By the way, I don't know how to dance. And I'm writing about it. Writing about trying to learn how to move my feet in a somewhat scientific, yet artistic way, so as to woo Fiancee (TM) for our wedding in October. You might say I'm getting a real early start at this thing -- but I've you've seen me trying to cut some rug, you wouldn't question my decision.

Had my first class last night. After 1 full hour of instruction, I still tripped over my own feet during every song --- even more embarrassing, or awkward rather, I flew solo. That's right. Took the class by myself, and ended up dancing the entire night with my male dance teacher (oh, ho, Buddy -- don't worry, he's married.)

Trying to put this into words that might be read in a magazine is a little more difficult than spewing them up on this screen, so I'm trying to get my bearings straight before I tackle it full-on. Good luck to me - I've got approximately 3 hours to get this thing done before I'm off to O'Hare to pick up Fiancee (TM) and her many pieces of luggage.

It's finally turning back into winter here in Chicago -- just in time for my girl to stop into town. I still don't think they believe me that it was 64 degrees on Wednesday.

Oh well -- ignorance is bliss, yes? Afterall, if they believed me they'd probably end up resenting me for my lavish surroundings in the 2nd City while they're up in the frozen tundra that is Minnesota (by the way, the high today is supposed to be (-2), with a low of (-22). Yeah - have fun with that.