychic this week. It started when I caught an episode of ER while I worked out at the gym. It was the episode where Dr. Carter left – the psychic bit comes from the young ‘hip’ doctor goes to a party in Wrigleyville and I knew the porch would collapse – and it did (with a sweet impaling scene.)









Next again at the gym watching the BBC news they say an areoplane has skidded off a runway into traffic and I knew before they said where in the world it was it was Midway – probably a Southwest flight.













Psychic? I think not. Knowledge of all the crap that can go wrong and kill you in Chicago – priceless.