It’s June 14th 15th. We’re one day away from my self-imposed deadline on vastly improved weather here in Chicago. I’ve said often and to anyone who’ll listen – the second week in June is the latest I will personally accept for the summer’s arrival in Chicago.
A stupid, stupid forecast.
Don’t get me wrong, summer has visited Chicago – the trouble is, it’s acted liked it’s just stopped through on part of a road trip to somewhere much, much better. Generally, I think the weather in Chicago is totally unreasonable, and so within this bizarre system, I’ve imposed my own rules and deadlines. Summer’s arrival by no later than the second week in June – that’s one of my rules.
Because the weather hasn’t gotten its act together thus far, I want to offer it fair warning: get here by tomorrow or you can expect a very-strongly-worded-letter to arrive very shortly. I’ve got a few other tricks up my sleeve, including moving the weather app to the dock of my iPhone, just so I can keep a closer eye on just what the weather thinks it’s doing.
I'm keeping tabs on you, weather.
Beyond that, I’m considering a personal phone call to my alderman, the honorable Gene Schulter, and should none of these techniques yield the necessary results, then I will be forced to go on strike. I’m not sure what I’ll be striking from, but I’ll definitely figure something out. And the weather, I can assure you, will not be happy about it.
Weather, you’ve just been put on notice.
