Today I was out tooling around with SA, popping into some yarn shops in Evanston, indulging our inner gourmands at The Spice House (White Truffle Salt--my new love!), picking up coffee and tea at Peet's (their Decaf Sumatra beats the pants off any other decaf), having a Macrobiotic Plate at Blind Faith (thank you for bringing back the original vinaigrette for the steamed kale that you claimed you hadn't changed but you did even though you denied it on multiple previous visits), and stopping by Hancock's where holiday cottons were 75% off (hello, adorable holiday hostess apron for next year's Christmas Eve Party with the Feinsteins and the Cohens), when I looked down at the dash on the Jetta to discover--both to my delight and horror--that it was 67 degrees in Chicago on January 8! On one hand, how great was it to be out and about with no coat on?! On the other hand, yikes! This warm front did produce some pretty spectacular lightning this evening, but unseasonably warm weather is unsettling. I don't crave negative numbers, but a little nip in the air is appropriate. Sixty-seven?! Now that sends a chill down my spine. (So does that run-on sentence up there. Eh, go ahead, call the blog grammar police.)
Speaking of grammar police, does anyone else watch as much Law and Order on TNT as I do? (Tivo makes me watch, I swear!) Didya notice the ads for the Golden Globes? Our Friend the Apostrophe was making an unscheduled appearance in the spots they were running. The ad has since been corrected, but Hollywood was holding "it's" breath for a while. It reminded me of the Christmas when all of the windows at Marshall Field's boasted that the department store had "what your wishing for." They later managed to fit in an apostrophe and an e, but it looked all squishy. Oh, Apostrophe, you devilish little trickster!