Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Yesterday afternoon, just before I left my parent's house, my father pointed out a lone cicada shell resting on their driveway. It was the first one that I'd seen in, well, about 17 years, and I immediately screamed and jumped up and down like a girl. (Or should I say "jumped up and down like a wuss" instead? My mother always prefers our statements to stay gender-neutral.)

In all honesty, I was mainly freaking out because I had forgotten how large the cicadas are. The sight of one shell had me thinking about of dozens of cicadas, with their eerie red eyes, crunching under my feet for the next month. This might just be the year that I wear boots in 85 degree weather.

After getting over my initial cicada shock, I decided to pick the little guy up and bring him back to Chicago with me. He fit nicely in my car's cupholder and didn't make a peep for the entire ride. Upon our arrival, I introduced him to some friends...



...but I soon realized that my cicada buddy had absolutely no interest in hanging out with the guys.



As you may already know, the 17-year cicadas are on a mission. They don't have time to hang out, play pool and take shots of whiskey with the dudes, or deal with the hassle of courtship and romance with the ladies. Their time here, at least above the ground, is minimal- and it must be spent on the most primal of duties.



I got the impression that the Cat was more of a pity lay, if you catch my drift. It was pretty obvious that the cicada was way more into Sally.



Or at least he was way into Sally's ass. But I think the interest was mutual.



She has the creepiest taste in lovers.

By the end of the visit, the novelty had worn off. The cicada was as boring to us as a regular old carpenter ant. Like with most houseguests from the suburbs, everyone just wanted the cicada to get back on the Metra and go home.




After much persuasion, I finally dropped the damn bug off at the Irving Park stop, mentioning loudly that he wasn't welcome back anytime soon. He'll probably try and call the next time he emerges, but I'm guessing that my cell number won't be the same by then anyway and he'll end up on the phone with a personal injury firm instead.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Avondale, Chicago. May 2007

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

I had about two minutes to stop by Lost Nation, Ohio and take a picture of Lost Nation Aviation. Unfortunately it took about one minute before a police officer pulled up and told me to "please be on my way." Someday I'll go back and spend a whole afternoon there.
(...by the way, I do hope that somewhere there's an old country song written about Lost Nation Aviation...)


Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Some piƱatas never see it coming. This one was full of broken candy pieces after it was knocked down.

Ohio, 2007.