Stating the obvious

Clearly it’s hot out. I don’t think it needs to be said, other than a few facts, of course. Today in Chicago marks the first day since 2007 that it’s projected to hit a high temperature of 97 degrees. The heat index indicates it will feel like 103 degrees. To be honest, I’m not sure what a heat index is, after 95 degrees you could just call it hot and that would be enough for me.

“What’s it like out?”

“Hot.”

“I can dig it.”

The dilemma facing most of us is what the hell we should wear to try and keep cool?  Being a regular American male I love it when it’s hot purely for the fact that women tend to show a bit more skin. I am completely addicted to women and this hot weather only serves my addiction. Thank you women, you are beautiful and I suggest you keep it up.  The downside is that I must wear long pants, a collared shirt, dress shoes (which I skipped today) and walk in the shade so I don’t show up to work surfing a wave of my own sweat.

Summer is only good on the weekends. Working on these long summer days is cruel and makes the summer feel like something you once knew, long ago, but now it’s more of a cherished memory. (Unless you're going out every summer night, then my apologies and cheers)

For me, however, summer really only got fun when I was a teenager. I was in a work camp, I mean Day Camp, for a lot of my youthful summers and I hated it and attempted to ditch on several occasions. I just wasn’t a joiner and most of the kids in that camp seemed to be the failed cloning experiments of the cast of The Dirty Dozen. There was something wrong with nearly all of those kids. I remember my camp counselor had terrible burns all over his legs. Another counselor called everyone, "Melvins". It was not fun. I resented being there.

Once I was released from that summer orphanage and was able to hang with my actual school friends it got better. Then the adventures started, mostly consisting of walking around our neighborhood and then stopping at the news stand store to browse comic books for hours. A lot of the time we played over at my friend Matt’s. A lot of games of catch and running around his neighborhood, going to the Sears to cool off in their blissful air conditioning, maybe going to the movies. We managed to fill our days pretty well.

The summers in high school were better though. We were older and truly felt our immortality. We stayed up late on summer nights on Amanda’s porch or walked the train tracks going from one friend’s house to another. Of course, most of us started enjoying alcohol at that point and those summer nights became legendary, almost something of myth, since I can’t remember most of the details now.

Then, we had to grow up and realize there was no summer vacation anymore. Those days were gone and it was time to become a more productive member of adult society. (I’m still not sure what I’ve contributed to at this point.)

I’m not regretful however, I know those past summers were exactly what they were supposed to be and there’s no going back and I’m okay with it. In fact, now that summer has revealed her flame drenched face I’m happy to greet her. If anything, I admire her bravery at wearing that rather revealing tube top dress. Hubba-hubba. Here’s to Summer.