Back to School
Last week Trinity started its Fall semester and I went over to campus to buy my books and ogle the parade of pulchritude assembled (I firmly believe) entirely for my personal benefit. It was, fortunately, a warm day so nobody felt the need to overdress. I believe that I was the only person, male or female, not displaying my midriff, which is unfortunate for all because I have considerable midriff to display. Very popular with the girls (sorry, that's not PC but most of them ARE girls) are jean shorts cut very high (on the bottom) and very low (on the top). It's fascinating to watch the jean threads slowly unravel. It'd be great to follow one around with a stop-motion camera (like on Nova watching trees grow leaves) to watch the disintegration process proceed to its inevitable conclusion.
While I was exiting the book store, a sweet young thing minced up to me and simpered "Hey, Papa Bill, good to see you back. Will you be doing your ogling thing at the Bistro?". This took me somewhat aback, first because I was surprised to be recognized and second because I couldn't remember this attractive oglee-- or her considerable expanse of midriff. At my look of non-recognition she reminded me that I'd written about her on this blog as an exotic exception to the cookie-cutter blonde preppies that dominate the Trinity landscape. I told her to keep reading the blog and I'd mention her again, which I now have. Maybe I'll be rewarded with sexual favors for this, but I'm (relatively) pessimistic about it. You never know, though, the sun also rises.
My Joyce class was surprisingly interesting and fun, although there's a s--tload of reading to do. Most of the class consists of graduate students, but fortunately sitting perilously next to me was a co-ed senior with the aforementioned cutoffs and attendant midriff. She was friendly but non-invitational. Perhaps it was the several decade age difference. Some women are very fussy about that. The professor is a good guy, and appears to be pretty bright, but I doubt that anyone can make real sense out of "Finnigan's Wake". We'll see.
Brett and I were joined by the Swedish Goddess (Brett's words, but I heartily concur) at the Bistro before class. I was glad to see that she had lost none of her luster, and was sad to find out that she wasn't joining us for the Joyce class (she had a requirement course to fulfill). One good thing about being my age is that my appreciation for women of all ages remains unabated (the SG mourned her 40th last year). One thing about the Trinity graduate program is that there are so many brilliant women around, and beauty combined with a finely convoluted cerebullum makes my fantasy conflagrate. It's good to be alive and on campus.
Later.
Last week Trinity started its Fall semester and I went over to campus to buy my books and ogle the parade of pulchritude assembled (I firmly believe) entirely for my personal benefit. It was, fortunately, a warm day so nobody felt the need to overdress. I believe that I was the only person, male or female, not displaying my midriff, which is unfortunate for all because I have considerable midriff to display. Very popular with the girls (sorry, that's not PC but most of them ARE girls) are jean shorts cut very high (on the bottom) and very low (on the top). It's fascinating to watch the jean threads slowly unravel. It'd be great to follow one around with a stop-motion camera (like on Nova watching trees grow leaves) to watch the disintegration process proceed to its inevitable conclusion.
While I was exiting the book store, a sweet young thing minced up to me and simpered "Hey, Papa Bill, good to see you back. Will you be doing your ogling thing at the Bistro?". This took me somewhat aback, first because I was surprised to be recognized and second because I couldn't remember this attractive oglee-- or her considerable expanse of midriff. At my look of non-recognition she reminded me that I'd written about her on this blog as an exotic exception to the cookie-cutter blonde preppies that dominate the Trinity landscape. I told her to keep reading the blog and I'd mention her again, which I now have. Maybe I'll be rewarded with sexual favors for this, but I'm (relatively) pessimistic about it. You never know, though, the sun also rises.
My Joyce class was surprisingly interesting and fun, although there's a s--tload of reading to do. Most of the class consists of graduate students, but fortunately sitting perilously next to me was a co-ed senior with the aforementioned cutoffs and attendant midriff. She was friendly but non-invitational. Perhaps it was the several decade age difference. Some women are very fussy about that. The professor is a good guy, and appears to be pretty bright, but I doubt that anyone can make real sense out of "Finnigan's Wake". We'll see.
Brett and I were joined by the Swedish Goddess (Brett's words, but I heartily concur) at the Bistro before class. I was glad to see that she had lost none of her luster, and was sad to find out that she wasn't joining us for the Joyce class (she had a requirement course to fulfill). One good thing about being my age is that my appreciation for women of all ages remains unabated (the SG mourned her 40th last year). One thing about the Trinity graduate program is that there are so many brilliant women around, and beauty combined with a finely convoluted cerebullum makes my fantasy conflagrate. It's good to be alive and on campus.
Later.
posted by Papa Bill | 2:55 PM
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