Cosmic Buffet

Gravitas smorgasbord! Sometimes the cosmic buffet piles so much buttery corn, creamy creative endeavors, succulent turkey and gravy, precious physical exercise, delicious candied yams and social activities that we simply don’t have room for peach pie or a love life! And of course as we head back to the dinner table that hot bread bell rings and we’re forced to make room on the plate for a doughy clump of undercooked flour, yeast and margarine – (or God forbid, a personal tragedy or illness).

Oh magnificent, hot bread. Nothing inspires a stampede of chaffing, blubbery thighs like the ringing of the hot bread bell at Ryan’s Family Steakhouse in rural Rome, Georgia.

I’ve been damn busy this week. The beau and I enjoyed a decadent evening at Nowhere Bar on Saturday. We discovered a mutual love of karaoke. Already a year and we’re still making discoveries. So sentimental.

There was no eating of a buffet, but many a beverage was consumed. Sunday found me befuddled in a narcoleptic's daze, passed out every thirty minutes enjoying a fifteen minute nap. Staying out til three a.m. really drains a dandy of his vigor and colour.

Monday found me with the frightening (and cherished) return of gay rugby. Ah my buddies. If ever there were a group of gluttons who could clear a cosmic buffet it’d be the Gotham Knights. These guys are some creative, social, professional and busy New York gayfers. They make the time for the team, as do I.

Also piled on my plate are those filthy personal effects, shopping for groceries, taking out garbage. Laundry is an entire plate itself! Smelling it to see what is clean, what is wearable and what must be washed, washing, drying, folding and hanging! All necessities of modern life, all require time.

Not to mention the job that keeps my roof over my head. Which I rarely do.

In addition, I’ve been asked to write for a local paper’s entertainment section. Brava! Alas, in my diviner’s astrolaboratory, tediously charting all of gay New York’s destinies for my fabulous astrology section in HX Magazine, I often worry that I don’t even have the time for a simple horoscope column, much less additional freelance writing. But I make the time, because my cherished readers rely on my advice to lead their busy lives.

Should I try the meatloaf or the salmon? "Gayest Neil quipped critically of ground meats sauced in ketchup. Salmon it is!"

So I do it for you, my gentles. But wait! My hectic schedule isn’t over yet. Add to my selection the invent of a new drug, a new addiction, alas, a new online role playing game!

This seemingly innocuous invention is Dungeons and Dragons Online. OH GOD. How? How did a dandy of such esteemed social sitting fall into the devious demise of a geekwad’s Friday night? Perhaps I failed my savings throw versus traps? Where once on a weekend night I would mutter, “Darling, fetch me a martini.” and “Oh no she didn’t”, I find myself whispering (without any hint of irony or shame) “He’s a N00b. Gank him!” and “Lvl 2 mage LFT farmz ok” into a plastic microphone, recording this dandy’s delicate voice cooing to an audience of acne crusted nerds wearing Klingon foreheads and last year’s fashions. Eek!

Yet again and again that teetering Tupperware tray lands on my table. Slices of rare roast beef bleeds into my strawberry shortcake. I hungrily devour the entire portions of rugby, work, creativity, social affairs, computer games and, happiest, love. I push my dirty plate away and loosening my belt, lean back in my chair. And, eventually, return for seconds, thirds and fourths. What’s the use of a buffet if we don’t gorge ourselves on it?