When Intellectuals Fall in Love

When intellectuals fall in love it is usually at a great distance and a great remove. This might be Paris-Los Angeles. Or the predictable Los Angeles-New York. Helsinki-New York. Paris-Rome. London-Istanbul. Berlin-Chicago. And there is a seesaw. A very long seesaw between intellectuals. And the fulcrum is in some imaginary middle. And the intellectuals who are about to be in love have to agree to jump on the seesaw at the exact same moment, of course. You know how this giddy leap of faith works. And then it's Thrillsville! Wunderbar! They find they can lift one another up to such incredible heights. The rushing upwards through space as the other one descends to earth. And vice versa. Her hair is flying about her face. There is a pit in his stomach that is confused with sexual excitement. Publishing is involved. Videoconferencing. Soixante-neufing. But invariably when one of them is stuck down there with his or her ass on the earth in a depressed moment or a moment where it seems the 69 it turning into 68, you know what thought is going to occur. To that seesawer. That evil, delightful little thought. Begins to gnaw at the brain. Look at that Frenchman up there in the stars woohooing. What would happen if you just stepped off the seesaw? You could pretend somebody called you. There's always some excuse or another. Some of them are actually valid reasons. And to imagine his rush downwards to earth. As the seesaw becomes a deathtrap. Too funny. Go ahead. What is a little tragedy between immortals? Besides, he wasn't springing his legs nearly as hard as you were. You didn't make it to the intellectual troposphere. But he did. There's no referee in art. There's no Muse of criticism. What do the French say? Oh yes..."VLAN!"