"It's the fans that need spring training. You gotta get 'em interested. Wake 'em up and let 'em know that their season is coming, the good times are gonna roll."
---------Harry Caray

Our season is nearly here, and yes, the good times are already rolling here in Chicago. Spring does strange things to people, to be sure.

Now, let's jump right into Springtime phenomena Part I: New beginnings.

Today I began my voyage into newsroom reporting. Somehow, after the first six hours of the introductory portion of the course, I'm left with intense feelings of excitement and fear. This is the time, afterall, that will shape my career. Do I perform well in this class and next quarter in Washington, my job prospects and the chance to settle in my desired city of residence improve. Do I perform averagely or even poorly, my future is less clear.

To state the obvious: It's Go Time. The Time is Now. Buck up, Frosty.

Now, on to the other Springtime phenomena, which we'll cleverly refer to as Springtime Phenomena Part II: There must be something in the air.

I spoke with no less than four random people today, not initiating any conversation myself. Apparently, people in Chicago are so happy they're not wearing parkas that they want to tell me about it. Great.

Some girl on the bus this morning kept giving me that eye. You know, The Eye. I never get The Eye anymore. Strangely, we both deboarded the bus at the same stop, and she asked me if I "worked downtown."

Hmmm... I'm thinking... what in the hell is going on here? Is this a cruel joke? No one ever talks to anyone randomly anywhere near a CTA in Chicago, especially a well-dressed, good-looking woman. It just doesn't happen, unless, of course, the person is a "crazy person." You know --- one of those "not quite right" folks.

Anyway, I told her that, no, I did not work downtown, but was attending classes at Medill, and will be reporting for the Medill News Service this spring.

"Oh that's so great," she replied. "Do you always take the Clark bus?"

"Sure do."

"Well, maybe I'll see you again sometime," she continued, as she dashed across the street. "Bye!"

Umm... "bye?"

I'm throroughly confused by all of this. It completely threw off my morning. I'm pretty sure I had the Dickie Cronkite "are you serious, you're not going to publish my story" face going for a good two hours.

After leaving the newsroom at around 4:00 p.m., I received attempts at more small talk at the bus stop.

Both were conversations that went something like this:
"Boy, it sure is windy today -- and warm."

"Yeah, sure is."

Now, I'm completely dumbfounded. I'm not sure if I'm in some bizarro Western Minnesota small town dressed like Chicago. The "Dickie Face" is back.

Finally, after getting off the bus and beginning my three-block walk to Studio Apartment (TM), I'm looking down at my feet, making sure not to A) take a wind-blown pebble in the eye or B) trip on one of those Satanic exhumed bricks, I hear some chatter right behind me. Naturally, I look back, and it's this blonde girl following me and talking to me... Now what in the hell is going on here?

She continues to go on this rampage about taking public transportation in Chicago, and how she always gets stuck next to "The Crazy Person," who asks her if she's Swedish (which later I learned -- unsolicited -- that she is, indeed Swedish.)

Well, I'm thinking, No shit. You're very blonde and pretty with a moon face. You're probably Swedish. Seems harmless enough, if not annoying. But the thing is, she's telling ME all about it.

I responded and told her that I usually get stuck next to the guy who either smells like A) Severe B.O. B) Urine or C) Like he shit his pants (which happened to be the case today.) She laughed and caught up to my pace, all of the sudden intensely interested in the conversation. It was like we found out we went to grade school together or something --- but we didn't.

After the quick, confusing two-block conversation, we parted ways, and she told me that she'd "probably see you soon."

WHAT? No I won't! I will not see you again. Stop this insanity, Women of Chicago. Why are you talking to me?

I'd rather continue my recluse ways and my newly found introversion, if only for my own personal comfort.

This is all too confusing. I'm convinced that Spring is, indeed, responsible for all of this. Now, I seem to remember strange behavior popping up all over my former home around this time of the year, and it appears that Spring Fever has it's hold on everyone who lives in an at least semi-cold winter climates.

What the Hell. As long as it means baseball starts in less than a week, I'm happy.

And, a bit of advice: Don't be afraid if people start talking to you for no apparent reason. At least, I don't THINK they're crazy...