Tuesday, September 02, 2008
New season, new class, and a possible new candidate for the role of a lifetime.
Today marks the end of yet another month and begins a new September. I have always loved this time of year. It's that time of year when sweaters and coats are already appearing at the mall, yet you're sweating your ass off in 90-degree weather. Fall is glorious, and I cannot wait for it to be in full force. It's number one of my two favorite seasons, really. Spring is my other. Why, do you ask? Well, for starters, I grew up without much of either. In the south, you experience a really friggin' melt-your-face-off hot or the alternative kind of cold'ish weather. Not much in between. So, when I moved semi-permanently to the Midwest (permanently in my book is 5+ years, so I'll say permanent in '09), having four seasons was a novelty.
As a kid, September marked another year of my life gone and another year of school beginning. I always had new clothes and shoes and some really snazzy notebooks and a bitchin' new Trapper Keeper. It was the little, dorky things that made me smile. I guess this is why I loved husband's birthday gift of an antique 1932 Royal typewriter last week. It's clean, the keys are immaculate, and it even works. The clicking sound of the keys is enough to make me completely geek out with utter glee. Total. Dork. Alert.
For the past four years, I've been able to relive my school days by teaching at the university. And this Fall, I have a pretty interesting class. A kid who is about to graduate at age 17 (can you say Doogie Howser?), a kid who has traveled across the United States on his bike (and it only took him 6 months, while it took Forrest Gump several YEARS on foot), and a kid who doesn't speak a lick of English. The latter is one I'd rather not talk about, as I'll surely come across as a right-wing crazy bitch who believes, well, that you should actually be able to speak English to pass enough English classes to make it to a 300-level English writing course. This is just a theory. Call me looney. Really.
And, with the newness of all these things in my world right now, I see that McCain has nominated a Mrs. Sarah Palin as his running mate. I'll have you know that my psychologist best bud ("T") called me IMMEDIATELY to let me know that Mrs. Palin is my apparent older twin. She said - and I quote - "It's like you in about 10 to 15 years!" Alrighty then...move over Uma Thurman and Cate Blanchett, we may have a new girl in the running for the role of Daisywriter's life biopic.
It's either the updo or the glasses that's forcing her to make this comparison, mind you. And I'd like to think I don't look as Heatmeiser-ish as her - I'm way blonder and perkier. However, I'll take it as a compliment, because I'd rather look like a pro-life Alaskan right-wing ex-beauty queen than say, Courtney Love. At my advancing age, I take compliments where I can get them. Even if they do come from homeless men downtown that make noises like they just ate something scrumptious when I walk by.
So far, I like Palin. And as my readers know, I'm one of those kooky moderates. Regardless of how I vote, it is nice to see a female take such a leading role in this political race. A real, somewhat fashionable, mom-like yet fierce competitor female. The chick that can give birth to a fifth child and go back to work three days later. My uterus has never been occupied, but I'll be happily compared any day to a chick that can hold her own in the boys club.
So, she's officially in the running - for the biopic of my life, of course. For the record, though, my 17-year old daughter would've been on the pill. Abstinence, my ass. And the comparison ends there, folks.