Gratitude

We spent the day in Oakland, so my father could meet a like-minded satellite fanatic and "pick his brains." Within five minutes of meeting this man, he informed us that he was unemployed and his wife had left him last week.

Lesson Number One, Dad: Ninety percent of the boys you meet over the internet are losers.

Nonetheless, my father spent eight hours (count them!) at this man's house flipping through channels—not watching any but just seeing what he's got.

So my mother and I ran errands and made due. We bought printer cartridges and phone cards and shoes and books and cough drops.

It was irritating but fine. I think what got me, though, was what he said as climbed into my car:

"Thank you for your patience waiting for me today. I don't ask for much."

Gracious?—no, not really.

Africa

I saw Oriana last night, and she reminded me that at the end of high school, we had both been convinced that the other would be the only person in the world with whom we could have a functional relationship for the rest of our lives.

We both chuckled at the thought and wondered why we had moved on since then.

The simple answer: we both now entertain romantic delusions of having a functional relationship with someone we love—but if the last four years are any indication, we are so, so deluded.

So once we've finally come to the realization that true love is flawed (something we seemed to know in high school but apparently have forgotten), we will raise children in Africa away from socialization of all kinds.

The only fairy tales allowed in our home will be the original Grimm ones.

Boys

My cousin Travis and his boyfriend Kent are easy fodder for envy. They are both tall and stunning and stylish. They have been ripped straight from the pages of Abercrombie & Fitch ads, except they wear nicer clothes: Polo, Banana Republic, etc. They are exactly the type of boys who would typically ignore me in L.A., so there is something utterly surreal about having Travis hang on to my every word. Now, they are both high-powered corporate lawyers who will soon be living the good life in their midtown Manhattan loft.

So right now, I wonder whether I should be grateful that my father has British citizenship so I can leave behind this skewed American dream, or whether I should curse my mother for squandering her genes and marrying such an evolutionarily unsavory character.

I wonder if Travis can introduce me to his friends...

Demotion

I demoted my 10 to an 8 last night.

That might not sound too profound, because 8 is still pretty fucking high. And since all my crushes are pathological, does it really matter how much their intensity fluctuates? (Eight is still very pathological.)

It matters to me if only because it was accompanied by a realization: I've always said that I loved him because he laughed at all my corny jokes—and hard. But I realized, as thrilled as I am to have such a receptive audience, someone who made me laugh that hard would be even better.

Still, I'm glad to be creating a vast distance between us and surrounding myself with beautiful accents that will hopefully keep me adequately distracted.

Self-Loving

The most fabulous thing about being gay is that I get to tell stories like the following:

So, the five of us ended up at this apartment, and the host was like, 'I'm going to take a shower, anyone want to join me?' So I asked, point-blank, all the other boys in the room, what their sexual orientation was. Spandex shorts and vocal inflections notwithstanding, they all claimed to be straight. I turned to the host, 'So the only person who would realistically consider taking you up on your offer would be me?' He just shrugged. So we took a shower together.

It's true and fabulous and expected. I'm gay, so I am just walking controversy. I live for the envy elicited in straight men's eyes when I tell one of my sordid stories. If only it happened more often.

Burning Bridges

Even though I'm not getting rid of my books per se and I'm loaning them to friends I trust on a long term basis, just seeing them all in that box is enough to make me cry.

The pictures are my only consolation.

In less than a month

I will be living here


And here


And I will ride trains all day long, leaving from Waverly Station


And buy five pound CDs on this street with all the goth kids


And take boys on to the top of this hill to see the view and snog


And wander, since freedom to wander is written into their law


And wonder why anyone would ever want to live anywhere else

Girlfriends

I don't know how I ended up with a girlfriend—make that two girlfriends—but I don't like it. I don't know how you straight boys deal with it. The sex better be something amazing.

Here's the good news:

You think that I don't know you read this. I write this message for you, precisely to horrify you. My intention is to burn bridges. See, here's the thing: if you ever were posessed to sleep with me, I would cancel my flight. I would postpone Scotland to stay here in L.A. to woo you over, because I think you're beautiful and amazing.

It is precisely for that reason that I deliberately come across as needy and frantic (and I probably am, but that's not the point). So long as you won't touch me with a ten-foot pole, I must go to Scotland. And deep, deep down, I know that is probably best.

(And lest you gloat in your superiority, know this: my short list includes no less than five boys. Nonetheless, you are five out of a million.)

Hello

This is the gay hook-up service. This is your last call. You should not expect to receive any more drunk dials after this one; however, this is not a drunk dial. This is an automated message to let you know that there is a gay boy in your vicinity who is interested in hooking up with you at the present moment. If you are interested in hooking up with said person (irrespective of who they might be), please press one now. For all other options, please press two.

The 674th Thing To Keep Me Up At Night

My suspicions have been confirmed by other Americans who have spent time in the UK: the British don't date. Instead, they pull, they snog, they slide into each other and hook up.

Is this a positive atmosphere for someone already riddled with self-esteem complexes? I can't seal a deal here: can I expect to there? Or will it be easier there, since that's what people do?

My ability to connect with people (emotionally, intellectually, spiritually) has always been my most fragile. Should I then cast myself into a culture where—from an American standpoint—I should expect to be used?

Granted I haven't been even remotely successful dating in this country, but at least I know the rules, I know how things works, and I'm learning to read the signs. And I won't break some social taboo by asking someone on a date.

Or is this precisely the culture I should embrace, because only there will I learn the (tired, old, boring, easy) lesson that I will only connect once I learn to connect with myself?

Life's hardest lessons are always such clichés.

So here's my question:

If moving to Scotland is so exciting as all my other graduating friends tell me it is, why aren't they doing likewise?

We are all in essentially the same boat: poor economy, lousy job market, meaningless liberal arts degree, and time to kill—so why are they all settling in Los Angeles with heavy sighs of resignation?

This feels, so truly, to be the more exciting thing to do, so that must mean one thing: I'm missing something. Everyone else did the same cost-benefit analysis I did, so why is mine heavier on the other side? What am I missing?

Someone please tell me before I give out my three hundred-plus books, because once I realize what an awful mistake I've made, I'll miss them. I really will.

Slang in dire need of a comeback:

NOT!

Senior Autobiography Profile

Completed Major: Creative Writing
Hobbies, avocations, obsessions: writing, reading, alcohol, coffee, iced tea, three-ingredient cooking, postmodernism, restaurants, publishing, theater, Europe, Joseph Mazello (no, not really—okay, yes), a certain someone else who shall remain nameless, communication
Favorite Books: Giovanni's Room, Running With Scissors, Me Talk Pretty One Day, Naked, One Hundred Years of Solitude, White Noise, Them
Favorite Movies: Elephant, L.I.E., Northfork, The Cure, Capturing the Friedmans, Peter Pan, As Good As It Gets, Fargo, Parenthood
Favorite Singers/Groups: Belle & Sebastian, the Shins, The Hidden Cameras, Radiohead, Guster
Most Exciting Thing I've Ever Done: Approached the most beautiful boy in the world
My Hero: David Sedaris and Peter Pan
My Secret Desire: money. Deep down inside, I want to be orgiastically rich.
People don't this about me, but: I'm extremely sexually inexperienced and come from a conservative, religious background
Easiest thing to leave behind: smog and traffic
Hardest thing to leave behind: driving (I know, I hate traffic but love driving), L.A.'s restaurants, and my collection of three hundred books
Ten years from now I hope to have: a boyfriend and published my first novel (either as writer or editor)
Any message for your fellow classmates? Good luck, kids. And if you're one of a select few, stay in touch (otherwise, you're probably insane and no longer in school).

Ten years from now I hope to have:

Jen: an amazing art collection
Jenn: been in the Peace Corps, lived in a cave, and gotten my doctorate
Wes: diplomatic immunity
Sarah: a home on the coast, a cushy job that I love, happiness
Derek: the respect of those people whom I respect
Robin: a wonderful family (two kids and a great husband), a job I enjoy
Genevieve: independence
Michael: More than one line per question? Seriously, money and happiness: one will cause the other eventually, I'm sure. Oh, and a degree...
Brad: a car, a reputation
Danny: respect and responsibility and trust above all else
Lesley: been involved in motion pictures, either acting or directing
Cooney: a girlfriend
Jared: happiness
Rod: made a few highly successful major motion pictures
Dave: money, a Jeep Wrangler, and a couple of TV shows
Craig: a career as a respected writer and social commentator

Some things never change. You've only got six more years, kids!

Freshman Autobiography Profile

Intended Major: Print Journalism
Hobbies, avocations, obsessions: acting, writing, reading, sailing, diving, Joseph Mazello, improv
Favorite Books: Youth in Revolt, Giovanni's Room, Lord of the Flies
Favorite Movies: The Cure, American Beauty, Dogma, Life is Beautiful
Favorite Singers/Groups: Alanis, the cranberries
Most Exciting Thing I've Ever Done: Visited the Tokelau Islands
My Hero: David Sedaris, Oscar Wilde, Peter Pan
My Secret Desire: I have this strange and unrealized desire to yell profanities at persons on stage, but I have too much respect for performers to do so.
People don't this about me, but: I'm a pathological liar
Easiest thing to leave behind: the closet and small-town life
Hardest thing to leave behind: the weather (*sob*) and my friends and family, of course
Ten years from now I hope to have: finished this questionaire, and a job at Time magazine or on Broadway
Any message for your fellow classmates? Write me!

Crush of the Day

Think rubbing vaginal blood all over a boy's face is arousing in an artsty French film?

This boy

plays classical music and violent video games. He gives his boyfriend hot, wet kisses in the shower and tells him to "have fun" on their shooting spree. Then, he cares enough about him to blow him away once they've picked off nearly everyone left in the school.

Violent and tragic—now, that's a love story. Why can't I have a boyfriend like that?

Is it healthy

to listen to "Are You Feeling Sinister?" on repeat all day long.

Perhaps.

But what if I picture Andrew (the most beautiful boy in the world, whom I met in Edinburgh way back when) singing each of these songs to me personally? And what if this absurd fantasy is exactly what I expect to come true upon stepping off the plane in Edinburgh? Would this make me crazy?

Boys on my short list (you know who you are), consider yourselves put on notice.

Memo:

To all of you who went to Coachella this weekend, I have only this to say:

Yeah, Coachella was cool, but the Glasgow Botanic Gardens are FREE!

Belle and Sebastian rocks my world.

Party

So I wandered into some guy who's on the water polo club team at USC. At one of the Olympics recently, they had sought the perfect body for the opening ceremonies, and who did they choose? A water polo player.

The story flattered him, because, after all, he said, they do work both their upper and lower body.

I told him I hadn't played a sport a day in my life; I had done theater in high school. And he told me that was fuckin cool, that it took more balls to do theater than sports.

And I lapped it up. I told him about my part in Museum when I played a femme, gay guy. "It's great you could make light of your sexuality like that," he said.

Our conversation reached its peak and denouement, then he wandered away. Water polo players can't fucking do that! Tease me with your "upper and lower body," only to wander away once you've caught my attention??

You owe me, kiddo.

Whenever someone asks

"So what are you going to do in Edinburgh?"

I answer, "Drink heavily and fuck Scottish boys."

That is perhaps the most ambitious and honest answer I can give.

Fun Times

Know what's really fun? Coming home drunk and lonely to look at porn and feel sorry for myself. This practice is improved ten-fold when one whines about it publicly (i.e. blogging).