Let's talk about the weather.

OK, this is a preemptive strike. Before Joke and Badger start whining about hurricanes or day after day of 100 degree heat when it's only May, I've got to get my licks in.

I recently remarked that this extremely cool, extremely rainy spring has prompted me to head down to City Hall and file for a legal name change. With all this lack of sunshine, and rain, and mist, and overcast-skies nonsense, this isn't Illinois; it's Ireland. And with a mayor named Daley, why not go whole hog and rename Chicago "New Dublin?"

Now, I really don't mean to complain. After all, my yard looks great. The lawn guys overseeded the bald spots a few weeks ago, and they left one of those instruction sheets for me--full of those vague, yet picky commandments that leave me feeling totally inadequate. What with the "keep the ground evenly moist" and the "water lightly so as not to drown the seedlings" it's all "Do-this! Do-that! Water the lawn, already! Yikes! Not that much!" Therefore, I'm happy that Mother Nature has kindly taken it upon herself to ensure that my lawn is evenly moist at all times. So for a while there, I was all "Can I have a shout-out for Big Momma N.!"

But you know, a girl can get depressed when the sun never shines. I realize that my Northern European, fair, freckled, burns-never-tans complexion should feel grateful for the lack of UV rays, but I'm too busy curling up in a fetal position sucking my thumb to jump around over the fact that I probably won't come up with malignant melanoma this week.

Also--what the hail?--things are just so damned schizo. Take yesterday. In the morning it was warm and sunny. By lunch time, it had started to rain. In the late afternoon the lightning started, and shortly afterwards, hailstones the size of albino M&Ms fell from the sky. This morning it was warm and sunny, then overcast again (when I started writing this entry) and now--now that we've made it through the spell check and are about to post--it's warm and sunny again. A lovely day. Perfect for a walk. As long as I wear hipboots.

"Enough!" I say, and again I say, "Enough!"

A few weeks ago we sprang for a Weber gas grill and a Weber charcoal grill. I would like to use them one more time before Labor Day. At this point, I suspect that only divine intervention will have me out there playing Satan while a side of ribs takes on the role of Lost Soul. I therefore ask you to all join me in asking the following Saints: Honoratus of Arles, Columba, Magnus of Fussen, and Gratus of Aosta, to pray for (respectively) a cessation of rain, floods, lightning, and hail.

My husband thanks you. My son thanks you. My daughter thanks you. And my seratonin level thanks you.