“Get a load of the cerebellum on him!”
“He can differentiate my curves any time he wants!”
The barrage of catcalls seems endless. And let’s not even begin to talk about objectification by certain women with their White Fever!
Sure, I don’t mind so much when women call me Leonardo. But why is it always DaVinci? Why not DiCaprio? So maybe it’s my fault for letting on that I am the undisputed champion of Trivial Pursuit at the local MENSA chapter. Indeed, on more than one occasion, I’ve owned up to being a hexalingual polyglot. And it’s true that I have catalogued more than 200 vitas vinifera varietals, including the only Rkatsiteli, Trincadeira, and Agiorgitiko grown in California. After all, what good is having a sesquipedalian vocabulary if you can’t use it on occasion?
So please, try to look beyond the superficiality of my overt pedantry, with its concomitant batch of Ivy degrees, and focus on the aura of my undepilated hirsute physiognomy, my perpetual ithyphallic protruberance, and the concupiscent stare of my lustful Italian eyes.
I still find the original La Cage aux Folles hysterical. I think Galaxy Quest was a quintessential satire. A Fish Called Wanda is probably the one movie I could watch a zillion times.
I reread Lolita every six months or so and think most people should, as well (can you imagine how things might be if high school English teachers told their students to write like Nabokov, instead of Hemingway?). I fantasize about acquiring the film rights to Gravity’s Rainbow.
Not surprisingly, I focus on Italian cuisine and try to make as much as I can by hand: pasta, pizza, gelato, limoncello, salsiccie. No, I do not grind my own polenta.
I fantasize about distilling my own grappa.
Roxie Music’s Slave to Love is unquestionably the finest melody for…you know…(no slight intended toward Bolero fans). My iPod has a separate playlist for Marvin Gaye tunes.
An abundance of great wine, fresh garlic & my Atlas pasta maker.
A sesquipedalian vocabulary that parallels boundless creativity.
A six-head gas-burning range.
My 22-speed carbon frame Fuji and my Dunlop Biomimetic Max 134 (it’s a squash racquet).
A computer without a single Microsoft program installed.
You appreciate the difference between a real play and musical theater
You haven’t set foot in a McDonald’s since 1975
You’ve gone skinny-dipping in Bass Lake (Bolinas)
You are completely uncompromising in your disdain for tobacco