Funny video

Now, it wasn't my idea to send the video in. In fact, I'm morally and ethically against it. It was taken out of context. Can't anything be taken out of context really? I once had a professor who gave use fortune cookies at the end of the term. She was wonderful and colorful professor, an old lady with a great smile, curly short hair, and great fashion sense. She is a lesbian, and I found this out and liked her even more. Is that wrong? Eh, well she was and is a fantastic person. She was funny and articulate and scholarly. I want to be just like her. Well, she gives out fortune cookies for a reason. It is a college class, so this isn't an obvious common practice.

You need to realize that the fortune is a text, a recorded thought or piece of culture. To truly enjoy that piece of culture, it is only complete with the shell, the surrounding context. The influences, histories, and background makes the text truly juicy and truly tasty. But without the text, the context is meaningless and flat. They support each other. They don't support the truth. There are many ways around that and that silly truth is so flimsy anyways, who will really notice.

I look at this man and think wow, I have a face for a name. I read his book for a class. He is a professor of history and an eminent scholar, and all I can think about is a Neil Gaiman story of an Anthropology conference full of clandestine sexual encounters, drinking, and not a lot of Anthropology really. Would this man, who I see is married because he wears a ring, participate in such scandalous and tawdry affairs? He is clean, young, maybe in his early 40's. He is fit, a nice dress, but not too nice as in he would be gay. I once heard that gay men don't keep things in their pockets because they want to look good in their jeans. They don't want there to be any bulges to take away from the most important bulge of them all. I don't know what this may mean, but my husband has more in his pockets than I do in my purse. I wish I were joking, but I couldn't make this up. A leatherman, a mini flash light, a multi-tool, pens, pencils, key chains, USB thumb drive, wallet, inhaler, phone, and well, maybe an allan wrench set. No, I'm not joking. He looks like "Awnold" and like he pumped iron, literally into his thighs. On the surface this may seem super non-gay, but he doesn't keep things in he back pockets, so his nice hiney is unadulterated.

Again, what is this man like. I may idolize him a little because of my own dreams of prestige in the scholarly world. I realize this. Maybe this man is just, well a man. He fights with his kids about dirty dishes, he has bad morning breathe, he vacuums and folds laundry, he fucks his wife when they get the time. Normal. But is he really normal like I think. What if his normal is traveling for his work, sleeping in hotel beds, traveling around the world to research for books, meeting young women, and ambitious students who may be attracted by his power or prestige. Maybe he meets a young blonde or red head or coppery dark skinned girl with a nice smile, a mind of her own, and no scruples or qualms about casual sex. She's not getting a grade, so it makes you wonder. He is attractive. He has a nice smile and great smell, but maybe he is a nice guy. A guy who worships his wife, honors his marriage, and acts as a sage both to his children and students. His students trust him and like him and think him very entertaining. Maybe he doesn't have time to get bored of the tedium or sad with the loneliness of books and committees and conferences.

The movie they let leak was funny, but I know what happened before and after, and I'm not laughing. Maybe I hated that he could be pure and clean and such a good man. I wanted to bring him down just a little, but not publicly. It was never meant to be public. Our encounter was brief and totally by chance. My age never a deterrent, because I carry myself with an ageless maturity and an unmistakable sense that I will make the work give me everything I want and need. I wasn't staying in the hotel. He was. I had met him and hadn't thought of him in any particular way or pine to know about him. Again, it was chance set of situations which occurred to set up my clandestine meeting with this young and brilliant man. He paused awkwardly. I stepped in at an uncomfortable distance. This kind of space which is warm and crackling with tension, the promise of rejection almost as certain as Schrodinger's cat. Of course he knew, and I could smell stale mint on his breathe and I wondered if he lotioned his baby smooth face. I imagined where that face could be and I blushed and looked away.

Could it be that I want to be a scholar or a scholar that sleeps around with other scholars. I couldn't tell after he left, or after he called, or after I met him yet again. It was meaningless sex. It wasn't even the best I'd every had. I have that feeling that I do for television characters I have crushes on, but he is real and I slept with him. It is never like the movies and it is always much more messy, grueling, and prefectible that television would have you believe. Sex with a character, not a start. It's so impossible. Maybe I like the theory and not the practice, but my conundrum is: you don't know if you don't like to practice if you don't practice.

I thought girls sleeping with professors was just in the movies, but it is never like the movies when I'm not a movie star by any means.