The usual trangsty musings and a brief record review.

The mannishness is slow coming, I suppose, despite any hair tufts or disconcerting zits. I got she'd by four different people within an hour of waking up, and I teared up this weekend at the Finnish national anthem. At least I'm comforted by the thought that all this silly inbetweenness is on its way out.

I'm also getting excited about the fashion freedom I'll have once deliberately trying to pass won't be as much of a concern. I watched "The Legend of Leigh Bowery" for the third time last night, and Mr. Bowery is still virtually my god, or at least my patron saint. It got me excited about clothes as art, as madness, as something horrifying and challenging and shocking, and not just something to make you look pleasant and respectable. I used to be more that way with clothes, but realizing that I needed to be read as male kind of put a lid on that. Egh. Sequins here I come. I at least want to glue some tiny mirrors onto my bike helmet.

But I'm going on vacation to the bay area this weekend, and I plan to somehow get a taste of the trans-appreciative culture that's been denied me. Or just get drunk at gay bars with my straight brother. Either one.

Completely incidentally, I also keep listening to music made by my good friend and all-around kind person Will Stratton. He just released a new album, the bemusedly titled "No Wonder," on Stunning Models on Display, and it's quite good. For those unfamiliar, he does a deliciously comforting take on the usual soft-voiced well-trained clever-tongued singer-songwriter. His songs, and the tracks "Vile Bodies," "Who Will," and the title track, especially, are like some thin but impossibly warm blanket in a wood-paneled basement apartment: completely tangible, familiar, oddly comforting. The "Vile Bodies" EP has some pretty swell stuff, too.