This is kind of serious, read at own risk:

Last night after a late night run to the sto’ w/ Mands, (in which I bought, among other things, a discount ice-cream maker) I had a pretty serious convo.

While downloading season 1 of Queer as Folk (I don’t really like it—but find it amusing to no end), and being simultaneously chided by Craig—ever mindful of the superficial tripe that often characterizes young gay men, Manda said, “You think you are better than every one else.”

She didn’t intend for it to sound vindictive or mean-spirited, and I didn’t take it that way. But I realized that I used to feel that way, and I have matured a lot since then.

In high school (and some of college, let’s be honest), I was a total egotist (not an egoist, thankyou Ayn for inventing another word). I was smart and therefore felt isolated and different than most people I knew in the po-dunk town I grew up in. To compensate for feeling like a smart-freak, I negated everyone else’s existence because they didn’t satisfy my standard of self –worth: an intellectual meritocracy.

But after meeting some very open-minded people here in Columbia (like my good friend Rachel A) I have decided to amend my personal credo. Each person decides to aspire to their own standard of existence. And some people don’t find that a life of intellectual self-absorption is a worthy goal. And some people are at (to avoid sounding like a High School X-country coach I know) different places along their journey through life.

So I concede that it would be unjust to judge someone according to my own standards. Which is not to say that I am going to stop altogether being a judgmental-pompous ass. Because, after all, that is what I do. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I can appreciate other people’s desires and accept their value systems. So that is a good thing right?

Anyway, I’m so sorry for being so serious. How unlike me, shit!

I should just write another entry in the same shallow and jaded vein that has characterized my posts recently. I’ll write something about my tight, go-go “boi” underwear, my newest American-consumerish purchase, or my obsession with gay pornstars.

PS: updates on the fabulosity of my ice-cream maker. It even makes sorbets! Which I plan to concoct of plethora of, to cleanse my palate between courses of my college-student fare of bologna sandwiches and ramen noodles.

(Mands: “Yes. Yes! I can taste the bologna much better!”)