Lovely Weather We’re Having

Chicago weather can fuck off and die. I don’t care about your weather–it isn’t as bad as ours. Except Minneapolis, 6 inches of snow on April 11th is poop. 40 goddamned degrees on April 12th. Rain. Rain all Martha Focking week (if you recognize that Meet the Parents reference, you rock). Rain all next fucking week. High of 46 on April 16th. Temperatures soar to a high of 48 on April 17th. I guess we get to play a little “just the tip, see how it feels” on Sunday with a 66 print, but it’s gonna be cloudy. Big mean looking cloud just staring you right in the tits for Sunday on the iPhone weather app. I actually considered throwing my iPhone into the Chicago River two days ago as furious, malevolent and cold rain pissed down upon me from a God-forsaken sky in torrents. After a moment of consideration I realized that this wasn’t the iPhone’s fault. It is Steve Jobs’ fault, but he is no longer here to feel my wrath. And here is the goddamned thing: This is going to continue for another 6-8 weeks. No spring here in the Windy City. Nosirfuckingree. 47 and rain one day gives way to 93 and humid the following. Just a giant shit sandwich and we all have to take a bite. Get in there, get in that sandwich and getcha a nice big chunk of shit, boy. You become this time of year, much like the weather; mean, gray, bitter and joyless.

“How ya doing Paul?”

“Freezing my nards off Larry, yourself?”

“Fuck you for asking.”

“Yeah, you go fuck yourself too.”

And so it goes. My neighbor Rob is my hero this time of year. You’ll see him on an evening such as this, outside with his kids in a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt. The wind whipping daggers of rain into his face at 43 degrees. Each year when I make reference to the fact that quite realistically he is at risk of hypothermia he defiantly responds, “It is spring, I put my winter clothes away. There is no turning back.” I wish I had Rob’s spirit and positive attitude. I do not. I’m one of those cold, cruel souls of whom Teddy Roosevelt spoke. In some ways spring is worse than winter here. At least in winter your body and your spirit know that it is time to be miserable–thus easier to adapt. Spring is but a mean-spirited dick tease who teases merely for sport and no personal gain. Your soul knows that pleasant weather is on the schedule but alas never shows. You wait each year like the little girl after soccer practice who knows that her single mother is at the bar in the middle of one of a litany of tail-for-vicodin negotiations, thinking this time might be the time she shows up before coach has to leave to go home to his own family, when only the onslaught of brisk rain announces that she must make her way alone powered by her own feet, a Gino’s Pizza Rolls dinner the only warmth she’ll experience this night. It’s a lovely evening. Get out there and enjoy the weather while it lasts–it will be gone by late June.

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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