A few weeks back (the 12th, I believe) Jake, Ritz/Nate-Cracker and I grilled fruit-flavored and thai-sauce-marinated sausages over Polish charcoal on a freezing spring evening. This whole event really brought back some memories. Miserable Montrose grilling must transpire at least once a year!

Right at the cusp of the Romantic Quality (wikipedia may be way off base on this one but it's not my place to apologize) as per usual, The Zeitgeist has already touched, albeit rather esoterically, on today's subject matter.

Yet I must expound, briefly.

What are some components of a citybeast? A citybeast, like a Ubiquitously Applicable Moniker, must carry universal appeal. It speaks to all; for instance womens, children, menfolk, peons and royalty. But what is it? It is a beast. Additionally, it is an assembly of people -- civilization on some level (metropolis, county seat, suburb, gated community). Some examples:

1) Phoenix (AZ)
2) The Canaries
3) Buffalo Grove
4) Deerfield
5) Turkey

So on yesterday's replay of A Prairie Home Companion, Billy Collins read this nice little ditty featuring such locales as Pheasant Ridge, Quail Falls and Fox Run. And though I appreciated the solo ruminations BC's reading elicited in me, it really hit home that few CBs can quite trump the clout of The Canaries. Am I right? Yes.

However, if you are thinking, "I can trump that clout. Just let me at it. Just give me the ways and means for founding my own citybeast," then look no further than your local Bestiary, friends, and godspeed.

Last Monday was my birthday, and it was fun. My friend Haruki just reminded me via email that as an unmarried female member of the quarter-centuty club, I am -- in the eyes of Japanese culture -- a metaphorical piece of crusty, discounted Christmas cake, still on the shelf after December 25th. Delicious!

After approx fifty-four weeks, today is my first day unfettered from the railcar industry. Though I'm working elsewhere from Wednesday to Wednesday, this emancipation of a sort feels incredibly good. I'm currently bunking in my friend Danielle's Phoenix Lounge, and since the day is sunny and the wireless extends through the garden, I'm perched out back on a weather-worn picnic table and am listening to the marching band down the street complemented by the pleasant scraping of winchimes on the back porch. It almost doesn't feel like the city, except for the cars and airplanes and construction. But still, it's a glorious little milieu for blogging. Additionally, there's a mangy ginger tabby (no Maoxie, but a nice presence nonetheless) writhing blissfully here in the grass, and an angry squirrell hurlinng bits and pieces at it from the tree above. Nature verses Nature!

I dragged Danielle to Meditation clazz with me last Tuesday, which was interesting. There are three more installments over the next weeks, so I'll be sure to update. Our sensei, a Bob Brown or Frank Costanza to the naked eye, proclaimed his moniker as something Sanskrit-sounding, like Siddhartha or Sanjaya or (our preference by far) SiVaVaJayJay. Despite our displayed irreverence and my admitted (but normal and valid, I think) skepticism, I'm somewhat intrigued by the whole process. My sincere goal is to figure out how to get totally zenned out whilst yoga-ing. I think it's possible.

In that vein I'm about three-fifths of the way through Robert Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and it is completely not what I'd expected. But it IS great, and is stretching my jellowey (wow, that should definitely be a word. Consider it coined NOW) brain in all sorts of weird ways.

Presently I'll have some funny pictures from such events as: It's Fun To Grill Meats At The Harbour 2007, Ultimate Fifth Place Spring Championship 2007, Birthday 2007 and Last Day Happy Hour 2007. Until then, then.

While filling out my CBF survey I found myself bumped up to the 25-34 age bracket from the 18-24. Seriously, what do I have in common with the average 34-year-old? A LOT, apparently. Shocking.

Character 1: Baldish fellow clad in camouflaged cutoffs, tie-dyed boxers (revealed top edge), TEVAs and a zip-up fleece.
Character 2: Eliz in a turtleneck, cutoff pants and flip-flops.
Scene: Both are on cycles, waiting to cross W North Ave heading south on Wells. It's Wednesday, May 16, 2007, 8:45 a.m.

Fellow: Woah, you’re wearing less than me!
Eliz: (coughs) Pardon?
Fellow: Clothes-wise; less than me. It’s rare. And impressive.
Eliz: (stretches toes) Well, the air feels so good today. Less is better.
Fellow: You've got that right!

The streetlight turns green and they zoom off into the loop.

This picture was taken just before Maoxie's exile to the suburbs in order to encapsulate everything Jake and Maoxie have shared and will share over the years. It didn't turn out quite as well as some family portraits of yore, so mostly I like to look at it as a pictoral allegory. Is this a fair approach? Hm. Indulge me. On the left we have Maoxie, blitzing for the windowsill in order to seek stimuli from the outside. On the right is Jake, yearing to embrace our little feline, but also understanding xer otherworldly needs. Finally, in the background hover several overbearing, unbearably dull and yet steady images of rolling stock. Interpret the overall package as you will; it speaks to me in unprecedented ways. The whimsical yet strikingly clear boxcar aura wreathing Maoxie's furry head cuts with the sharpness of Phaedrus's blade, coring a sphere into eighths. Call me crazy.

Upon receiving some deliciously lovely news on Thursday evening, off were kicked three full-on days of celebration and etc. I made some phone calls to friends & fam (mom and dad were prepping to jet off to Zion & Dave to the UK but they were all excited for me, briefly) followed by episodes of The Office and part of Napoleon Dynamite complimented by a large rectangular prism of Bombay Sapphire.

On Friday, after a very validating (I'll be living it up in the railcar industry for 10 more working days ONLY) happy hour and a phone call from sweet Meggie-Chan in Melbourne, I blitzed on over to Kim & Vikki's for a relatively low-key evening of some Hennessey and Catchphrase.

Saturday started early; at 8:45ish me, two Jakes, Oess, a double-bagged grill, two Gander Mountain chairs and a tight-weave afghan crammed into my car for a trip out to Schiller Forest. Our Ultimate team won our first game but lost the second with a heart-wrenching 13-12 result. Ugh. Alas. Afterward we singed the grass in the park 'neath Otter's cylindrical grill as scrumptious meat-flavored soy products lofted their tantalizing aromas amongst the whizzing frisbees. Nicknames were coined (Albatross Woods, the Gazelle, Veronica Corningstone), oreos grilled, eleven poppyseed scones sampled, beer poured on crotches and cinnamon-flavored sweet potato crisps reviled. After a much-needed shower and etc there were kegs and margueritas.

And that, friends, is the comprehensive report. Today: His Holiness the Dalai Lama if he'll have us. Sweet!

Last night's 8:15 - 9:45 Bikram was exactly what was necessary to soothe my bruised self after two-ish daysof HEAVY moving out of Andersonville. The instructor, a guy who's starting up a studio in Evanston, was excellent. Were I not slowly migrating toward the city center I'd consider making the E.Ston location my new home.

Filled with inspiration and post-Bikram vanilla Jell-O this morning, I caught the 7:01 Metra (a ROUSING first) and was at my desk by 7:20 -- shocking and homeric, both.