Möbius Trip

Sometimes I have trouble getting close to other gay men. Sometimes it’s because I’m afraid they’re mistakenly going to think I’m interested in them. Sometimes it’s because I’m afraid they’re correctly going to think I’m interested in them.

That doesn’t really connect with anything I’m planning to write about. I know, a good opening paragraph is supposed to prepare you for what lies ahead, and that one didn’t. Sue me, but remember, I’m a lawyer. Anyway, that’s been on my mind.

Last night I stayed in. By choice. I felt like staying home, opening a beer, fixing myself some dinner, and spending time brushing up on my CSS skills. I found this great site that filled in lots of gaps in my knowledge. As I noted in my previous entry, I’m planning to move my site in the near future. Everybody’s doing it. Thanks for all the recommendations on registration services and hosting companies. Yesterday afternoon I actually went as far as sending Your-Site a request to register a domain name and open a web hosting account. I was supposed to receive a confirmation e-mail but it never showed up. An hour and a half later, the site went down. I’m tempted to think there’s a connection between my registration and the site going down, sort of like Arthur Dent picking up the toothbrush and the bulldozer plowing away. The site stayed down for at least the next ten hours, and by this evening, I still hadn’t received confirmation, so I called them up and cancelled my request. Thanks for the recommendation, Mattee, but it looks like bad karma between me and them, so I’m going to use someone else.

Tomorrow is the Pride Parade, and I’ll be marching with Twentysomething. My biggest fear is that I’ll be stuck somewhere along the route and have a major attack of the runs. God, please don’t let that happen.

Yes, it’s Gay Pride Weekend, which means that if I wanted to, I could have reserved a ticket for Caligula 2001 for 75 bucks. No thanks, really. But that’s sweet of you.

Speaking of tickets, my parents and my aunt have tickets to see “The Producers” next week. I’m envious as hell. It’s always my parents who get to do the privileged stuff. Of course, if I’d had the foresight to order a ticket back in March, as well as a hundred bucks, I could have written “The Producers” on my calendar as well. This really must be bugging me, because this morning I woke up from a dream in which Mel Brooks and Leonard Bernstein were doing some sort of wacky conducting/directing/comedy routine in tuxedos, making fun of all the conventions of their craft, sort of like Victor Borge does with piano playing. It was hilarious. I had never seen anything that had made me laugh so hard. Of course, when I woke up, I couldn’t remember what was so funny. Also keep in mind that Leonard Bernstein has nothing at all to do with “The Producers,” which is marginally related to the fact that he’s dead. Nevertheless, he’s one of my idols.

Anyway, I was invited to this party tonight, but I’m not sure I’m going to go. “What?” you’re thinking. “You talk about your dearth of social activities and here you’ve been invited to a party and yet you’re not going to go?” Well, yeah. I don’t totally know if it’s going to be my crowd. I just don’t seem to fit in with the sleeveless muscle-tees and all. But maybe I’ll go. What would be nice is if someone would ask me sometime, “Hey, wanna go see Troy’s swing band perform on Thursday night?” Like that’s going to happen. Because I’m just an afterthought.

I think it was easier to make friendships with other guys back when I was still in the closet. None of that gay stuff got in the way. Today, I’m so worried about getting close to guys because I’m afraid of what it’s all going to mean. As if it’s not possible for two gay men to just hang out and enjoy themselves. It’s sort of like the gay version of “When Harry Met Sally.” Can two gay men be friends without all that complicated stuff getting in the way? I think so. But I need to get past some quirks in my thinking.

You know why I have trouble calling people up? Because I really, really want to connect with someone.

That might not seem like it makes sense, but it does.

So my opening paragraph worked after all.