Epiphany

Like a performing monkey dressed in a suit, wise-cracking with customers during the day and yelping at the yellow moon driving down the Bay bridge at night to Pagliacci, fancying myself the weeping clown, Il Pagliaccio screaming 'Nedda, o Nedda', it hit me. Like a meteor shower on an unexpected fall evening, like a bucket of ice-cold water at 2 AM, like the ten scourges that Jehovah rained on Egypt, it hit me: women love assholes - attribute it to an abusive childhood, masochism, or a redundant chromosome, that is so true.

For the longest time I had settled down to being the nice guy - burying the true asshole in the process. May be it is not so Jekyll and Hyde after all, but I was way Dr. Jekyll, where as I should've been Jekyll & Hyde LLP - how I hate able-bodied men on welfare, how I think pets are stinky and at the same time my heart crumbles like a freshly baked Mrs. Field's cookie everytime I see an old bum on the street or a stray cat. Everything falls in place now.

Women and needy men are like cops and doughnuts; the former can smell the latter a mile away. Last night drinking with a bunch of buddies, grounds-keeper A asks cute girl over for pool and then grandly proceeds to leaving her holding the cue for 15 minutes while he yaks on the cell-phone with his 4 AM girl. I-banker J, sensing the kill moves in with a tropical drink, comments on how beautiful the friggin' night was (for fuck's sake, it was freezing outside) and laments on the suffrage of women. The moment A hangs up his phone, the aforementioned cutie homes in on him like a stinger missile locked on a MIG. It is needless to go into who gets the happy ending. Extreme, dude - but that's what it is.

No that's not the epiphany yet. Friday morning was spent attending an information session at Stanford. First let me tell you: parking at the Stanford campus is well, a bitch - a day pass costs 17 washingtons.
My impressions:

• Very collegial, down-to-earth energy - but I cannot but notice that this may be the anti-Harvard, the bizzaro H.
  


• Emphasis on the quirky (now that gives me hope :-)).
  


• Decent facilities - some dumpy class-rooms, some not very.
  


• Unfuckingbelievable guest speakers - Al Gore, Dalai Lama and Warren Buffet - three weeks in a row.
  


• Rock-star professors - we're talking Mick here, not Michael.
  


• NorCal 'burb feel - families walking kids and or dogs; most of the humanity this part of town is German - i.e. if you believe "you are what you drive".
  

So you may ask, and rightly so, what the hell is the epiphany any way. I think Stanford is like the girl you don't want to ask out because you don't want to be walked over. Classy women and Stanford are like Semilion grapes; they could go either ways: distilled into a nice golden Chateau d'Yquem vintage or you could end up yelping like a sad case of sour grapes. I just fresh ran out of crude analogies for the day, but there are more where they came from - so stay tuned.