Hallelujah! I said, a- Hall-e-lujah! Prom season is upon us, and I am eagerly awaiting Johnny High-school's call for courtship. My chariot awaits at the Summit entrance of Dupre and I feel like Cinderella as I make a politically-loaded statement in my gown, composed entirely of recycled waste and the very charcoal that is famous for the oft-cited green-house gas effect! Go Fighting Scots! I plan to make a proclamation and I plan to make a difference, damn it. A difference in my social life, that is. If the large-breasted floozy in her designer duct-tape bustier can get attention, then why can't I? Because she's so adorably Middle Ages, and because I'm so tediously last year. Mercy.

For the sake of raging irony, I hereby declare that I would far rather see "Jane Goodall's Wild Chimpanzees" at Omnifest 2003 than engage in any childish debauchery of feast, dance and further immodesty. Despite my etiquette, I am not ashamed to admit that I know the woman. I know Jane Goodall: the Chimpanzee Whisperer, if you will. And I don't exaggerate when I say that I know her well. She did come to speak at my middle school, after all. And I was there to witness every moment of her fascinating lecture. I am a lucky woman, and a changed one at that. I can barely watch PBS specials without seeing Jane's familiar face and pointing out that I am lucky enough to have seen her in person. More importantly, I am lucky enough to have heard her flawlessly simulate the mating calls of several of our friends in the Animal Kingdom.

Hearing a grown women make passionate animal noises is always fascinating for a junior high student in the thrusts of arduous hazing and a terrible puberty. Luckily, I was fairly popular in middle school and had a graceful, if not altogether painless transition from childhood to mature adolescence. But, I can only imagine the thoughts of poor, thirteen-year-old Alan Venchowski, sitting to my right, as he feverishly man-handled his TI-86 calculator and verbally contemplated leaping from the gymnasium bleachers in an attempt to end his suffering. I can see his crisp, clean, acid-washed, tapered jeans as if they were in front of me. What I wouldn't do for a pair of those today. Oh cruel fate. I hear Alan has finally found a secure niche in the Advanced Nuclear Fusion discussion group at his all-male technical university located in the heart of the Arizona desert. At a West-Coast Mathletics conference in San Diego, a bronzed, but monotone and nasally Alan was last overheard saying, "Who's pasty now, assholes?" I know I am, Alan. I know I am. But, I hear that's the in-thing now a days. Ultra-violet rays are out. You should know that, whiz-kid.

Once a bully, always a bully. I wouldn't have it any other way. But for the faint of heart, Omnifest 2003 also offers an experience called, "Ocean Men: Extreme Dive." To be honest, I initially mistook the title of the on-screen adventure to mean that the film should pay homage to the international sensation, Men at Work and their brilliant masterpiece, "Land Down Under." Humbled and humiliated in front of peers and faculty alike, I stand corrected. I suppose my only justification for erring is that I have somewhat of a utopian mindset and I often find myself lost and heavyhearted in a world of crime, economic stratification and hate-preaching, misogynistic rap music.

In reality, the directors of "Ocean Men: Extreme Dive" suggest that you or a friend (if you have any), "Take a deep breath and join two remarkable free divers as they prepare mind and body to dive deeper than anyone has ever gone before on a single breath of air." What kind of a world do we live in, friends? Why can't a man get a pedicure without having to face the repercussions? And why can't I have my carefree days of childhood back? Not all of us find solace in Chimpanzees. Some of us turn to mindless browbeating and petty crime. Some of us enjoy the adrenaline rush associated with stealing a packet of Zours! and a single cranberry juice from the local Super America. So sue some of us. It's not like we have pent up aggression from an awkward young-adulthood or anything.