4:53 p.m. - June 10, 2003
Speaking of Road Rules: A few years ago I decided I left behind young adulthood when I couldnít stomach watching whicheveryearís installment of RR and Real World but this season Iím hooked. Me, Jason, hooked on television Ė MTV of all inane, brain-sucking, chromosome-damaging Great Wastes of Time Ė and did I mention I like literally laying in front of the television, remote in hand, and powering down? The unfortunate downside is that I notice the dust on the floors (theyíre wood) and I make a mental note to sweep, thereby disrupting whatever idyll is a byproduct of television zoning.
Bathsheba received her package today and sent me a great email, first complimenting me on my wrapping techniques. Iíve attributed these anal-isms as I call them (which friends call Jasonisms, e.g. the poo bathroom / pee bathroom, concern with sneeze-cloud residue, etc) to perfectionism and simply doing my best, but I wonder if itís simply the gay gene manifesting itself. Lorster, youíve received a package from me; was it really that bad? I sent her 4 CDs and a few new-office doodads and I fear Iím going to have to conspire to get those CDs back so I can copy them; erroneously I deleted the layout and if I say so myself, they are fantastic. Three classical, one Jasonís Favorites, and I didnít burn copies for myself. Of course I could simply ask her to mail them to me after admitting my error, but I prefer those aloof tautologies and gouaches that obscure my wants. Did I mention Iím considering a nail bed? Jesus, what was in todayís water thatís got me so?
Whatís the deal with guys, anyway? I thought the goal was giving or getting a good fuck (if I say so myself) and moving on to the next tchotchke but no, T. is giving me a headache. How am I supposed to stew and castigate and be angry and regret things if heís not giving me any breathing room? Perhaps Iím being too harsh but I was not planning and certainly did not want further contact, at least not immediately so. Between the flowers and a telephone call Iím feeling heís a bit . . . wonky, to borrow Milkmaidís term. Iíd like to talk to him more but I donít know about see Ė if thereís one thing I need to get over, itís feeling ashamed. In the meantime, the gay boys are supposed to stay away. Didnít you see the memo?