Rugged Chicagoans

If there's one thing Chicagoans love, it's a good hot dog. But if there's two things Chicagoans love, the other one is to brag about how awful our weather is. Summers are impossibly humid. Spring is one long thunderstorm. And winter is the best of all. You've got your wind. You've got your snow. You've got your salt and slush and muck. It's everything a rugged Chicagoan could ask for in terms of conversational topics. How many times did you clean off your car today? What do you use to melt the ice off your steps? How do you block up the drafty old windows in your 100-year-old bungalow? How long did it take you to dig out a parking space on the street? Which items did you use to hold said space while you drove down to the Jewel? Cardboard boxes are no good, they get soggy, you've gotta use the plastic patio chairs. And god help the man that tries to move those chairs illicitly. He's going to get Tony and Leon and Mac all coming after him with snow shovels.

Chicago weather a matter of pride. You don't complain about how cold it is, you just mention how great your new hat is with the synthetic lining and it was only $3 at Walgreens. You don't whine about last night's snowstorm, you tell the story about that one time when you were a kid and it snowed so bad and your friend's drunk mom was trying to make it down the street in her huge ancient Caddy and it got stuck halfway and the neighbors came to dig her out and she was screaming at them like it was their fault there was a foot and a half of snow. You revel in the brutal conditions like you're a descendant of the Vikings.

It isn't until you're 60 or so that you finally get smart and head to Arizona until April.