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2003-07-27 - 11:39 p.m.

Interesting things keep happening to me, and I think to myself, I should write this down! And I inevitably forget. I should start carrying a small notebook around with me.

I'll start with today and work my way backwards, that way there's less of a chance I'll forget something that happened.

Before I got online, I was talking with my friend Sparkey. He told me a story about our other friend, Katie, who frequents the farmers market and buys corn. Apparently, every week the corn comes from a different place, and the corn line moves steadily northward as the summer goes by. Katie lives in Iowa during the school year, but in the summers she's home in Minnesota. Just before she leaves for college, she gets corn from Iowa, which isn't local corn while you're still in Minnesota. Then she'll leave and go back to Iowa, and that week the corn will be from Minnesota. Effectively never getting any fresh corn. I was as amused as Sparkey was with the idea of the corn line moving across the nation, although for someone who tracks the corn line so seriously, it's a shame Katie will never get any truly local corn.

The other thing he told me about that I feel like making note of was his new boy, Tim, and the club they plan on visiting when they go to Chicago some upcoming weekend. This club is called Manhole (appaling name, Sparkey confesses to me) and the attraction is that there's a dress code: no shirts. I think gay men must have the most fun out there.

Even earlier today, I was in Savannah with Jon. We did not visit the piano bar, but I did show him a certain art gallery that has a particular artist I'm quite fond of showcased there. Today, the artist was actually there, signing his works! I bought one, adding to what has become a collection of his artworks: I now own TWO. He even gave me a military discount, and informed me of some sort of show coming up November 8th. The theme is "sin and sensuality" or something like this, and feel free to dress in something naughty. I plan on writing to his email address and keeping tabs on this show; I'd love to attend.

Jon is a lot of fun to be around. We picked up some 80's music station and sung along and danced in the car. I never thought I'd meet someone who's as dorky as I can be, and I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard listening to the radio. Does anyone remember the song "Smuggler's Blues?" That song has to be the worst and stupidest song ever written, and by the same token, most hilarious.

I can't remember a single thing about Friday or Saturday.

Thursday night, I went over to Sean's for some drinking. I remember being annoyed for some reason before I went over, so I was glad of the excuse to drink. I started talking with this dude Eric, and after watching him and talking with him over the course of the night, I came to the conclusion that he's a moron. I told him so, and I asked him to defend himself. Normally I would not be so bold, but I had been talking about how I don't like to talk about people when they're not there to defend themselves. Then it occured to me that Eric was present, and I thought he was an idiot. Whereupon came the "you're an idiot" proclamation and the "defend yourself" request. He actually did defend himself, and even thanked me for calling him out. I still think he's kind of an idiot, but not nearly as much as I did before I asked him to explain himself, and he's no more an idiot than most of the people I meet. Meanwhile, Sean was in the background, being his supercilious self, smirking and laughing. I got into it with him about whether or not peasants killed the Czar in the Russian revolution. (I still maintain that the word pesants is a misnomer.) I enjoy talking to Sean more than most people, because he's one of the few people who can hold my attention for the length of a conversation. This is because I know he'll tear me apart if I miss any word he says. I have the attention span of an ant most of the time, and I catch myself doing that thing like in Swingers, making facial expressions as though I'm listening and raising my eyebrows occasionally, but not actually hearing a damn thing.

Earlier that day, Proofrok messaged me and chatted with me a bit. I was absurdly pleased. I felt like I was talking with a celebrity; that weird feeling you get when you talk with someone that you know some things about but have never actually met. He works for television. What a crazy ass thing to do with a life! Television? I don't know what to make of it, mostly because I don't see the attraction. Maybe I should start watching more of it (meaning, any of it) just to get in touch with the rest of my fellow Americans.


This is a reminder to myself to write down that crazy dream about those six beautiful women with cocoa butter skin.

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