Do you know who Malcolm Gladwell is? I mean, he’s only the 4 time best selling author of books that rock you at the core as he fuses real life stories with his analytical view of the tenets of success. He wrote The Outliers and the Tipping Point and recently released David & Goliath, a book I am now staring at lustfully propped up on top of my dresser.
He is quite simply amazing as a journalist and a speaker. He is fascinated by what creates change and drive and what separates those who make waves from those who dissipate. His analysis is quite intoxicating.
I was mindlessly scrolling through Facebook when I saw an ad for a Live Talk with Malcolm Gladwell. 10 minutes later I had tickets and the very next day I went out and bought a new dress for the event. Yes, I have been in Los Angeles for 16 months now but I haven’t made any friends here so I am constantly feeding my intellectual fire through the internet and by having conversations with myself.
I decided that this would be my own version of a rowdy night on the town. I arrived super early, found a seat and was swept away as he sat on the stage sharing his opinions on various topics and stories about his upbringing. I found myself shifting in my seat, about to burst at his nerdiness.
I love smart men. They are a very rare breed. I’m not talking about the men who believe they are smart and wax philosophy laced with superior undertones on street corners before going back home to the shelter. I’m talking about the ones who have proven their intellect and made it work for them so that they can support themselves through their observations and knowledge. I love to learn and I want a brilliant teacher.
Simply put- I LOVE THINKERS AND DOERS, the nerdiest kind. Especially when they are wearing glasses.
I had no idea how aroused I would be at the sight of this man. He spoke about a wide variety of topics including his childhood and how he has not had much drama and adversity in his life. He says his parents weren’t very talkative around the dinner table, which led me to believe that those very influences caused him to have to think and discover life’s truths for himself.
He spoke about the fact that from his observations, true innovators follow their own path and ideas ESPECIALLY when others don’t support them or agree. He even offered an assertive opinion on children playing football, saying that he doesn’t understand why parents in this country even allow their children to play such a dangerous sport because it is unnecessary since there are plenty of other less life threatening sports out there.
He spoke and he spoke. I laughed and I sighed. I wondered what it would be like to sit next to him in bed my hands caressing his nipples, listening to his stories. I was jolted from my fantasies by announcement that his book signing would begin and I hurried to the front of the cathedral to take my place in line.
As my turn came, I fumbled with my camera phone, hoping to snap a picture, my chest heaving up and down, my loins on fire. All I could think about was grabbing this man and dragging him to bed with me just so I could sample some of his intellectual fire inside and out.
He signed my book, I snapped this picture and I was on my way. He didn’t even invite me for drinks afterward. I walked to the train station in the dark sorely disappointed. My one chance to have a meaningful conversation was over. Los Angeles is a very lonely place, but at least I got to see someone who maybe could have understood me.
I mulled it all over, replaying the events as I would have liked them to happen in my mind. He sees me, he is taken by my beauty. He hands me his card and asks me to call him so we can have a glass of wine. I call him and he rushes to meet me. I have the cork screw and we spend the night together, analyzing, debating, touching, licking, competing, frolicking, sharing….
“Is this the train to Long Beach?” I hear a voice.
I break our embrace and look up. A face is staring at me. I blink.
“Yes, it is,” I say and shake the cob webs from my brain. Malcolm is gone.
“Hi, my name is John,” the brown skinned stranger says to me. He smiles.
“I’m Erika,” I tell him, offering him my alias.
“Nice to meet you, Erika. Would it be okay if I rode the train with you?”
Hmm. Great smile. Beautiful skin. Nice glasses. 5’9″. Lean.
“Sure,” I grin.
He tells me about his recent move to LA. He tells me about his family, his goals and his position on the Universe and its influence on his life. I’m listening. He is very outspoken, confident and intelligent.
He’s asking me questions too but I refuse to answer them because I spend way too many hours on Youtube talking about myself. Instead I lead him to share more about his transition and how his Saturn Return is impacting his life.
He eloquently answers all of my questions and I feel my body start to overheat again. He smiles down at me and I am overwhelmed.
“You are very attractive,” I tell him. “I would like to have sex with you.”
He keeps his composure and says, “I think that can happen.”
We hop off the train and head to a hotel nearby. We check in, wander the streets looking for condoms and make our way back to the hotel room.
When the morning sun decides to peek beneath the curtains, he pulls me toward him and I lay my head on his chest. He smiles at me.
“Man,” I say. “I bet Malcolm has never met a kinky bitch like me. I bet he has no idea what I’d do to him. He’s so freaking smart. Did you know that he is a writer for the New Yorker and did so even though his Dad didn’t think journalism would be able to support him?”
John is quiet for a second before saying, “I’m smart too. I have philosophies too.”
“What kind?” I ask him.
“I’ve been sharing them with you all night,” he explains.
“Oh. Yeah. But where can I read them?”
“I haven’t written them,” he says.
“Oh,” I sigh and turned over, my gaze settling on the white book peeking from my purse on the nightstand.
I sure do have a few tricks I’d teach Malcolm about how the underdog deserves to win.