Toward the end of last month, Danielle and I went to Chicago. It was an excellent trip, and we were able to catch up with about a dozen different friends in a handful of great places. The Mulders took us to a great dinner at Red Light and then we rocked out on plastic guitar and drumpad for hours, we met Danielle's friend Sarah for brunch at Orange, we rang in the new year with several college friends, and got to see Lloyd Carr's final game from 48th-floor panoramic apartment.
However, one event on the morning of the 31st left a mark, pun intended, that was impressive in its cruel swiftness and magnitude. When we found my car outside of the Mulders' apartment, we discovered that about ten thousand birds -- why aren't you bastards south for the winter? -- had decided to savagely and relentlessly blast it with their colorful assortment of excrement. It looked like this after just 16 hours of being parked there:
A "silver" level car wash, a blizzard, and a rainstorm later, and it's still not all off.