Molto, but no wiffleballs

Last summer, when I lived on campus at Fairfield University, I would leave my dorm room and jog to the Long Island Sound and back. I would pass all the people dining outside at the restaurants and count the Mercedes, Porsches, Audis and BMWs on the way, but I usually lost count. Everyone drives those cars here. I reflected, too, that there's a slight Hamptons feel to the town, but it isn't quite up to that par.

I laugh, because last night I became one of those customers and drank wine while eating scallops and shrimp. I had good company - an urban school teacher in Bridgeport - and we talked about negotiating worlds between star-bellied Sneetches and those who have no stars upon thars.

There are two Americas and I guess I will never fully understand either. I don't get the logic of extreme wealth and the logic of extreme poverty perplexes me just the same. We chose to enjoy the meal and dialogue and not think too deeply about the bipolarism of our nation. I imagine all across the country there is a division of haves and have nots (and those of us who teach don't know where we belong). Right now, teachers are the source of all the nation's evils.

Nope. I didn't find Wiffle balls at dinner, but we did laugh at the number of boob jobs and face lifts all around us. After all, this is the state where the Stepford Wives was created.