Snow is a Paean
It snowed this morning. I'm not talking about the kind of snow that drifts gently down on the wind and settles ever so gracefully on your window while you stare outside, mug of hot cocoa in hand, and dream wistfully of white Christmases. I'm talking about the kind of snow that grabs your face and makes sweet, brutal love to it while the wind blows by and snickers at your defilement. I wasn't even expecting it to snow. Sure, the thermometer provided by that damned Weatherbug (May its soul and insufferable dings rot in some cold level of hell) showed a thirty-degree reading, but the weather has been colder this week and blue skies have been gleaming for awhile. It may have been cold but the colour outside radiated a small glimmer of spring. I've been hunkering down and praying that at some point, the weather would rise over fifty degrees. And it did, actually, this Sunday. We hit seventy and the town literally rejoiced. I could have sat outside all day and ogled the various girls taking advantage of the warm weather to put on nice, tight clothes and go for a run, but I went out with a friend and had my own kind of fun. That makes today's weather incursion particularly galling (for photo evidence, see http://daedalusfalling.blogspot.com) and I stood outside for some time shaking my very covered first at the sky. That didn't do much, I'm afraid, and I eventually found myself covered with a fine layer of snow.
Ma Nature: 1.
Jon: 0.
After midterms, the snow turned to hail. Ma Nature knew exactly what I needed after a blue-book midterm, a bunch of little rocks pelting me from the heavens. I think there are angels up there macking on popcorn and laughing at my misery.
Right now, it's raining. Beh.
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Given the lousiness of my morning and the agony that is a blue-book midterm (my poor hands), it is only natural that I needed a grease fix. If y'all know me, then you know a grease fix means Micheleos.
I've written about Micheleos every so often. They have the best deep dish pizza outside Chicago. I'm convinced that they import Chicago grease and pump it into their cheeses. It's the only way that a Micheleo's deep dish can taste so authentic. When my family comes here in May to see me graduate (Oh lord, that's two months away), they will be required to eat at Micheleo's with me. I'm not going to Phoenix without the proper amount of Chicago grease in me. Granted, my parents house is near a Rosatti's, which was our favorite chain back in the 'burbs, but the pizza doesn't have the same authentic taste as a Chicago style pizza. That's because it doesn't have Chicago-grease.
The pizza, while the closest thing to sex on the beach as one can get, isn't the entire appeal of Micheleo's. The decor holds as much significance to me as the food. Micheleo's environment reminds me of the pizza parlors my family used to visit when I was a kid. In other words, it looks like it's straight out of the 70s, and 80s, and as such, carries that unique Midwestern flair that compels me to wonder if I'll ever find something similar out on the west coast.
The walls of Micheleo's are wood paneled, with tar-stained tan wallpaper that stretches from wood panel to wood ceiling. From the wall hangs various stained glass apparel advertising Michelob beer (all we need is an old style ad, and we're back on the south side). In the corner of the restaurant are old arcade machines and a few pinball machines. Opposing the bling of the pinball machine is a jukebox, and a dart board that I played with once and immediately stopped because the speakers on the thing are turned so that a bad throw becomes a bad show to most of downtown Normal. In the middle of the restaurant are chairs anchored by a faux-wood table and on either side of the restaurant are studded leather benches adorned by a faux-wood table attached to the wall. The ordering station is nothing more than a half-wooden wall that can be stepped behind to reach a beer station, a pizza station, and a pop-dispensing machine. The menu is on the wall and the letters are affixed through means of plastic hooks on the back of each letter.
Tell me, isn't that a pizza parlor, or what?
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I have begun taking my pictures of the day. I'm not quite sure how that will transfer over to my Livejournal blog, but I'll figure something out. I'm sure a link can be provided easily.
For those of you wondering, my camera is a Sony Cybershot 4.1 Megapixel. No flash is on, and red-eye is off. As I gain better technical understanding of my camera, I'll begin manipulating the options more. For now, the simple point and click features are good enough for me. One day, I might invest in filters. That will be exciting.
-------
Come on baby, light my fire. Please? Pretty please?
Ma Nature: 1.
Jon: 0.
After midterms, the snow turned to hail. Ma Nature knew exactly what I needed after a blue-book midterm, a bunch of little rocks pelting me from the heavens. I think there are angels up there macking on popcorn and laughing at my misery.
Right now, it's raining. Beh.
------
Given the lousiness of my morning and the agony that is a blue-book midterm (my poor hands), it is only natural that I needed a grease fix. If y'all know me, then you know a grease fix means Micheleos.
I've written about Micheleos every so often. They have the best deep dish pizza outside Chicago. I'm convinced that they import Chicago grease and pump it into their cheeses. It's the only way that a Micheleo's deep dish can taste so authentic. When my family comes here in May to see me graduate (Oh lord, that's two months away), they will be required to eat at Micheleo's with me. I'm not going to Phoenix without the proper amount of Chicago grease in me. Granted, my parents house is near a Rosatti's, which was our favorite chain back in the 'burbs, but the pizza doesn't have the same authentic taste as a Chicago style pizza. That's because it doesn't have Chicago-grease.
The pizza, while the closest thing to sex on the beach as one can get, isn't the entire appeal of Micheleo's. The decor holds as much significance to me as the food. Micheleo's environment reminds me of the pizza parlors my family used to visit when I was a kid. In other words, it looks like it's straight out of the 70s, and 80s, and as such, carries that unique Midwestern flair that compels me to wonder if I'll ever find something similar out on the west coast.
The walls of Micheleo's are wood paneled, with tar-stained tan wallpaper that stretches from wood panel to wood ceiling. From the wall hangs various stained glass apparel advertising Michelob beer (all we need is an old style ad, and we're back on the south side). In the corner of the restaurant are old arcade machines and a few pinball machines. Opposing the bling of the pinball machine is a jukebox, and a dart board that I played with once and immediately stopped because the speakers on the thing are turned so that a bad throw becomes a bad show to most of downtown Normal. In the middle of the restaurant are chairs anchored by a faux-wood table and on either side of the restaurant are studded leather benches adorned by a faux-wood table attached to the wall. The ordering station is nothing more than a half-wooden wall that can be stepped behind to reach a beer station, a pizza station, and a pop-dispensing machine. The menu is on the wall and the letters are affixed through means of plastic hooks on the back of each letter.
Tell me, isn't that a pizza parlor, or what?
--------
I have begun taking my pictures of the day. I'm not quite sure how that will transfer over to my Livejournal blog, but I'll figure something out. I'm sure a link can be provided easily.
For those of you wondering, my camera is a Sony Cybershot 4.1 Megapixel. No flash is on, and red-eye is off. As I gain better technical understanding of my camera, I'll begin manipulating the options more. For now, the simple point and click features are good enough for me. One day, I might invest in filters. That will be exciting.
-------
Come on baby, light my fire. Please? Pretty please?
posted by Jon at 1:48 PM
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