Matt Mitchell

July 1997


Well, holy heathen hubris, Batman. I missed the June deadline and I realized as soon as the mag was done that I was going to regret it. I need this opportunity to vent like you wouldn't believe. So here I sit, after reading through the sneak-preview Oasis for June, resolved to write [fanfare] the LONGEST COLUMN EVER in Oasis. Hell, I have a few weeks...so this will be the longest free-association in the history of man. Grab a Twinkie and a Jolt and get ready...

This column is dedicated to my own indecisive ass.


Came and went. It was the most money I've ever spent to be miserable in my life. All told, my wallet lightened by about $200, and it would have been more if I weren't the proud owner of a ratty-ass tuxedo. I made the gross strategic miscalculation of agreeing to go stag (fag?) in a group of three couples and another single guy. I'm not attracted to him at all. His virulent homophobia leads me to believe that he has some "unresolved issues" (my new favorite expression), and he has been taking shit about it. He's a nice guy, though, and he likes hockey, which means that we always have something to talk about. Anyway, we all went to dinner (which was quite good), to the dance (which was quite bad), and then home (which was quite boring). I must confess that I am a horrible dancer, and I don't particularly enjoy the Spice Girls [let me tell you what I want, what I really really want, is to CRUSH YOUR FUCKING SKULL WITH MY BARE HANDS...ahem, excuse me], so we ended up bugging out of there with all the "free" Pepsi products we could carry and going to the hotel's tennis courts, where I hacked (you know, with a hacky-sack) and he tried to catch the hockey scores from that night. After the pork came and threw us off the court, we hung at Chili's and watched Sportscenter. Now that's a story for the ages...and I related it to all of the bar patrons (and got a free drink out of it).

So. That was that. Prom sucked. Big surprise.

Needless to say, (but I'll say it anyway,) seeing all of the breeders there devouring each other really put me in a chipper mood about my own situation regarding things romantic (and sexual). Woe is me, as ever.


I came out to my best friend on April 22. (I looked at the calendar when we were talking about it; I figured it should be a date to remember.) He took it well, as I hoped he would. It wore on him really heavily at first, since I expressly forbade him to talk to his girlfriend/confidant about it. He promises he didn't. Lately, however, she's been much more friendly with me -- coincidental or otherwise, I must say I'm glad; she's very nice and a good listener. I may just tell her too at some point.

So. That was that. I suppose I'm kind of disappointed; after all, it took me years to build myself up to this point and nothing really came of it (bad pun fully intended). I guess I was expecting him to be the Oracle or something. He keeps asking me what he's supposed to do with this wonderful new information I've given him, to which I reply, "Nothing, you dumb bastard. You have to think about it and feel it burning inside you until it makes you so angry and confused that you go on a rampage: death, by drowning in ice cream, for everyone -- so much death and ice cream that the world comes crashing down around you, and you're left there alone with your killer frozen treat wondering, 'Is this biodegradable?'" You get my point.

Along the same vein, I told a (female) friend of mine in Houston about "it" over the weekend. She, amazingly and totally unexpectedly, revealed her own curiosity about the Other Side (tm). So she and I have been e-mailing each other at a near-record pace, revealing everything about ourselves to one another. (I guess I can only speak for myself, actually.) But it's been really nice; she says I'm the first person she's told, so I have to be the sensitive one (after all, I have all of that coming-out experience to rely on). It's good to have someone to bounce things off of that actually has been through some of the same circumstances.

Canuck Chronicles, Volume IV:

Nothing much has been going on, save my (pitiful) attempts to wiggle further into the lives of the Intended (plural). We actually talked the little one into playing hockey with the gang yesterday. However, thanks to the absence of some OTHER motherfucker [Evan are you reading this you piece of shit you better fucking be dead you bitch because if you're not you will be soon and I just got this shirt dry-cleaned goddamnit the last thing I need is another fucking bloodstain] the game sucked ass. Street hockey is _no_ fun three-on-two. I really resent Evan fucking the game up, too, because it'll take the riches of the entire Earth to convince Adam to play again. (Or maybe I'll just offer him a blow job. [Shit, that was crude!] But then we'd both get something out of it. [Oh, shut up, parenthetical brain, you don't know shit. He'd kick your ass anyway.] Fuck you, bracket boy. This is my editorial comment. Besides, it's your ass too. So there. {Get on with it!} [Get on with it!] Sorry.)

As usual, the forces of the Universe are conspiring to make my life as hellish as possible.

So when I was driving them home, we were talking about this and that, you know...insignificant stuff. Matt called something "gay" (see my previous tirades for my feelings on that particular subject) and I went off. I told him that using that word in that fashion was proof only of intellectual inferiority and that since I knew him to be a "smart cookie" that I would appreciate it, for everyone's sake, if he would please never do it again. I also utilized this opportunity to belittle the source of this evil tendency, namely Mike (hah! hope he's reading this shit), who is a big fan of that particular construct and the one who (I suspect) introduced it to them. With that out of the way, I fully intend to yell at them any time I catch them doing "it." (Heh heh...) I also express my displeasure, in the form of a joke, whenever I hear Matt proclaim his desire to "kick [someone's] ass." He's a violent little fuck, he is. (Not that I'd know, unfortunately.

The patient is responding well to treatment.

Seriously though, I'm just trying to get my foot in the door. I feel like (at this point) they both like me and respect me, so I'm trying to use that influence for the powers of Good, whether or not I _personally_ get any "return" on my "investment." And I'm not talking just about homosexuality; atheism, cynicism, skepticism -- I guess I'm just looking to spread "isms." (Insert your own crude pun here. Winky winky! I kill me.) Helping them become more intelligent, knowledgable, and tolerant is certainly an objective of mine. If it gets me some play, then so much the better. (Wow. _That_ was crude.)

Another interesting thing: One of the quotes of the day (from Matt's parents, who tend to say things that are amusing for one reason or another) from last week was from Matt's mom, saying that he doesn't know what's going on with the National [Dis]Honor Society because he "never talks to girls." This got some chuckles and a pair of raised eyebrows from me...just one of those things that makes me think that I'm barking up a tree that wants to be climbed. (And what a horrid butchery of a trite metaphor _that_ was. Sheesh. I hope no one I know is reading this.) Maybe my gay-dar is subconscious, and I just haven't learned how to use it directly. Maybe not. [Maybe I smoke crack.]

So. That was that. Another day passes, with my lecherous fantasies gone once more unfulfilled. So it goes.

"Reverend Doctor" Dept.:

I had a dream the other night about having a baby with another man. It got me thinking about the possibility. After all, if we can clone a being from a somatic cell, why not just mix-and-match those chromosomes and clone a hybrid human? Designer children...that would be a Fun Thing (tm). Seriously though, it may happen, and sooner than we think. If not for the evils of religion, we would probably be doing it already. Not just gay/lesbian couples, but everyone that wants a child and can't have one would benefit from this. And who says that genetic engineering, of some sort, is undesirable? There are a great many hereditary diseases to be avoided, and besides, who wouldn't want to design their own kid? I sure would.

'Course, I'm not a moron, nor am I diabolical, so I suppose my naive and well-intentioned use of this genetic engineering technology will be forbidden or impossible due to the "contributions," real or anticipated, of the above categories of persons. The possibility, though, intrigues me. I wonder if the Bible-thumpers have even thought of cloning, et al. as a tool of the Satan-inspired gay radicals out there...because we must be stopped! We cannot be allowed to love whomever we please in whatever way we please! Nein! Nein! Seig heil...seig heil...

...Seek help! (With apologies to Erek P., from whom this was indirectly stolen.)

We can't, and the scientific community won't, stick our/their heads in the sand, of course. The technology will come, despite the Luddites' best efforts to repress it. And I, for one, will embrace it with open arms. Progress is inevitable and unstoppable. (Just like this column.)

So. That was that. Actually, I've been having mostly annoying dreams lately; I've been dreaming about situations that might exist in a parallel universe. For instance, I dreamt (dreamed? I like "dreamt" better.) that I'd received an e-mail from an old friend about something or other, and when I sat at my computer and tried to re-read the message (of course it wasn't there) I got confused. The dreams are not weird enough that I can tell the difference between them and real life unless I really think about it...and even then, it's foggy. (Or dodgy, as the Scots say.) Maybe I'm writing this column in my dream, and I will have neglected to write it in my waking life. Who knows.

I think it's about time to wrap this fucker up. I graduate on Monday, which will be the happiest and saddest day of my life up to this point. Since I've only been at the school for two years, I haven't had time to make as many enemies as I did at my old school. I have, however, accumulated an assortment of friends, which I will dearly miss and possibly never see again. More than a little depressing, especially considering that the Canucks are among them. So I'm moving into a new and exciting phase in my life...

Oh wait, it's still me; it can't possibly be that new and it sure as hell won't be very exciting.

Like Buckaroo Banzai said, "No matter where you go...there you are."

Until next month...

And don't eat the ice cream...


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