Firstly, I came up with a much more clever name for this blog than a simple Jim Carroll reference. This is probably a little offensive. If anyone reads this (I don't think anyone does) and feels like I'm doing wrong by co-opting a womanist phrase for my not-a-woman needs, let me know. I don't want to offend anyone who doesn't deserve to be offended.
I'm back in Portland these days, with little to do and little money to do it with. I went down to Powell's today for the first time in a while and bought a copy of A Moveable Feast for two fifty. It's pretty good, just Hemingway talking about all of his popular friends. Hemingway was kind of the Perez Hilton of his day.
I'm glad, in a way, that I'm doing nothing but mulling over my identity and reading this summer. It's given me some good insights, and insight is a luxury I'd clearly take over good food or going to shows all the time. It just occured to me today, again when I was at my thinking spot (I'm basically Winnie the Pooh), that there's no need for me to be terribly angst-ridden about being trans. I've done so much fretting and analyzing and worrying what people will think, but how much is it really necessary? Other people will probably make it hard enough for me; why do I have to make it hard for myself? What if I just tell everyone that I'd prefer to be called Russell and have male pronouns applied to me, without apology? It's kind of a wild thought. No expectations, no Life Shaking Decision, no crying, no therapy, not tracing things back to childhood. People change thier names all the time; why not throw some pronouns in just for kicks? Even if I'm not sure about hormones or surgery (translate: not sure where I would get the money for hormones or surgery) what's the harm in a nickname? Hmm.
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