Fraters Libertas

The Weather Report

Spring has arrived in Minnesota and I’m being reacquainted with the perils of good weather. Take yesterday, for example, a perfect storm of pleasant conditions. It was sunny, warm (around 65 degrees), I had the day off, it was my birthday, and it was opening day of baseball season. A sublime set of circumstances which demanded one course of action - going to McDonalds for breakfast.

I slept in late, then dragged my unwashed, unshaven self into the car and proceeded to the Golden Arches on West 7th. On the way there, the mouthwatering, exquisite combination of a Sausage McMuffin with Egg, three hashbrowns, a carton of milk was much on my mind and I was feeling like a million bucks. Which was promptly reduced to $999,895 as soon as the cause of the flashing lights in my rearview mirror was properly explained to me.

I got a $105 speeding ticket, not three blocks from my very own home. St. Paul's finest had a speed trap set up on St. Clair and I got ensnared. The grim little man who gave me the ticket claimed the neighborhood had been complaining about high speeds in this area. To which, I responded: "Lies! I am the neighborhood! We love speeders! Lies! Lies!"

Actually I said something like "Really? That's interesting. But do you have to give me a ticket on my birthday?" He said "Really, I do." And that, as they say, was that.

I blame it all on the weather, because if it would have been icy and snowy and miserable out, I wouldn’t have been accused of going 45 MPH in a 30 zone. It would have been more like 43 MPH. (Although I admit to nothing, before the disposition of my case is settled).

Then today, another weather related mishap. Coming home from work, cruising down Grand Avenue on an even warmer, sunnier day than yesterday. An Elvis CD crooning from the speakers and on my mind the thought of my forthcoming dinner (a grilled ball tip sirloin from Kowalski’s). Again, life was perfect. Then it got a little better as I passed the Purple Onion and spied a beautiful blonde coming down the sidewalk, bathed in sunlight, and wearing black high heeled boots, knee high black stockings and a short, short black miniskirt. No, Grand Avenue hasn’t suddenly become the red light district (that's still somewhere over by Mitch Berg's house). That outfit is, in fact, the required waitress uniform at the Purple Onion.

I of course responded to her in the only civilized, reasonable manner possible. By saying to myself “yagada yagada yagada yagada!” But the thing is, I really said that to myself, out loud and loudly. Which is all well and fine when it’s 20 degrees outside and the vehicle is hermetically sealed. But today it was 70 degrees and as all heads turned my way I remembered that, although my windows were up, my sunroof was DOWN. And she and the other 6 people on the sidewalk heard my editorial remarks.

If it were still the dead of winter, the roof would have been closed, I would still be known as that cool cat and smooth operator everyone reading Fraters Libertas knows and loves. But now I’m marked as some sort of babbling, lascivious jerk and I may not be able to show my face in the Purple Onion for months. Spring, who needs it.