Posts tagged ‘Yale’
Excerpt from “Who Wants to Marry a Savant?”
I was attempting to work on the manuscript for Men Behaving Badly when Edgar showed up unannounced (as per usual). I never minded his spontaneous visits, and I didn’t realize—until it was too late—how much I looked forward to them. He plopped down in his usual spot on the futon.
“You know, Edgar, I misunderstood the saying that revenge is a dish best served cold.”
“Have you been reading Stieg Larsson lately?”
“I don’t just get these ideas from literature and film. Give me some credit, man!”
“I always do.”
“You’re right. But, yeah, I just figured out what it meant right before you came over.”
“What did you think it meant?”
“I used to think it meant that it’s best to avenge a wrong as ruthlessly and with as cold a heart as possible.” I paused pregnantly.
“But I just realized the coldness relates to the passage of time.”
“I think you’re right on both counts, actually.” Edgar nodded pensively. “Of course, if you want to get revenge through the justice system, coldness isn’t so desirable what with statutes of limitation and all.”
“Fuck statutes! What these guys have in store is extra-legal (but neither illegal nor violent…we have too much to lose, and we’re more creative than that). Their lives will transform overnight without the slightest notice. Just like mine did. But, unlike me, they will have no recourse.”
“Sounds delicious.” Edgar’s pupils dilated with interest. “It’s been over 10 years. When can we get started?”
“We already have.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’m sure it has something to do with sending Tex that letter reminding him he’d have to pass the Moral Character Evaluation to become an attorney.”
“Nope. That was just our public duty and has nothing to do with revenge. That’s why we sent it as soon as we discovered his plan to follow his father’s footsteps at Harvard Law School. Not part of the revenge. No need to serve cold. Hey, wanna drink?” I gestured toward the kitchen.
“Sure, thanks.” Edgar popped the cork off my half-full bottle of pinot noir. “So, what’s next with respect to revenge?”
“There’re some clean glasses in the sink.”
“Coolness.” Edgar split the remainder of the bottle between the two of us. “I’m all ears.”
“How far can you run without stopping? How much can you bench press, squat, or the equivalent?”
“I thought you just said this wouldn’t involve violence or criminality?”
“Oh, it won’t. We just need to be and look like we’re in tip-top shape. We just need to signal that we’re as formidable physically as we are intellectually and psychologically.”
“In that case, I’ve got my work cut out for me. But I’m game. Tell me more.” He raised his glass and smiled with boundless intrigue.
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Excerpt from “Who Wants to Marry a Savant?”
Professor Heart Attack (again, not to be confused with Professor Heartache) took me to a super fancy restaurant (I forget the name, but it was the kind of place where you can’t wipe your own hands in the bathroom — as he called it, “Zagat rated”) the first night we were in Atlanta. He ordered for me, which I surprisingly liked. (“The lady would like . . . “) I forget what he ordered. Something with truffles, but I hardly had a chance to eat.
And I had absolutely no chance to digest.
“Is it okay if I have a glass of wine? I must say, I don’t feel as sharp when I drink, but the setting seems right.”
“Sure. But I’ll actually have an espresso. I could use a jolt after traveling all morning.” I thought it was sweet he asked my permission to drink, not like I would have ever taken issue with it.
“At two and a half hours, the flight was just long enough to watch Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”
“How was that? I fell asleep 15 minutes in.” I had absolutely no interest in seeing yet another blockbuster with Angelina Jolie running in slow motion with her tits bouncing dangerously close to her chin.
“It was palatable.”
“Glad to be reassured. I wouldn’t want to miss the next American Beauty.”
“Speaking of reassurance,” Professor Heart Attack pulled his briefcase onto his lap and popped it open. “I want to show you something.” He pulled out a stack of papers about an inch thick.
My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. I didn’t need to know the content of the papers to know that a JD/PhD could only produce one of two things from his briefcase in that moment.
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Light and Truth: Exhibit B
The following comment was semi-anonymously posted on my blog in response to a 2010 post I wrote on Yale’s DKE incident:
Comment away!
See also Light and Truth: Exhibit A.
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