Boy that makes me sound like a pervert.

Actually I did half an hour on three different crazy machines, including one that makes you gallop like a velociraptor. For some reason, no one laughs at you. Even when I started making scary predator sounds.

The reason I decided to go to the school’s SUPER GYM ODYSSEY 2002! is because I am now a person who wears reading glasses. I discovered that the source of my A.N.G.S.T.Y. syndrome was poor sight—I think my brain just gets exhausted trying to make language out of the shakey little black lines of most books and would just shut everything down. This has made me wonder if my body is slowly deteriorating with age and sloth. I find this unacceptable, because I am not nearly at all c’monplease old. I am only at my second palindrome and refuse to surrender to existential boredom, so I will go sweat it out in a public place. Added bonus—the treadmills overlook an ocean of men-straddled weight machines. How does that not beat watching The View from my couch with my cat at my side catching Frito crumbs in his fur?

I attended an audition in my sleep last night. A few people I knew (but don’t really) were encouraging me to try for this role in a movie. I showed up and had to do an improvised rescue with the already cast actress for the evaluation of a very George Lucas-y gentleman. He watched approvingly, and hired me. Then in about 30 seconds, the movie was filmed, I attended a premiere in jeans and sneakers, and I won an academy award. I am so vain.

This dream is the result of much recent contemplation on fame. Like your average dork, I saw Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones with excitement-diapers on, and I started to wonder about Haden Christiansen, whose name I may or may not have just spelled correctly. So I went and read an interview done with him in Movieline Magazine. He presents himself in the interview like everything I don’t hate, and that was upsetting to me.

I hate privilege. I hate that some people are powerful because they are good looking. I hate fame and celebrity and what it breeds in us—insecurity, envy, prejudice. We spend more time complementing and sponsoring glorified, fictional strangers, than the people around us. But it works so well. And in the end I’m just a little boy who wants to be Haden Christiansen, or someone like him.

More on that subject—a certain actor insisted during his interview on Larry King Live that he was very comfortable being a straight actor in a (certain) gay television series. Saturday, we saw this actor being heart-warmingly affectionate with a male other. Like, you know, GAY affectionate. This could surface a whole other argument about labels and rigid gender codes, etc. But this actor’s little bout with sexual representation affirms that Hollywood has nothing to do with us. And by us I mean everyone who has not been interviewed on Larry King Live. It has its own rules, designed to take our money and makes us drink unhealthy things. I swear it adds up if you’re paying attention (and are a gay left-wing Christian liberal, or something like it).

A man with a graceful gimp in his walk came into my coffee workplace yesterday. He was kind of young, and had that over-dressed “I don’t leave my house much so this is very exciting” sort of outfit on. I don’t think he stopped smiling once. Like any prejudice fuck, I took his walking problem as a sign that he was also deaf, mute, and stupid. “How...can…I…help…you?” Of course, he responded with, “I think today I will just have a medium cup of coffee with a couple of ice cubes, please.” But he was still smiling placidly. Not crazy energetic smiling, just content, like he was marveling at the world. Like he had just stepped out of a bomb shelter and missed a couple of decades and was amazed at all the innovations. He picked up a Sunday paper and before reading any headlines, he lifted it up in the air and turned it around in his hands. He shook his head in happy disbelief, I think examining how thick it was. He did everything slowly, like he knew how to do it but hadn’t done it in a while. I think I was privy to something very important in this man’s recent life, and I felt privileged.

Typical moment of inspiration, I guess.