If I ever wanted to be anything in life, it was a star.
 
    Well, there was that brief period in sixth grade when I wanted to be a towering bully-devouring monster with venomous claws and jaws dripping blood. But other than that, I definitely wanted to be a star.

    And believe me, I tried everything to become one. I sang in pre-school choir (with disastrous results), appeared in the eighth grade spelling bee (with disastrous results), and co-starred in high school musicals (I never actually starred, because it was determined very early on that no one wanted to see a star dancing like a heifer all over the stage.)
 
    I was even on the announcement crew for three years, until I was kicked off for (I kid you not) "reading the menu in too funny a manner to befit our school."
 
    But now, here at AU, I am at least somewhat on the way to becoming a star. Because, you see, I have a column.
 
    Now, keep in mind, my idea of a star is defined as "more than three people can recognize you while walking down the street, and don’t laugh right in your face or spit on you as you pass." And so far, I have encountered at least FOUR people. One of which, Mr. Christopher Kean, a senior who recently graduated from the Marine Corps boot camp and who plays a wicked saxophone, asked me to put him in my column. Not that I will, of course. But I just thought I’d mention it.
 
    And I have been assured by Paige Workman that I do not look like a middle-aged man with a glandular problem. (She’s right. I’m more like an elderly man.)
 
    Now, I know this whole column is coming across as vain. But you have to keep in mind, until I got this column, the closest I ever came to fame was as Afro Bathrobe, Queen of 1990, a nickname bestowed upon me—and used until graduation—by my good friends at Aurora High School. And by good friends, I mean mortal enemies. (My really good friends just called me Fro.)
 So now, as I approach "stardom," I feel it is time I start making some demands, like any good star should:
 
    1.  My own dressing room, stocked with only green and tan M & M’s, Evian, and big slabs of Dutch chocolate fudge.
 
    2.  My own personal trainer, who will run 15 miles a day, do 1,000 sit-ups, and train extensively on the Nautilus machine. And then pay for my liposuction.

    3.  A really big picture of me in the student center, with eyes that follow you wherever you go. I always thought that would be really, really cool.

    4.  Permanent cuts in all food lines in Convo.
 
    5.  Enough of this "Collegian" nonsense. Why not call it the "Kimlegian?" Just a thought.

    6.  And, if at all possible, I would like the ability to defy gravity. I don’t know if that’s necessarily something anyone out there can help me with. But I really want it.
 
    Okay, I’m obviously not a star—yet. But it does feel good to know that people are enjoying my column, and I genuinely thank you all for reading. Nothing makes me feel better than knowing that something I do makes people happy, and I hope you all keep reading the "Kimlegian" every week.