We got airplane rides
We got California drowning out the window side

We got big black cars
And we got stories 'how we slept with all the movie stars

--Counting Crows

Times have changed
and times are strange
here I come but I'm not the same

Mama I'm comin' home...

--Ozzy Osbourne


("Could you pass the oxy-contin?")

--Jack Osbourne


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I'm a wee bit tipsy right now. You'll excuse me. Right now I feel like the luckiest guy around. Quarter One is D-U-N done. I'm stoked to be going home. At the same time, I'm stoked at this city I still get another six months or so to explore. I just love Chicago. What a fucking city. 'Just perfect...(he says, until he flies back in a month's time, smack in the middle of winter.)

In case you didn't notice I love to bitch, and the weather here affords me the opportunity to bitch all the friggin' time! Giddyup!!

There's something cosmic about this place. It's where my pops decided to jump ship on the priesthood (which, to be perfectly selfish, always makes me breathe a sigh of relief.) It's where my folks met. It's where they got married, down at U-of-C on the South Side.

It's where I just hung out at cool lil' holes-in-the-wall, including the Matchbox, the Elbo Room, and the Rip Tide.

It's where my new friends turn out to be, tragically, Kevin McHale fans. When Scott and Frosty didn't return from the downstairs portion of the Elbo room tonight, I sent my Spanish buddy Rafa to ask them "Which one of you was Bird and which was McHale?" You can't put a price tag on these invaluable opportunities.

And now, I have three weeks off. Three weeks to be utterly useless to my friends, family and girlfriend. The Lord is indeed kind and merciful.

Now, if I could only find a way to fit my Xbox in my luggage... Of course, as I write this Cronkette is undoubtedly praying that I fail in this heroic endeavour.

We'll see how it turns out.

G'night.