I am going to say some very controversial things about the weather.
First, I hate season-jumpers. People who pull out the wool sweaters as soon as the temperature goes below 70. No matter that it's September 10th and a string of 80s are on tap, these people dress for the moment, not the calendar, and barely even the season.
Second, I hate people, especially Chicago people who suffer through long, endless, brutal winters, who are so eager to shove our short-lived summer out the door. Summer doesn't even reliably start around here until mid June or so and there's practically no spring at all. So people who spent six-plus months kvetching about the snow and the ice and the rain and the clouds and the lake winds are ready to give up on summer before it's barely 10 weeks old.
I have this theory that Chicago people, as crazy as they get when summer hits, exposing their pale, bloaty flesh, secretly aren't all that crazy about it. They may enjoy it at the time, but they're eager for it to get over with. They really just can't wait to have an excuse to stay inside the rest of the year's weekends watching football.
And as hearty as they are in winter, trudging through blizzards to shop and work and do errands, if it's 68 degrees in July the outdoor cafes are empty and if it's mostly cloudy, the lakefront is deserted.
Actors especially hate summer. They spend most of their time in dark, cold, windowless theaters. The sun scares and burns them.
Out-of-shape people, too. They just want to cover their bodies 24/7 in jeans and sweatshirts and hoodies, and the heat makes that difficult.
There, I said it. No socks or long pants 'til November!