Earlier today I was at the lunch truck, fending off the crazy religious homeless man who hangs out around campus. We heard a bumping coming up the street. It wasn't the usual bumping, the bumping we always hear when standing on the curb in the ghetto.

Pretty soon a tricked out low rider came around the corner. It was blaring Brooks and Dunn. The woffers in the trunk made the rear window vibrate enough to be perceptable. The hydrolics on the wheels were synchronized to cause the car to bounce with every foot stomp.

Inside the car there were gang colors.

~~~~~~

I was sitting in workers compensation class today. The professor, a retired judge, asked a question. A student behind me volunteered to answer it and was called on. She had a lovely voice, and a detailed opinion about the topic at hand.

I turned to see exactly who it was that had such an articulate response to what I had at first believed to be a mundane question. I was shocked to see that the elegant soprano was coming from what was by all accounts a fully developed adult male.

I turned back around in my seat and faced forward. I've known transexuals who would have killed to have this man's voice. When you change your gender, they tell me, it's the voice that can get you clocked faster than anything.

~~~~~~

This morning I was in estate and gift tax. The professor, a brilliant Jamacian woman with a lovely accent and an enormous skull which is accentuated by fairly big hair, was standing behind a table conducting class.

I began to notice the shape of my professor. Her hair was wider than her shoulders which were wider than her hips which were wider than her knees which were wider than her ankles which were wider than her uncommonly small feet. She stood with her heels firmly together. She is very v-shaped.

The table was waist high on her. The effect made it look like her upper body, the part visible above the table, did not belong on her lower body, the part visible below the table. I would not have been at all surprised to see her torso and head move off to the right and her legs move off to the left like a bifrucated cartoon character who has not yet realized he's been sectioned.

I imagined what it must be like for her to balance, to remain upright. I imagined a good stiff breeze should by all rights be able to easily topple her, yet I'd never seen her move with anything but the utmost grace. I thought about the fine muscle control she must undoubtably posess.

I tried for a few minutes to balance my pencil on its point. I would get the pencil to what I imagined to be equalibrium and release it just to watch it fall, bounce off the desk, and hit the ground. I stopped trying to balance my pencil when I noticed the whole class staring at me, confused or irritated looks on their faces.

Posted at 2:57 p.m.

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