I am a Colostomy Bag Half-Empty kind of guy, so I like to focus on what sucks about summer in Chicago.
Summer is too short, we try to pack too much in, and we hit critical mass too quickly. Think of a naval officer on shore leave who only has 24-hours in Bangkok to catch every single sexually transmitted disease. Is it really worth it?
We get about 60 good days of summer weather compared to 305 days of cold, so why bother? Granted, within 20 years temperatures will rise by 600%, and we'll see some hurricanes blow through here. But for now let's stop pretending that it's Miami in the Midwest.
5) Were You Outside Last Week?
Though we're only penis tip-deep into summer, on day 11 last week it was 55 fucking degrees. You should be able to see steam rising from the street that you're pissing on and not your breath. 60 good days of summer my ass.
4) There are More Potholes than Murders in This Town
Considering Chicago is currently the Murder Capital of the universe, the incidence of Potholes is pretty impressive. These infrastructural lesions blemish the streets in the city and the suburbs. Asphalt contracts in the cold and expands in the heat, producing potholes. No matter how you try to evade them--swerve or align your car perfectly so you can drive smoothly over them--you hit one or two or six. Your car lets you know with that smacking noise that causes you to yell "Fuck!" and pray you don't have a flat.
Sure they fix the roads, but the construction causes traffic which makes you only long for the original potholes.
3) I am Forced to Take My Children to the Pool
"Do you want to go to the pool," my wife asked a couple of Saturdays ago.
I didn't want to be a dick and say "Sure! I'll see you and the kids back here in two hours," even though that's exactly what I had in mind. Instead I frowned and said, "No, not really," managing to still be a dick.
"Okay," she said in a tone that conveyed exactly the opposite.
"Alright. We should go," I said. "Let's go. It'll be good for the kids."
We dressed the kids in their tropical bathing suits and sprayed them with SPF 45,000 until they were ready for six days of Burning Man. My wife packed enough snacks for a Sumo wrestler--because my children are little potheads--and an extra swimmer diaper in case the baby shit the pool.
The water was freezing because the aloof Millennials with perfect bodies forgot to switch on the heater. Since it had been a year between pool seasons, I almost forgot how to swim. I doggy paddled over to the kiddy section where it was unsurprisingly warmer and deep enough to conceal my torso that looks like a Cookie Puss.
I encouraged my six-year-old to pee to make it warmer still.
"Can I deuce also?" He asked.
"No. But I'll tell you what. I'll pee with you."
He smiled at me. "Okay, let's go. Let's do it."
And we soiled the pool.
2) Animals Eat Our Garden and Mutilate Other Animals
We moved to this house last year in the spring, and we were excited about our grow potential now that we had a backyard. Yes, when you're 38 with young children your dream of living abroad in Paris for a few years degenerates to growing a garden the size of the cemetery plot you will be buried in.
We planted cucumbers, squash, tomatoes, peppers, basil, oregano, sage, rosemary, cilantro, and thyme, only to watch half of it get devoured by skunks, rabbits and chipmunks.
Though skunks spray their stench all over town, it's the chipmunks that are the biggest assholes. I used to find them cute. Now I want to shoot them in their sneaky heads. Adding insult to our injured garden, these mendacious cunts burrow into the dirt and uproot everything we plant.
If that weren't bad enough, we also have to deal with satanic assassin owls. Last summer I woke up on separate mornings to find an eviscerated pigeon and beheaded rabbit in the backyard. It reminded me of scenes from The Believers back when Martin Sheen was hot. When we lived in the city, dead animals and dead bodies didn't bother me because they weren't my responsibility to clean up.
The pigeon's body lay on our patio baking in the sun. Its head, beak opened, balanced on the hose. The heart, which looked like an infant's pinky, hung out on a line of mortar dividing two bricks. Feathers were strewn everywhere.
"A professional did this," I told my wife in my detective voice.
Using all of our brooms and garden tools, I deposited the remains in a trash bag, brought the garbage out to the curb, and worried for the rest of the day that I'd catch the Avian Flu.
The rabbit death wasn't a big deal to me. It's puppet-like body was in the grass and the head at the base of a tree in the backyard.
"Karma's a bitch, ain't it?" I said to the head. "That's what you get for fucking with my garden."
I left the remains, hoping that the owls would finish it off over night before my kids made a new dead playmate. The owls cooperated, clearing the crime scene for me.
1) During the Dog Days of Summer, Chicagoans Yearn for "Hoodie Season"
As the charade we call spring tails off, we laugh how 50 degrees signals "shorts weather."
This tickles Chicagoans to death. "I took out the gaaarbage this morning, and my neighbor jaaagged by my caaar in just shorts and a t-shirt!"
LOL! What a Goddamn hoot!
Similarly, before the ten minutes of summer we've clamored for all year is over, we can't wait to throw over those hoodies that accentuate the fact that we are way too old to be wearing hoodies.
I'm sick of summer already.
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