CHICAGO—For you, I made it seventy degrees. Now you can wear that new skirt you’ve been waiting to show off since, oh, late August. I mean, seriously, that low cut is really cute and everyone is looking at you, babe.

What’s that you say an hour later? It’s raining and fifty? My bad. I can’t help but make it rain on them slightly flirtatious but ultimately shy NU girls. If it makes you feel better, I’ll throw in a little hail tonight.

Doesn’t it feel great to sit out by the rocks enjoying the sun while various couples make out around you because their love is too vast to be withheld inside and in private? I just wanted you to know how it feels so I can take added pleasure when I make it forty and raining next week. This is sadder than Kyle Rowley transferring from Northwestern.

You’re in my world now. If you don’t like it, you can move to Pandora. Oh, it doesn’t actually exist? That must make you clinically depressed.

There is nothing I enjoy more than giving you a taste of the good before I make it snow in April. Well, except for notifying the annoying census workers they will be jobless by the end of the year. That is something you can count on.