Full Da-da Jacket

At least it's snowing in Da-da's mind... which explains a lot.

Da-da loves jackets. He loves coats. He loves snowsuits. He loves storms. He must have ten coats and jackets and snowsuits and stormgear in all manner of protective awesomeness -- outerwear that hangs in Da-da's closet majestically, one of the few things he's actually hung up properly (according to the female part of the marriage equation). Nonetheless, it's READY for that howling blizzard in the snowcat, or that hurricane stint in the lighthouse off deadman's point, or available 24/7 for that impossible mission through iimpossible odds and elements. Alas, there's no weather where Da-da lives [sniff]. None. IT'S NEVER COLD where Da-da lives, nor does the wind blow more than maybe two days a year. There's no interesting weather at all. No snow. No tornadoes. No terrifying storm surge. No bleedingly cold arctic blasts to suck all the heat from Da-da's overheated bones... nothing, intercourse the penguin.

Da-da's body was built for subzero temperatures: cutting wind, freezing rain, sleet stuck in your sclera, etc., you get the idea. Da-da is HOT, goddamit. He has hair on his chest -- not in a Nicholas Cage "Valley Girl" heart configuration kinda way -- we're talking manly, animalistic grizzly hair. Ok, Da-da just grossed himself out. He's actually not that hirsute (not like Cousin Bieber and the Bieberites, brrr). But as you may have gathered, he has hair and muscle and blood and bulk (yes, and that terrifying steeeely eye) enough to cause any draft board make him into a sergeant on the spot... which would work if he weren't already A MAJOR DISASTER. Salute when you say that, Corporal Timmy.

Anyway, Da-da loathes where he lives (he won't say where), as it's just not cold enough for Da-da's liking, certainly never cold enough to wear any of his smokin' jackets (the one with Cher on it is SOOO awesome, but not nearly as awesome as his Native American PAINTED ROCKSTAR KISS guy jacket, whoa). Besides the lack of cold weather (or any weather), there are also no decent delis, no Greek food. (No falafel!) No decent Chicago deep-dish pizza to speak of. One bar that serves $20 martinis (olives optional). Worse than that, there are only two jews and one gay man within 50 miles -- and they're the same guy! -- so there's hardly anyone funny to converse with. (Sorry, gay folks and jews are funnier than regular people. No idea why. Sure, CHAD, Protestant Rotarians ARE a little funny, but not in the way you might think.) Jeez, what was Da-da bitching about again? He's not sure, but he'd clearly be happier in a chilly adjacent universe with 99% employment and 2-D movies and phones that ring on the wall and funny smart wry people who read actual books while sipping $1 glasses of high quality single malt scotch in bars that give away deep dish pizza and falafel just for drinking there... you know, the Full Da-da Jacket. Straight, no chaser. Wait... Da-da's crew is here. So long, everyone!

Da-da and friends are heading out for a drink and a nosh in the 8th dimension!

For the Love of the (SNOW) Game

Da-da (white coat) gets a moon pie from a friendly passerby.

Being a high-powered mutant hatched atop some Godforsaken roof-of-the-world desert where the wind howls 60 mph every day is kinda fun (in a painful way), and because of this soothing environment, Da-da of course LOVES rain, snow, fog, wind, hail, freezing cold, and really any weather that makes you hang onto something heavy so you don't vanish into the screaming void (which describes parenthood quite well, ahem). Anyway, much to his family's dismay, Da-da is consequently impervious to cold and really any weather except HEAT (heat being Da-da kryptonite).

What Da-da loves most of all are SNOW GAMES. Snowy football games. Football games played IN THE SNOW. Is this clear, yet? Football games (and tailgate parties) played in blizzards, the freezing muck, the ice, the fog, the driving rain, the lava, the toads, pyroclastic flows, etc. Love it.

Indeed, Da-da's not so much of fan of teams (which have fallen to mere BRAND status these days), but of open-air stadiums. If Da-da had endless moolah, he would regularly be seen at outdoor stadiums like Soldier Field, Lambeau Field, Heinz Field, Potter's Field, etc. Old fashioned, raw-knuckled, missing-teeth and -limbs kinda tombstone-y stadiums, where the chill-wind hakken kraks howl so fiercely that you can't feel your -- or anyone else's -- thighs, anymore. The kinda place where you start seriously thinking that it might actually be a good thing to wear a giant fake cheese on your head.

People stop Da-da on the street all the time (esp. the police) and inquire as to why he loves watching snow games so much. Is it simply the love of nasty weather? The festive, snuggly winter triumph of tenacious life over death? No, officer, it's quite simple:

Da-da LOVES to see millionaires suffer. 

 Watch as they slip and slide, fall down... boom. (Da-da likes to see billionaires suffer, too, but they seem to have the smarts to stay inside, buncha pansies.) Da-da would say his heart goes out to those poor schmoes playing in the elements who make the league minimum ($325k), but that's $325k more than Da-da makes, so they can shiver and bleed and eat snow like the rest. (Truth-be-told, Da-da loves everyone. Everyone is Da-da's brother. He's just a little grumpy. Children do this to you.)

Da-da's beyond old school. He's more stone age school, a snowy schadenfreude that demands all football and baseball and hockey games be played above the arctic circle, surrounded by hungry polar bears and fans on old Russian tanks, the game played endlessly until one team succumbs to either the elements, or the toothy fauna, whichever comes first. The survivors are then frozen till next season, which saves everyone time and money on off-season shenangians.

Da-da's gotta go. It's time for his two-hour soak in the Neva River.

What? You didn't know Da-da was hot?