Gender Benders & The Federal Candy Shop Heist

Wednesday. Day number 3 of the week I affectionately call Death Row. Why? Again with the prison jokes. I know, I know. I call it Death Row because this is the first week of my new class schedule. This is the week I get to see what schmuck I'll be stuck with for the next four months, and hey, at least I get to choose my ball and chain because in America I have the freedom to make my own class schedule. Yeah. That's one they haven't taken away yet. Isn't it great? Oy vey. Sometimes it's the little things I'm grateful for.

Today's academic selection comes from the school of Home and Family Life. This is where people come to get their M.R.S. degrees. Yeah. I hear this department has its own "special" class ring. This is the one where they hand you a pink frilly apron when you walk through the door. You bring h-ing muffin tins to class instead of textbooks and sewing needles instead of pencils. If you stick around long enough they'll show you how to make your own stain remover using goat-eye jelly and tuna juice. Anyway, I've ventured into this department because I'm taking a class called Introduction to Interiors. Like the design shows they have on HGTV. You know the ones.

Teaching this class is a very sweet elderly lady who must be somebody's grandmother. Now, I've taken classes from the Grey Panther crowd before and there's one thing I've learned about the Social Security generation: they think everything you say is brilliant no matter what it is. The teacher posed a question to the class and asked each student about their ideal design styles. I could have said something like, "Actually, I prefer basements made of moldy bricks with rusty chains hanging from the ceiling" and she would have made a comment like "Oh yes, that's nice! Unique and inventive! Very good." You can never go wrong.

I walked in to class today and, as expected, the room was full of women. Ah yes, I thought. Of course. Naturally the only guys I'd presume to see in a class like this would be the Carson Kressleys of the world, and our special university doesn't have very many of those. So imagine my surprise when, about 45 minutes into the class, the door opens and a man enters. A straight man. Trust me. He comes in cautiously, surveys the room and stops dead in his tracks. He's just been caught in the hen house and he knows it. I see panic in his eyes, like a warehouse man at a prime rib factory who accidently walks into the meat closet in the middle of a mob interrogation. Awkward. But what can he do? Politely he takes a seat near the back and endures the rest of the lecture in silence. Just a hunch, but I really doubt we'll be seeing him again. I'll be very surprised if we do.

Speaking of the mob, I'm very disturbed by the recent headlines coming out of Washington. As if one giant grab-bag bailout wasn't enough, right? Here come the auto maker mob bosses in their little fedora hats and paper sack lunches boo-hoo-hooing that nobody wants to buy their tin can tricycles. And what do those boot lickers in the senate do? Those lint picking wasps? They can't get to their feet fast enough. They can't wait to shake hands with the Chrystler-Ford mafia. Lucky for us they're all a bunch of lunatic sychophants who can't agree on anything. They were so busy bickering that the auto bailout bill never passed. Ah, but that wasn't the end of it. Who rode up on a dark horse at the last minute to grab the loot bag? Our very own maverick outlaw. Our very own cowboy president, Mr. Bush. He really thinks he's something. He actually thinks he has the power and authority to sign the auto bailout bill into law without the senate's permission. He's confusing that little chair in the oval office with a gold plated gem-studded throne. His cowboy hat isn't a hat at all. It's a crown. He can just go around making his own laws now, didn't you know? That's king George to you. I seem to recall another king George from this nation's not-so-distant past. Yeah. This country knows all about king George.

I'm sick of hearing about the federal candy shop. I'm sick of hearing about bailouts and fiscal irresponsibility and the way that our leaders have complete disgregard for the wishes of the American people. It's very late now (or early in the morning, whichever you prefer) and I don't have time to give this topic the fair time it deserves. I'll save it for another time. You'll be surprised to know the interesting connections G.W. Bush has with the Chrystler corporation. You're gonna love it.

Now have a milkshake and calm down. Go smell some roses. Pet a puppy. Hug your mother. Come again!