Anyone who thinks humans don't hibernate should really visit Madison in April. Every year around this time, Madison thaws from its winter malaise and the city's waking college population seems to double while its smiles seem to triple, as young men's fancies turn from skirt-chasing to mini-skirt-chasing. But along with this youthful springtime glee emerges a far more shadowy annual occurrence:
The need for some joy policing.
It never fails. When warm weather arrives at the UW campus, the better part of the student body just kind of loses its mind. Class attendance plummets, out come the mid-week pitchers of beer at the terrace and white pants become ever-present. And don't get me wrong; I like playing hooky while drinking beer and wearing pants. But with the mere visual signs of a spring awakening come far greater nuisances.
Madison is a town where no one is ever excited without inflicting it on others. Like on Halloween and football game day, costumes and cranked-up volume on both stereos and mouths become not only increasingly common, but damn near obligatory in early spring. The difference in the level of random dudes screaming \Whoo!"" on the street between when the weather is 55 degrees and when it's 65 is like the difference between the alcohol levels of a Smirnoff Ice and the Sigma-Chi house. Spring can make life pretty tough for those of us who live by crowded streets and like to take naps.
And granted, I understand why this happens. It's natural for pleasant weather to change people's demeanor after a long winter of grey, icy misery. I mean, if a cloudless day of blue-skied sunshine ever sprung up in the middle of a Chekhov play, I'm sure the characters would smile more and crack open a couple Mountain Dews themselves. But that doesn't make it any more tolerable. I never understood the point of something like thefacebook until I realized that often it's preferable to just look at Madison's pretty faces without having to hear them.
A few days ago, a small white shack appeared on the corner of Gilman and State Streets with no sign or explanation on it. I can't shake the fantasy that it could be the outpost for a police officer specially assigned to regulate springtime protocol. He could stop all the major offenders:
""Hey, tough guy in the car! Turn down the Jay-Z and roll up the windows on your Mini Cooper. Don't make me come over there!""
""Hey tourists! The guy spray-painting pictures through stencils while listening to Pink Floyd isn't that interesting, now quit blocking the sidewalk.""
""Hey you, with the African drums! Playing a rhythm instrument without rhythm doesn't make you a musician. It just makes you obnoxious. Now stay out of Library Mall!""
Sure, I know the shack off State Street is probably something else-likely Steve Brown's smallest rental offering ever. But I still can't help wishing we had some way to save this beautiful, vibrant time of year from the people who always put a damper on it.
Special cop or not, what we need this spring, just like we needed on Halloween, is a sense of accountability as neighboring citizens, and not just a collection of individuals. We're the only ones who can help this city emerge from its winter hibernation of spirit as a great town to live in, instead of simply degrading into a miserable, overgrown dorm that happens to be outside.
Now put down the drums.
Amos can be reached at AmosAP@gmail.com.
