And welcome to Tuesday.
Yesterday’s move to the new building went fairly smoothly, and I’m settling into my new digs by throwing away the last of my junk and trying to make my desk appear to be that of an organized professional’s space.
Check back with me next week to see how that’s going.
I’ll admit though, moving just a few blocks west does change the scenery that I’ve grown accustomed to over the past six years.
For instance: when you spend most of your time on Michigan Avenue, you frequently encounter street performers who dress up in all-silver costumes and stand like statues while Michael Jackson plays from a tiny boom box.
Or you pass brigades of teenage boys drumming on overturned buckets with a crowd of touristy onlookers watching them, while elaborately-strung Christmas lights twinkle in the trees.
I used to grumble that these fine people were crowding the sidewalks with their American Girl bags and slow steps.
On Wabash yesterday, we were treated to an old, strange man beating drumsticks onto a newspaper box with no kind of beat to speak of, based on what we heard.
While leaving the building, a couple of weird characters catcalled my pals and I as we headed to catch the train.
And last, we passed a woman singing out loud, something that I believe included the lyrics “tired of this terrible life” on our way home.
This would never happen on the Avenue, someone whispered.
I sense a new kind of entertainment on the block, chicks.