Met, and summarily insulted, a prospie tonight. He was dressed in the most ridiculously street outfit I've ever seen outside of a music video, all white. His baseball cap was tilted at what I assume is just the right angle, and his speech patterns (down to the ingratiating click with which he ended each sentence) oozed South Bronx cool.

I think he belonged to Representative Man.

In any case, when I expressed the fervent wish this white boy was from somewhere as urban as his look (and not, say, the Midwest), he handled my cynical gracelessness with the kind of slick self-confidence you'd expect from this sort of walking stereotype.

I learned that he was from Chicago, which I suppose is acceptable, and he sauntered off to seduce some freshman girl. Jubb and I walked on to the Grill.

A few hours later, a follow-up conversation confirmed that the prospie was an ass.

I doubt that the prospie cares about my pithy attack, but that doesn't mean I should have been rude. The glorious rightness of my character assessment aside, I'd probably opt for something more subtle if I could do it again. I'm trying to be a good little deontologist, after all.

Yeah, that's it. I should have just patronized him for praising my Modest Mouse shirt; I'd wager he's one of those newly-minted "Good News" fans that Celine, Alan, and I were dismissing at dinner tonight.

(Why has no one listened to Lonesome Crowded West?)

But regardless of whether or not I voice my opinions, there's no escaping the fact that I find myself passing judgment almost constantly. I've got what psychologist Richard Petty would call a high "need to evaluate." Which, I suppose, also explains my pointless interest in politics.

I'd say I'm happy with my critical eye much of the time. It goes without saying that it's made me elitist; I only hope that it hasn't made me pompous. God.

I'm reminded of a quote from Nietzsche, but I can't find it right now. Here's something similar:

What can everyone do — praise and blame. This is human virtue, this is human madness.