The Chicago Winter drags. No doubt about it. I refused to complain, though, because everyone I know up here kept telling me, "You're going to hate the winter. It's the worst. Constant layers of clothes and blah, blah, blah." So, solely out of spite, I didn't complain about the cold. I just sucked it up and dealt with it.
About a month ago, however, I started getting antsy. It wasn't freezing, but the weather kept teasing me with a warm 65 degree day followed by a 40 degree day. It's like the 100 calorie packs of chips and cookies that some devilish marketing genius conjured up. Sure, the seventeen Baked Cheetos I just ate tasted good, and I enjoyed them, but just give me the whole fucking bag to gorge myself on. I was ready to gorge myself on warm weather because I was getting sick of this single serving shit.
Well, the warm weather is finally creeping up, and I'm beginning to get spoiled with its consistency, so I figured I'd construct a long overdue list of great warm weather occurrences, food, pleasures, etc (I probably did one of these last year too, but I just don't give a fuck, and my tastes may have changed):
-Decks, patios, porches, gazebos, or anything else I can stand on outside with my friends as I drink alcohol and smoke cigarettes.
-Mexican beer with lime and Bells Oberon.
-Bike riding all the time everyday.
-Sweat stains created from my messenger bag while riding my bike.
-Sweat and sweat stains all together.
-Rolled up jeans and flip-flops.
-Cut-off jean shorts and t-shirts.
-Motorcycle (and hopefully moped) riding.
-The baseball season and going to baseball games. If all goes well, I should be able to add Miller Park in Milwaukee and Nationals Park in Washington to my growing list of attended ballparks.
-Seven dollar nachos at ballgames.
-My annual late and failed attempt at any sort of tan.
-Occasionally not taking a shower after I go running in 90 degree heat and feeling the sweat dry.
-Music festival season and the perks from my job that go along with it.
-Tank-tops and sunglasses.
-Milkshakes, ice cream, and Italian ice.
-Walking to El Cid for veggie burritos.
-The sound of fireworks in the distance.
-Having that extra bounce in my step when I go running.
-Milwaukee Avenue getting sexy.
-Reading a book indoors with all the windows open.
-Consuming more fruit, particularly oranges and strawberries.
-Annual camping trip with the posse.
-Eating outside practically everywhere in Chicago.
-Logan Boulevard and the farmer's market.
-Listening to all forms of thrash while riding my bike.
-Sweatbands and no socks.
-Dirty, sweaty basement shows.
-Closing my bedroom door so that it's an icebox from the trapped air conditioning coolness.
-The smell (not the oily, shit feel) of sun tan lotion.
-Sunroofs and all windows down.
Finally, although summer is the best, it brings what has become an annual NFL offseason circus. Needless to say, I have to address my and Justin's most hated subject while the pot is still simmering. You guessed it, Brett Favre - the evils of all evils - is inundating ESPN right now. There are rumors of his possible return to the Vikings, the same team you may remember the Packers went to great lengths to keep him away from last year. Anyway, the team doesn't matter, or the fact that he's 39 with an arm that's falling off and really can only make bad decisions and throw interceptions when it does work just the slightest bit. It's Favre as a person. What are you doing to everyone Brett? Justin and I are pretty much fucking psychic geniuses because we cursed you years ago, before anyone else saw the absolute toil you were going to wrap the sports world and collective public in as you threatened retirement, retired, wanted to come back, came back, switched teams, failed, retired, and just didn't go the fuck away.
One thing I can root for is the sullying of any sort of good ole' Mississippi country persona that Favre has painstakingly built over his 18 years in the league. Brett, your ego has been shitting on your public persona for a couple of years, and now it just clogged the damn toilet. Congratulations fuckface, you've screwed your legacy (just like Manny Ramirez . . . but that's a whole other topic).
Reports from Favre's agent have very recently surfaced to quell any sort of Vikings talk, but I'll believe that when I don't see Brett Favre on a sideline in the fall. For now, I'm not buying it. Favre continues to be the amazingly beautiful girl at the party that no one's talking to. Confounded, you go talk to her, hit it off, and consequently wake up with genital warts. Sometimes it's best to just stay away.
Just stay away.