Hello from College-land, kids. Last month things were a little hectic and crazed, and I didn't manage to write a column. Hopefully this will make up for it. I'm going to try to write a double-length column (much to Jeff's dismay, I'm sure), hence the title. However, there probably will be no science... or any fiction... but hell, it IS a double feature, and there's nothing wrong with Rocky Horror Picture Show references, is there?
Well, I guess the truly momentous thing in my life is that I am at college. I've been here for a month and a half, and I'm very slowly adapting at being away from home, on my own. Believe me, it's been hell. I mean, a few people I know from high school go here, but they're virtually impossible to get hold of, and I don't make friends easily anyway. So I've had to force myself to be social and nice to everyone, and I've managed to make a couple friends. Not as many as I'd like, but I've got some people to hang out with, and I'm not always sitting at home on Friday nights. Groovy for me.
Davy-note: there is NOTHING bad about not having anything to do on weekend nights. That's, like, become my mantra so I won't do anything drastic. It also helps that I'm very poor now, so I can't really afford to go do anything. Good reason not to go out.
What else... oh, I know what you're wondering about. My roommate.
We're going to pause here to briefly comment on what I'm watching on MTV. Alanis Morrissette's video for "Thank U". Interesting video. Do I really need to see her nekkid? Probably not, but I do like the video, and the song I've got the mp3 of it, and I play it over and over and over and over... I'm already starting to play it to death, as every Alanis song should be.
All right, back to the roommate. I can't remember for the life of me if I wrote about my fears about college concerning my roommate before, but more or less I was a'fearing that I'd get some homophobic asshole. Fortunately, things have worked out decently. I spent the first couple of weeks letting him get to know me. I can't think of anything more detrimental than walking in, seeing my roommate for the first time, and yelling "Hi, I'm gay! Oh, my name's Davy too." So when I broke the news to him he was like "Oh, ok, I don't care, it's none of my business." So, groovy.
As for any attraction factor... nope, none, no-how. He's straight, and if I were attracted to him (I ain't telling, because I need a little mystery about me after baring my soul in these columns so much for the past year) I wouldn't hit on him. It would create an incredibly awkward situation, and I don't need it. So he's my roommate, I'm his roommate, and never the train shall meet.
First two weeks of college rocked butt, actually. The freedom. Oh GOD, the freedom. It's absolutely euphoric. No one gives a shit about you, and in return you start not giving a shit about anyone else.
However, life isn't totally perfect like that anymore. My chronic depression is rearing its ugly head and intruding on my territory. Damn, it left for a month and I do believe that I've never been happier. So I think it's time for some drugs. Prozac, I mean. We'll see.
Oh, and I got drunk for the first time. Was very cool. I don't plan to make a career out of it, although it would be WAY too easy. Once in a long while is good for me.
All right, enough of the stereotypical "This is how my life has been since last we met" Oasis column. Now we'll tackle a real subject. See, I told you it would be two columns in one!
My dear friend Bill wrote a wonderful column for Oasis way back about dating closet cases (http://www.oasismag.com/Issues/9708/column-roundy.html). He said it sucked. Now, I just want to add something to this. Don't even fucking CONSIDER closet cases. It'll fuck you up, I swear to god.
Why? Let me tell you what's going to happen. You're going to meet someone who, after much hard work on your part, because you like him, will admit to you that he's gay. Much rejoicing on your part, you'll feel like it's full steam ahead from there. However, admitting something and being something are two different things.
Ever dated a closet case? Not fun. You go to a restaurant, you're talking, you're having fun, and you're just feeling so good that you reach for the closet case to do something minor, like squeeze his hand and grin at him.
Do you know what it feels like to have someone recoil from you when you try to do that?
I'm not kidding, closet cases actually do that. They say "No, not here!!!" and glare at you for violating the sanctity of their precious closet. You feel bad because you made said closet case angry, and you feel like TOTAL SHIT because of the whole recoil thing going on. It's just this total rejection from someone who likes you. They don't mean to make you feel bad, but there's really no helping it.
Everything you do in public with said closet case is carefully crafted and ambiguous. If you're going to say something loving, it better be whispered. If you're going to smile at him, it better be when no one's looking. If you want to peck him on the cheek, it better be behind closed, locked doors with the lights off.
And then, at the end of the relationship, the closet case tells you to fuck off and die because you pushed him too far and made him feel like shit. I made him feel like shit because I made him recoil from me, that's right. I made him feel like shit because I challenged him to face the truth about himself. And then he cuts off all contact from you, or limits contact to a 5 minute conversation every two weeks.
To the closet cases in my life, I give a big fuck you. I'm tired of putting my energy and love into people who don't use it for anything. I'm tired of thinking I can change things, that I can help people, because it's been proven time and time again that I can change nothing in the course of anyone else's life unless they want it to happen and closet cases aren't like that. They'll stay in their closet until the day they die.
Of course, the worst part is that I still love these guys who have screwed me over. Maybe that's what drives my obvious anger, the awareness that my torch for these guys still burns, and will for a long time. I know that until I put these torches out, I'm always going to feel bad about myself, and blame myself for their shortcomings.
Note: this doesn't apply to all you kids. You're in the closet because you're just figuring out your sexuality, you're raging hormones, everything's confusing, you live with your parents. That's totally understandable. The people I'm talking about are in their twenties, are pretty much independent, and are in the closet because they're too chickenshit to make a stand for anything that they believe in that's not also the credo of everyone else. Male adults without any character.
End rant. See you next month.
Davy can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. His rarely-updated web page is located at http://members.aol.com/agelfling