The theme of this year’s gala was CAMP, and I don’t think I could have been more excited. Unlike the straights, I know that camp does not refer to gallivanting around the woods with a tent and a s’more, camp is an aesthetic that is near and dear to my heart. It is a celebration of excess and decadence and of the absurd. I know I’m camp. When I wear my silk florals and golden boots and ridiculous glasses, I’m part of the camp aesthetic.
Every summer I have a purpose, a goal, an intent. This summer, I don’t have that. And it’s making me absurdly stressed out. I have places I could go and things I could see, but there is nothing pulling me to a new continent. Romania did for a spell, and it still does, but I’m trying to be fiscally responsible. That’s why I’m not going, and that’s why I’m not going to UCLA. Will somebody please give me buckets of money? It’s for a good cause. I’ll buy a cute archaeological wardrobe and take intense courses and be a better Ben. But until then, I’ll just be the same me in very nice shoes.