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More media nonsense, though this time at least nobody knows they’re writing about me. That J.J. Jameson apparantly has a hate-on for superheroes. Or maybe just for people connected with Spider-man. So, newest headline of the Daily Bugle: Spider-man’s Slimy Sidekick: New Masked Menace: Kid Vicious. Or something. Kill me now. I should have let Harry pick a pseudonym. On the other hand, no. Not given what he comes up with anyway.

On the bright side, the meeting with MJ went well. Okay, so she totally kicked our asses at monopoly, but it was fun. And we so ganged up on Harry before dinner. Serves him right; he did make Cordelia go shopping with me, which was such an alliance of the titans behind my back. It was weird at times, looking at MJ, because she really resembles Kara a lot. Kara a few years older, with red hair, and a whole lot happier, and each time I thought that, hello Mr. Guilt and his good friend Mr. Betrayal. Personality-wise, though, she’s not much like Kara at all. More like Harry, actually, in some ways. They both can put on the charm deliberately and make you feel at ease despite the fact you know they do it intentionally.

Personal highlight of the evening? When he told me I was a brat and kissed me in front of her. Rolling on X aside, he never did that in front of other people, and it wasn’t a big deal at all for him, just something he did on the spur of the moment like pouring in more wine for her or passing the whatever-that-great-appetizer-was to me later, and that’s what made it so great.

I thought of that this morning at college, when I ran into some guys from one of the NYU organization for gays who handed out leaflefts calling for students to demonstrate. Something because of the Pope’s new edict on homosexual priests. So I was about to say that I’m not interested because a) not a Catholic, and b) not gay, and suddenly I felt like a complete hypocritical asshole. Like Roy Cohn in “Angels in America” which we watched in my class at Stanford last term, the Mike Nichols version, yelling at his doctor who has to tell him he has AIDS that he’s not a homosexual, he’s a complete heterosexual who fucks men. And I thought of Kara writing to me that I only pick the obligations that make me feel good about myself – like the superhero gig, or college – and not those who don’t. So I took the leaflet and tried to figure something out, again. Not whether I’m gay or not. I guess if you’re in love with a guy, and if you have sex with a guy, semantics don’t really matter – considering that I still think certain women are hot, the term probably is bisexual, but who cares?

Then there is what Harry told me, way before we got together, about the entire expectations-of-the-rich-and-famous thing. Normality as the watchword, and the dating of pretty girls plus the eventual marriage of same as an obligation, as if we’re still in the 19th century. So much for big changes in society. I guess those guys have a point, wanting to demonstrate. Plus though Mom and Dad weren’t Catholic, Father was, and Angel too, so that might make me Catholic by default. Anyway. So I decided to try and fulfill uncomfortable obligations, too. If you’re dating another guy, that means you’re obliged. I’ll go to that campus demonstration tomorrow afternoon. I mean, obviously Harry can’t, with his OsCorp gig, and I get why this is so important to him. If he can succeed where his father failed, he might actually get rid of Norman the Undead Bastard on a permanent basis. But I can.

In other news, Harry took my joke about the St. Bernard seriously and wants to buy a puppy. Which, you know, sounds like fun – I like animals – and I bet he’d be good with them, too. Except then I suddenly remembered Father telling me about Angelus.

”…that is how he often starts his torment. Nailing them to the doors of their owners.”

“Were they his prey? Did he take trophies?”

“No, Stephen. He simply killed them to cause pain. He would drive a nail through their eyes, and…”

Which killed any fuzziness I felt right then and there. It’ll come back, undoubtedly, because I do like the idea of a dog, but so will that old lessons.

Fathers. Don’t they… yeah.
abetterlie: (Default)
Alcohol is so overrated. Seriously, I don't know what Marlowe and Spade et al saw in that stuff. At least the whole embarassing part didn't happen until after I solved the case, as it were. If I had known Kara went to California to get some distraction from her mother's death anniversary by playing Lolita, I'd have just given Angel the hotel address. Anyway, on the bright side, I got some workout. Though Kara really needs to train more. She's fast, but her technique sucks. She should have seen that move coming. If I had been a vampire, she'd be dead now. What the hell did Wesley teach her when he was still around?

On the really, really, really dark side: I had no idea this Osborn guy was so famous every freaking paper in the country would print that stupid idiotic story. And I hear the security vid with me and Kara fighting and him standing uselessly around is online, too. So I thought I'd get the convertible back from Monterey first because that gave me some more hours before having to explain stuff to Justine and my father, but as soon as I was in California, my sister called. Mere, that is. Not Kara. And then my mother. Who'll soon have forgotten I exist, so that's probably one of our last conversations. Great. And then Mere again. And so on. Mom thought this was more proof I started life as a male hooker, and Mere sounds like she wants to have a date with Harry Osborn, too. That was when I got sick again.

Now I'm back, and everyone is out. Whatever Justine has to say when she returns, it's bound to be better than this.


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July 2010

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