Huzzah! It's Springtime.

As I write this, my windows are open and there's a breeze coming in. The birds are chirping. Evan is taking his afternoon nap. When he wakes up, my toenail polish will be dry-- I'll put on some open-toed shoes and then we'll walk over to the garage sale around the corner.

Springtime is almost as perfect as fall. While fall makes me feel like I want to stay home and begin cooking root vegetables and drinking red wine and watching movies, Spring time makes me want to do very big things. This is the time of year I break out the mesh t-shirts and the butt rock: I just want someone to "Talk Dirty to Me," preferably "Dr. Feelgood." I want to just sit on my porch and drink Heineken in the sun. I want to go dancing in a short dress and I don't want to wear tights. I don't feel like grading papers or farting around planning the syllabus for my summer class.

There are a few things I don't want to do in Spring: 1) play hackysack, 2) throw horseshoes, and 3) attend toga parties on Main Street. However, I do find watching these activities very amusing in an Animal-House kind of way.

Springtime has a way of bringing out the nosy slut in everyone. Everyone checks everyone out. No one can concentrate for more than half an hour on anything at all, because everyone is thinking about "Girls Girls Girls." This is definitely true of my students: I held three out of four classes outside yesterday, and the entire time the kids were either gazing at the clouds or at the girls in short short skirts and mesh t-shirts.

Edna St. Vincent Millay started a poem something like: "To what purpose, April, do you return again?" Answer: what kind of silly-assed question is that? April comes so she can inspire the masses to do the same.