I once knew a fellow who could only be described as an acid casualty who has never taken acid. He was an independent film-making consultant (whatever that means), mostly entranced with his dreams of making films about mind control. Of course, he was a Nietzschean at heart and applied the applicable principles of The Birth Of Tragedy to his appreciation of women. Now, while I appreciate his aesthetic underpinnings, I do believe that telling a woman she has a Dionysian drag of an ass isn’t quite as flattering as he perceives. One can only imagine the Apollonian snap of his fantasy woman’s breasts, which sounds rather painful as well as whiplash inducing to both parties.

Needless to say, it didn’t startle me much at all yesterday to hear that this fellow is still single.