Wednesday, April 9, 2003

Once upon a time, gentle reader, on a warm, brilliant evening, I strolled along the Lakeshore arm in arm with someone I loved very much. The conversation–quiet, intense, meandering–was engaging, the stars were just so, the moon was actually rising, and Galileo was wrong for a night because the world revolved around us.

Then, in a most discordant moment, she stopped and listened. After a few seconds, I heard it too–the curious sproing-sproing-sproing of springs coiling and uncoiling. A few seconds later, giggles wove themselves between these sproings, and realization dawned on me. Either some of my enterprising peers had decided to take up TWILIGHT TRAMPOLINING or, as the inimitable Casey Newton once wrote in “The Dish” (a fiendishly well-written webjournal that garnered readers galore, may it rest in peace), NU students had decided to engage in “the time-honored tradition of having sex by the Lakefill.” Cripes above.

How on earth did these people manage to drag a mattress that far? How did they avoid mosquitoes and the like? What if they accidentally rolled into Lake Michigan? All valid questions, I’m sure, and probably questions that will never see answers. Except for the last one. You see, dear reader, with the advent of spring–and thus, the advent of romance–this phenomenon will no doubt rear its unseemly head once again. Nothing grates on the nerves and shatters a serene evening walk quite like mattress springs, so allow me to make a suggestion. The edge of the Lakeshore, as Evanston readers will note, sits a few feet above the lake itself. Accordingly, then, the stage is set for gravity to work its mysterious ways. The next time you hear the tell-tale springs, help the happy couple relocate into the lake. Counter the sproing-sproing-sproing with a simple shove-shove-shove, and Nature will take care of the rest. To borrow from those famous lyrics, I’m telling you to GET YO’ (slightly different) ROLL ON.

“Um,” you ask, “is this a moral thing to do?”

“What’s that, gentle reader?” I ask. “Didn’t you check your morals along with your coat when you entered my skyscraper?”

“Oh,” you reply with eyes downcast, “no, I forgot. Sorry.”

That’s okay, gentle reader. You may run along and do so now. Even if it was morally questionable–and that’s a big “if,” let me add–you’d help Bonnie and Clyde be more efficient. Heaven knows they were going to shower afterward, so why not speed up the process and treat them to a bath?