Should the blue laws be repealed? Probably, but ...

(If you've wondered where I went, I've been happily blogging at startribune.com/buzz for the past few months, and will continue to do so. Now, I'll also be writing a column on Fridays and Sundays. It's great to be back in the paper.)

You can buy anything on Sunday but a car and some Zinfandel. The last remaining blue laws prohibit the sale of spirituous liquors and cars between Saturday and Monday because otherwise we'd all end up shuddering degenerates queuing at 7 a.m. for a quart of Everclear and a Prius. (Which also runs on Everclear, I think.)

There might be legislative relief, though: as noted on the political blog Minnesota Monitor, legislators have floated a bill to abolish the last vestiges of commerce-free Sabbath. It seems sensible -- if you can buy a metal screwdriver on Sunday, why not the ingredients for the liquid version?

Because we're still looking at things through rosy-hued Nostalgia Bifocals, perhaps. Day of rest, and all that. Believe me, I understand.

I grew up inside of a Norman Rockwell painting; nothing was open on Sundays except for Church and Perkins. Sunday meant a trip over the river and through the woods to see the Grandparents at the farm. The afternoon was spent with the cousins, playing "Hide the Thimble" with Grandpa and receiving a dusty fossilized peppermint lozenge from 1959 as a reward, watching the old man doze in the late afternoon in his chair as an untended Old Gold burned down between his fingers.

The weekend was truly over when Tinkerbell appeared on their color TV, and the kids huddled 'round to bask in the friendly glow of Disney. We drove back home in the dark, past the great blank wall of the drive-in theater. Of course it was closed. This was Sunday.

Compared to today's 365/24/ 7 culture, this must sound positively medieval. Yes, things were different; every night the TV stations went off the air, leaving you utterly alone. I have great nostalgia for those long peaceful Sundays, but only because I'm in no danger of repeating them. It's convenient to have things open on Sundays, and the idea that certain stores should be closed sounds archaic. Yet I run up against two unarguable facts:

A) Somehow I managed to buy a car, and B) if a party suddenly broke out in our house on a Sunday, I wouldn't have to get out grape juice and tell it to hurry up. I have wine.

That doesn't mean the blue laws should remain, of course. It also doesn't mean you should support them because I had Bambi-happy non-commercial Sundays when I was 6, and believe this template should be imposed on the rest of the state. If people didn't want to shop on Sundays, the malls would be empty. Sunday has become a day for getting things done, and we're not going back. Surely the liquor store owners would like to be open, right?

"We don't feel it's going to increase our sales," says Dan Campo, general manager of South Lyndale Liquors. "The majority of people who'd come in on Sunday would have come in on Saturday. If we are open on Sundays, it increases our costs. And liquor stores have a big enough PR challenge. There's a segment of the population that thinks it's a good idea for convenience, but it still poses a negative public relations impact."

There's another intangible angle that fits with the old blue laws rationale. Dan says:

"Anybody who's ever worked a retail job, you know it's fun -- but the hours can be long, and it's darn nice to have a Sunday off to spend with your family."

The gall! He has a point, though. There's always a brief flash of irritation when I grab a store door on Sunday and it's locked. Dang it! I have money, and wish to exchange it for goods; what's wrong with you?

But there's also a reminder that it's Sunday, and however you wish to spend it, there's something to be said for having time away from the machinery of commerce and labor. (See also, vacation, occasional necessity of.)

As much as I enjoy Sunday trips to Target with the other 6 million Minnesotans, I'd trade them all for another chance to watch Grandpa doze in the late afternoon light, knowing that I wasn't missing anything in the world because nothing was happening. Nothing ever happened on Sundays. That would drive me nuts when I got older, and grew impatient for the chance to drive around parking lots with pals and complain about the vast inadequacies of life.

Now that I am older still, a day in which nothing happens seems like a wonderful idea. As long as it's not Saturday.

jlileks@startribune.com • 612-673-7858