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Jesus. I'm such an asshole.
I wave - my mincing nice-guy apology. The tense young driver only shakes her head scoldingly in reply. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. My college roommates would sneer, too, if they knew. They know that men who graduate Magna cum Laude from Harvard aren't allowed action heros. They know we were meant to sail on silver winds of reason, not profane might. They are wrong, though, seriously mistaken. I know that to battle the demons of self-deprecation, I must draw the sword from that cold stone. No man with any self-worth has anything to gain by fighting back the warrior that beats within. - So I invested in you when I needed you, Van Damme. Now is the time to reclaim my warrior spirit. I sought models, and you seemed the obvious choice: same age, ambitious dreamers, smaller in stature. I thought I had good reason. Like any man, I was taken by your strength. Who wouldn't want to kick so high? Who wouldn't want superhuman flexibilty, agility, and grace? You have tamed your body with a self-discipline that would command the respect of fathers and kings. Such power, such mastery. |
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