Can't pick my nose either

[muckefuck]

They say you don't choose your friends, your friends choose you. I'm not exactly sure how this is supposed to work, but I always seem to have a slot for an insecure gay narcissist. Typically a fascinating self-promoter. For years, Despina fulfilled this role, dropping in and out of my life infrequently enough that I could keep a safe distance and avoid getting sucked into his drama.

And now there's Dale, another writer with a seriously bifurcated life. He reminds me that however much I fear I bang on about myself and my obsessions around other people, I'm really just a piker in this regard. Every rendezvous ends up being a kind of talk therapy for him; I'm less sure what exactly I get out of it. But then again, friendship is hardly a purely transactional exchange.

Tonight he invited me out to Madonnarama at Berlin. I agreed to come out of sense of obligation, since I've been blowing him off for the past couple weeks, and because I knew that the alternative was spending the entire day (rather than only half of one) sitting by myself and messing around online. And this being July 4th, getting out to someplace where the only explosions would be simulated promised relief.

On my way down, it occurred to me that one reason I wasn't going out was because I truly wanted to spend time with him per se. But that's just being an adult, doing things for other reasons than because they're what you feel most like doing at the moment. Oftentimes, I leave for a gathering not feeling like I want to see anyone only to realise some time after I'm there that I'm glad I came. That never really happened tonight, but at least I drank enough that pretty soon I didn't really care.

All in all, it was the last time I'm going to Madonnarama, probably the last time I'll go to Berlin, and certainly the last time I'll go to Sheffield's. (He picked it because "you're a beer fanatic". Really? When the server informed us that they were out of pulled pork, smoked chicken, barbecue brisket, and ribs, I replied, "That makes my decision pretty easy." I turned to Dale and said, "You do know there was a Cubs game today, right? Even people who don't give a shit about sports--like monshu--know when the game days are.")

It's the not the last time I'm going out with Dale. Amidst all that neurosis and need for attention is a deeply thoughtful and intelligent man. But next time I'll be sure to take someone else along to dilute the effect. I've learned that when dealing with these kinds of sparklers, it's best to have another still pool who can take turns reflecting the light.

Comments

[innerdoggie.livejournal.com]

Yes, even if you hate all sports, you need to keep up with game days so you can plan your transportation and other tasks of living.

If there's a football game, I should take the train or L and not the bus because the bus will get hung up in traffic and just sit for a very long time.

But I have to admit I am terrible about remember to look up this kind of thing.

[richardthinks.livejournal.com]

Thanks. This sort of thing used to screw me up regularly in Baltimore. Which means that in the months I lived there I never adapted sufficiently to pay attention to it.

[lhn.livejournal.com]

I never remember, but it generally matters more to the north-south axis of the city than east-west, so I'm only caught out if I'm actually trying to get past Soldier Field or Wrigleyville. (Or whatever Comiskey Park is called these days, but I'm much less likely to be traveling around that area.)