Remember that Dr. Seuss cartoon, “Horton Hears A Who”? You don’t? Well, I don’t really care, because everything is all about me, anyway … The point is that I’m using this homepage to let the whole world know all about the intricate details of my life (the parts I want to share, the way I want to share them, anyway). I mean, just think about it: By writing all about myself and posting it, anyone in the world with a modem and a computer can read all about me! Fuck you, Anne Frank!!
The really cool part is that, according to the Google search engine, at least 1,346,966,000 pages of information are on the Internet, so what’s the chance anyone will actually read me? No risk here! And the coolest part of all is that even though nobody’s going to read any of the shit I write, my ego can still flush with the pride of being internationally posted!
But don’t for a second think that my self-esteem is as low as I think it is. The hits to my site can slowly add up: For example, imagine a beer that costs $3.50. The customer gives a bartender a five. If it’s busy enough, only a dollar is returned, which the customer will probably leave as a tip, instead of just the fifty cents, which is also kept, even if the customer stiffs the server in the first place. That’s what this site is all about: It’s my low-risk fifty cents from the world, which it owes me, just for being… ME!!!
July 4th, 2001: “Close Encounters”
I found my first proctologist in town by dialing 1-800-ASSHOLE. You have to be kind of careful when you seek sex or medical assistance over the telephone, you know.
My symptoms weren’t too bad, just, well, you know, kind of uncomfortable and unnecessarily complicated. You see, for a long time the world as I wanted it to be and the world that I actually experienced were entirely different. For some reason, people I met refused to immediately accept me as the person I thought they should think of me as. At the same time, they refused to allow themselves to be molded into the stupid pawns I knew them all to be, even though they intimidated me and probably thought more of me than I at first allowed myself to believe.
Why couldn’t they all just go away? Believe me, I tried. I’ve dealt with this personal alienation for years, over-compensating with extreme introversion, insincerity, shady scheming, artificial yet haughty aloofness, avarice and sexual compulsion. I just couldn’t “let go,” which is why the feeling of indebtedness is the one that really got me down the most.
Finally, I made the call. “Kid, we’ve figured it out,” my local doctor finally said, peering through his endoscope. “Looks to me like you’ve got your head up your ass.”
Of course, I went for a second opinion. And a third. So far, a series of professionals has discovered a home entertainment system, a Nintendo64, several gym towels and the score to Rogers & Hammerstein’s “Carousel” up there.
I suppose I’ll accept the diagnosis as soon as I find somebody with decent bedside manner.
July 14th, 2001: “Blame Canada, And Everybody Else”
Sorry I haven’t posted anything in a while, but I’ve been very busy turning down sincere, well-intentioned offers to manage a small business and get published. After all, it’s not every day of the week you get such offers, especially at my age and level of experience, and the chance to turn them down definitely makes for a once-in-a-lifetime, totally self-affirming reality: My decisions, MINE!!!
And yes, I am gay. I am a “homosexual,” a gay man. I am “out” to any straight person who’ll ask, very much “in” to any gay man who’ll date me, yet won’t. I have a completely legit, corporate job during the day to appease any lingering insecurities, and an under-the-table, gay job at night to reinforce those same insecurities. I have no clear idea where I’ve been, am scared shitless by what might come next, and in the meantime talk shit about those trying to help me, and try to have sex with those who use me.
When all else fails, I can always add another page to the billion or so already on the Internet. Deep down, of course, my future husband, my ultimate Dream Man, will find what I write, and like what he reads.
Meanwhile, I can almost hear this tiny voice inside: “Oh, just grow up already … ” But amid all this useless Information, who’s actually listening?