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2001-06-14 / 6:35 p.m. ~Knowledge is a burden, and ignorance is truly bliss~
Today I got an email note from Steve, as always the subject line said it all: "Why?". I was afraid to read it, but he's right. I just don't want anyone rejecting me. Let me do that. I don't get the opportunity here. He's written me off, he won't debate, he told me something, he knows he shouldn't have, I reacted, end of story, he no longer wants to be in love with me, doesn't want to know me. End of story. Why? is right. So, that was unsettling. The morning conversation was about who's gay and who isn't, in Hollywood, celebrities. I said Jodie Foster, yeah, that's common knowledge, and L. said Rosie O'Donnel. K. refused to believe it about Rosie, and no one believed me about Jodie. I speculate about Matt Damon and Ben Affleck, and I. says they're just friends, yeah, but I say, "special friends", and we're joking and it's kinda crazy, crazy because these people think homosexuality is wrong, especially for men, and when it's mentioned that Shamar Moore (I don't know if I have his name right) might be gay P. says what a waste. And I'm thinking, hardly! Not for all the gay men in the world!!! But I can't say it, because I know her small mind cannot wrap itself around the fact that lots of people are homosexual, and live happily that way, people you'd never expect. So, it's turning nasty, or potentially so, and when K. starts to mention that Jodie only wears pants, and I say so do I, well, I tell them I want to officially come out! Yeah, that's right, I wear pants, and I don't wear makeup, and I don't have a boyfriend, so I'm gay too!! And they start to believe me, for a second, and K. is pressing, says she wants to know, because we hang out sometimes, and well, she'd like a heads up - as if were it to be true, she'd want to know if she should put up her guard, against unwanted advances, etc. So misguided, so ignorant. It is so hard to work with these people sometimes. When I remember the days at the bookstore, when I was often the only straight person in the room, and I opened my mind, I expanded my horizons, I learned so much, I loved my job, I loved my coworkers, so much intelligence, so much culture, so much open-mindedness........ Of course we're talking Oprah too, and L. says Oprah shouldn't marry Steadman because he'll just take her money, and I try to make her see that Oprah is a shrewd businesswoman, and if they were to marry there WOULD be a pre-nup. She refuses to listen, and I am talking to myself. No thinking, just yapping. Later, P. sees a recipe for couscous, wants to know what it is, says it must be like grits, and L. says it's like rice, right?, yeah, it's like rice. I'm saying, it's pasta.....um, it's pasta, but no one is hearing me.....yeah, it's semolina, it's a type of pasta. Yeah, it's like rice, no, I think it's like grits, it must be. Do they look it up? Do they ask me, the one with over 300 (yes, I've counted) cookbooks? Am I feeling superior today or what? What is my problem? Why do they hate me, why can't they ask me, the one who knows? I tell her it's pasta, later, and she says How can it be pasta? And I say, You mean because it's not long? And I'm thinking she pictures spaghetti when she hears the word "pasta", and I feel so sad for her, and all of a sudden I realize I cannot teach her, it's like describing colors to a blind person. I've tried to tell her, but I know it's useless. Even later, D. wants to know what to do with ground veal? She bought some, and wants to cook it. What kind of meat is it? Is it chicken or pork or beef? But she won't ask me, the one who knows, she asks the other K., maybe because she's older, and must be considered knowledgeable. I know she doesn't even cook! It's cow, I say, it's a baby cow, a cow slaughtered while it is still very young.....and L. cuts me off "DON'T SAY ANTHING ELSE!!!", and I'm thinking, how sad, how very sad, how very American, people don't want to know where their food comes from, that it's actually dead animals, that they are indeed slaughtered. I'm in a foreign country, no one I can communicate with, no one. I have a superiority complex, a martyr complex, and I cannot maintain any level of intimacy with anyone, and no, it never would've worked with Steve, and no, it didn't work all those years ago, and it won't work with anyone. I call H. and tell her about Steve and his wigging out about my reaction to his sexual preference. She understands! Thank God! Someone I can talk to, and I don't want to hang up, she knows, she gets morbid too, she knows veal is a slaughtered baby animal, and so is lamb. It's a baby, and it tastes good! Yeah. But she's no food expert either, and that's okay, with her it's okay, 'cause I know she can and will learn. She has a mind that works, that receives information and processes it. I wish I were ignorant too, and I could say yeah, veal is like rice, right? Yeah, I think it is, and not have the compulsion to grab my Food Lover's Dictionary to find out the answser. Cost of the War in Iraq
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