Today is the first day of the year that I'm wearing shorts. The sun is beaming down, with nary a cloud in the sky to block the rays. There's a soft breeze in the air which ruffles hair or the bottoms of skirts, a playful motion. Even the breeze is happy it's Spring.

Gone are the coats and jeans. Out come the short shorts or tight sleeveless shirts which reveal navel. The guys wear baseball caps. Students gather on the grassy area in front of the library, leaning against a tree or a propped-up backpack to read, or congregating in groups of three or four to discuss pschology or zoology or civil engineering. Everyone sports dark sunglasses, and there are smiles everywhere.

The Brickyard Preacher -- who wears a black leather vest no matter the weather, has a trimmed grey goatee, and is named Gary -- sermonizes in front of the library's outdoor food court, drawing a crowd. He shouts at whoever will listen, that gay marriage will bring about the end of civilization, that homosexuals are ruining this country. An undergraduate steps forward out of the crowd to argue with him, and at the last moment steps behind the preacher and whispers something in his ear with a smirk. The preacher swivels around and spits, "I'm preaching right now. If you don't like it, leave." Gary is one of those maniacal fervent men with whom no argument can be brooked; he will shout and spit and quote scripture and wear you down until you turn your back and walk away in disgust.

A young couple rides my bus on the way home, and in the man's lap is a month-old baby, completely asleep. The father wears an Anaheim Angels cap backward on his head, and leans over frequently to murmur something to the child's mother, who giggles or punches him lightly in the shoulder. The couple looks so young to be parents, and I suddenly realize that they are around my age. A stroller is folded up on the floor next to the young father's feet, and when he's not looking, the Asian girl across the aisle spins one of the stroller's wheels with a flick of her foot.

Spring Break starts on Monday, but instead of going to Cancun or Barcelona, I will be working and getting last-minute things ready for the wedding at the end of the week. In nine days, I will be married. Eep.

Now Reading:
Steps Through the Mist by Zoran Živkovic

Stories Out to Publishers:
4

Books Read This Year:
16

Zines/Chapbooks/Fiction Mags Read This Year:
4