It's funny how things just happen:
- I happen to be an American.
- I happen to live in the South.
- I happen to be a man.
- I happen to like kissing other men. A lot.
- I happen to have found my other half.
And so on.
Over time, these things accumulate like so much silt at the mouth of the Mississippi River--or maybe, to be poetic, I could compare the process to that of mineral deposits creating stalagmites in a forgotten cave...nah, that's gay. Silt, stalagmites, whatever, my point is--and I barely have one--that these things ultimately create us and our others: when it comes right down to it, the decisions we consciously make have very little to do with it.
Please note: I'm NOT trying to say that "everything happens for a reason;" 99% of the time, it doesn't. It's arbitrary. Attributing fate to some goddess or poltergeist or some otherwise omniscient entity is spiritualism at its worst. All's I'm saying is that we ain't necessarily masters of our own ship.
...Good lord, what a crappy way to start your Tuesday: reading obvious and depressing truisms from an undercaffeinated homosexual. When I began this post I meant to talk about a new gig I've accidentally landed--something else that's just happened to me: I'm officially co-director of The Shim Shamettes, the world's hippest, sassiest vintage burlesque troupe. How my excitement over working with the girls morphed into existential angst, I dunno. Sorry.
