The New Jerusalem

Shallow people fascinate me. Not just the polite sort of shallow all middle class americans are able to achieve, I'm talking about high order veniality. About a year ago, when I was in my BarBri class, there was this guy, and he was THAT gay. You know, THAT gay. And every day he'd show up to class with his hair fastidiously fixed or mussed as the fashion winds of the day allowed, and he'd walk in with his jeans hanging down over his (colored, of course) briefs in this highly determined fashion which had me imagining him at home with a protracter and calculator running engineering hypotheticals on the perfect angle to sling his jeans without actually having his weiner fly out. And as these images flitted through my mind, tantalizing me as actual thoughts of sex never could, another part of my brain, possibly some internal ombudsperson responsible for the fair and efficient accounting of my para-sexual fantasies paused to ask "I wonder where he finds the time to compose these complexities? I know, it's probably all that time I spend fruitlessly worrying about the Palastinian/Israeli conflict."

I know, there are many kinds of intelligence, and the guy, whose name I never knew, probably just had that "keeping sexy" intelligence I lack, and finds it as easy as I do use of my particular intelligences. Like finding intense, sexually repressed subtext in anything I read, see or smell, or my ability to endlessly speculate about the internal motivations of the fatuous.