Politics

Yeah. I HATE ’em. Matter of fact, watching snippets of the Democratic National Convention makes me want to gag. NOT that I have anything against Democrats, and truth be told, that is usually the way I vote; I would be feeling the same regurgitory (??) urge if these were Republicans I was watching.

Honestly, though, who cares? Michael Moore? And I know my pal Patti wants me to go see Fahrenheit 9/11, and so I probably will, but does any of it matter? I have predicted all along that President Bush will be re-elected, and the margin of victory probably will not even be close.

Is it normal to feel this apathetic? I harkened back to the Class of 1983’s motto, “Apathy is bliss,” in an earlier post on the parent journal, and then received a 10-paragraph e-mail from a complete stranger/fellow Blogger *major cringe over the use of the word “blog,” in any of its various forms* detailing the petty details of her love life. And did I actually care about the boyfriend who had dumped her, kept her on a string, proposed to someone else and then told the first girlfriend that he wanted to remain “friends,” which she found offensive and impossible and hurtful?

No. No, I did not. I was apathetic. Possibly because I was predisposed not to care because she was attacking, albeit mildly, my use of “apathy is bliss” to apply to my own outlook at that particular moment. My own life. Which had absolutely nothing to do with anyone else.

Which is/was kind of the point, really.

Truthfully, what is bothering me most as I (barely) listen to Michael Moore being interviewed by Ted Koppel is that I cannot quite decide if the baseball cap Moore is wearing is a Michigan State University Spartans cap. Which would be kinda cool, since my pals K.J. and Jeff went to school there (at least Jeff did, to get his MBA; not sure if Kara attended or not, but they did live in East Lansing for a while), plus I am still convinced that Tom Izzo is the “separated at birth” twin with this girl Kelli that I worked with last year.

Hmm. Just saw a preview for an ABC show called Desperate Housewives that is supposed to air this fall. And I am reminded of a short story by my aforementioned friend/soulmate-of-sorts, Patti, titled “Bored Housewives.” Which was one of those National Enquirer stories where you find an especially intriguing or outlandish tabloid headline and then sort of write your own story to go with it ... kind of like the real-life tabloid journalists do, or so I have heard.

: )

Anyhoo, Patti used MY last name for her lead character, the “bored housewife” in question. And I always loved that, that she would incorporate ME into the story. Plus, it was a pretty good story (about a bored housewife who starts having sex with her grocery delivery boys). Of course, during the various moves from college dorm to apartment to parents’ house, Patti misplaced the story, never to be found again, apparently, so it will forever be only a memory.

Now THAT I cared about, that story!

: )

Just when I was sort of celebrating the fact that, for the first time since I was 5, I am not thinking of my life in terms of when summer ends/when school starts, I found myself looking at the fall schedule for the community college where I used to teach, checking on the time/days for a creative writing class! And I could probably fit it into my schedule; after all, taking a class is much less time-consuming than teaching one, I have found ... depending on the class, anyway ... but do I really want to? Do I really need to?

Do I need a structured set of writing assignments to make me write? Am I that lacking in discipline? I mean, look at me now ... look at me go! A good solid 20 minutes of uninterrupted writing so far, for no reason other than I felt like it. Why would I want to give up any extra time AND money (now that I am no longer teaching there, I would have to pay tuition, obviously) for something I really do not want/need?