Death In The Alley Next Door

Tonight I met the long-term boyfriend of my very, very good friend, Miss Winn. Almost 10 years now we've gotten to know each other, and with each passing year I come to admire her spirit more. Now that we live on the same side of the ocean, the same side of the continent, the same side of the same city, there came the occasion to have dinner with her and her beau.

Mr. R is impressive in his own right, cute, funny, and totally in love with her. It was a very enjoyable evening of Greek food (though I would have sworn mine was Italian) and music (though I would have sworn it was Spanish). There are so many good food choices in New York, one almost can't get hungry fast enough!

Dinner comes and goes and we take a side street under a huge concrete arch with clever graffiti and past an impressive orthodox-looking church. You know, the original church of Jesus Christ before all that Catholic corruption and stuff with the Pope causing the East-West Schism?

As we reach my house (Miss Winn's bf lives a block away) there's a Chinese man, obviously distraught, telling us about a dying animal in the alley that just got hit by a car. Seriously put a damper on an otherwise great evening. Mr. R calls 311 as they say goodbye, but I just can't go on like nothing happened... I can't resume life as normal with a dying soul right there, probably afraid, confused, and in massive amounts of pain. I go in the alley between my house and the next building to be with the cat. Its left hip has been badly broken, easily evident from the Cirque-style contortion of his legs.

I'm crying as I type this, it was just awful... the poor thing was a total alley cat, no collar, no owner, a real survivor in this man-made city. His hair was sooty to the touch on both his neck and back, the places where he couldn't clean himself and where no-one else did. I first met him the night before, enjoying a meal out of a discarded food container. The cat, not me.

Animals generally take a liking to me, and such was the case with Amsterdam - the name I gave him posthumously. He wasn't bothered by my presence and as I was content to just enjoy the night, we shared each other's company while he enjoyed dinner.

Now here he was, gasping for breath, obviously in great pain, unable to move. I sat next to this dying creature, right next to the garbage, and spoke softly to it while rubbing it's head and neck until I could get him to calm down. It was just awful... the poor thing kept looking at me as if to say, "HELP ME" and all I could do was just talk to it and rub it's head. "Please," I said to the man who pointed out this poor creature, "fetch some water?" The man leaves me alone with Amsterdam while Miss Winn and Mr. R rush upstairs to search for information online - 311 was not of much help as it seemed anyone who was capable of helping was closed on this fateful Friday night.

Now alone with Amsterdam, I wished I had the wisdom, strength, and courage to break his neck and end his suffering, but that was not to be my role. I honestly believed that a vet would soon arrive and take care of this animal. Amsterdam seemed to calm down and be at peace. I began to believe that he would be okay.

My neighbor Chi (as in Arabic for tea), returns with some water. As he crouches down next to us, Amsterdam, lying on his right side, slowly tries to raise his left paw over his face. I take a few capfuls of water and pour them over his lips, hoping that he'll take a drink... but there's no reaction.

I suddenly notice my other hand on his belly is no longer moving... he's stopped breathing. Right then and there, in my arms, he died. It was awful... when he stopped breathing I instantly knew he was dead, but there were still lingering body spasms which made the people now taking notice think he was still alive. I couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

Just then, another neighbor arrives with a box- initially designed to be a recovery bed for Amsterdam, it was now serving double-duty as a coffin.

Rest in peace, Mr. Amsterdam. I could not ease your suffering, but I could not let you journey into the next world frightened and alone. No spirit deserves that fate, especially one as magnificent as yours.

Thank You, Jerry

Jerry,

Words cannot express how grateful I am for your sponsorship, but nonetheless, please allow me to try…

You have given me hope at my darkest hour. Because of you, my dream is still alive and within reach! It may be naïve to strive to make this world a better place, but I would not be out here playing poker if I wasn’t confident in my abilities to win. Over 12 years I’ve been studying this game, reading book after book, writing computer programs to evaluate strategies and statistics, and of course, playing.

It is not through arrogance but rather confidence in myself that I know I’m as good as the stars on TV. But it is not about ego; it’s not about me.

It’s not about fame; I appreciate the value of anonymity.

It’s not about fortune; sure, I prefer wealth to poverty, but life has taught me how to create a comfortable existence on a modest budget.

I’m playing for a higher purpose. I don’t know if Lisa told you, but my transition to womanhood has been traumatic and the process has re-aligned my life priorities. I want to help others on this path by founding support groups, spreading awareness, and helping pass legislation to secure equal rights. In the process, I hope to be an inspiration for other successful transsexuals to also be role models. We are the third sex, and we have much to offer the world; certainly more than being ridiculed in popular culture or as a fetish item in the sex-worker industry!

With the conviction of Viktor Frankl, I can say this is my meaning, my purpose, and that is why I play. The fame and fortune from being successful in this tournament would certainly go a long way toward fulfilling these goals! Just being seen as a ‘normal’ person on ESPN would do wonders for our community and enable me to spread a positive message! And of course the prize purse would provide the capital to fund programs, create media, and lobby support.

There’s more, but in a nutshell, that’s my plan. Moving to Vegas was just the first step, so you can imagine my disappointment when I could not earn the buy-in playing in live games. (I only had a $200 bankroll, and I came very close but I also had to live off of my bank roll.) I was going to have to wait for another year or risk being destitute if I entered and failed to win at least my money back. So much effort expended- all for naught. I was quite depressed! I felt like I failed.

It was during this time when news of your generous sponsorship arrived! To say I was overjoyed would be an understatement!

Thank you again, so much for your kind help. You have given me the chance to succeed and for that, I am truly grateful. If there’s ever anything I can do for you in return, please don’t hesitate to ask.

Your friend,
Clio

The Second Miracle

I had just finished with the math... in disbelief, I check it again, but to no avail. I failed to win enough money to live off of and buy in to a the WSOP tournament. Even the ladies no-limit... the only way to play was with money I couldn't afford to lose, and that dear friends, would be most unwise.

Unwise as it may be, the heart-breaking reality was that, as close I had come, I would not be playing in the WSOP this year. The news was devastating to my soul. So much so that I refused to believe it. I moved out here for this opportunity with nothing and I was so close; to admit defeat was more than I could bear! No, I was not going to give into those feelings again; I've had more than enough despair in my life, thank you very much! I still love my life!

No sooner had I come to this realization when life presented another opportunity. His name was Jerry, and he wanted to sponsor lil 'ol me for the tournament! I nearly fainted when I heard the news! The most amazing part is, I've never met Jerry! He's the boyfriend of a very dear friend, (I promised not to reveal her identity) and evidently, they planned on sponsoring me for quite a while now. (blush) The timing of the news was simply magical and I am still in awe at his generosity and the support from friends.

It's amazing really; estranged from blood relations, I hoped I would make some friends when I moved out here, but never dreamed I would find a new family, for that's what my new friends (you know who you are!) out here have become. I feel like the luckiest girl alive!

Look out ladies, Clio's in the game! :)

That night, my younger sister Bradly and I went out to celebrate this new fortune...

... the view from Mix, atop The Hotel at Mandalay Bay is quite impressive! Can you see why I want the flat on the strip with floor-to-ceiling windows? :) The view is great, but the servers aren't nearly as hot as Olive Garden! I suppose this is a good thing, after all, what bar do you meet up at if Cinderfella works here?

Miracles in the Desert

I met my friend Joyce at a little cafe in Paris today for lunch. The food itself was exquisite- Ahi Tuna, raw, but seared around the edges with peppercorn mixed with boiled potatoes served on a bed of fresh greens and celery tossed with a light lemon vinigrette dressing. Yummy! It was the perfect accompaniment to fresh loaf of french bread, a glass of pino gris (not grigio, cause it's Paris) and a bottle of sparkling water. And for desert? Rich flour-less chocolate cake topped with a sensuous chocolate glaze. It was nearly orgasmic!

And if the food was good, the company was even better. I don't know the proper words for what Joyce does- to call her just a costume designer seems woefully inadequate because as I understand it, everything in a production that has to do with fabric or color is her speciality. In addition to providing support for Folies Bergere, the quintessential Las Vegas show (check out the costumes!), Joyce was preparing to work with Cher (CHER!) in her upcoming performances, encourage future generations to follow their dreams, and when all that was done, work her magic for Bette Middler. Yes, the Divine Miss M!

Joyce is an amazing woman! Have you ever met someone where when you are with them, you are granted frequent, deeply meaningful insights? For me at least, that happened today. After spending just two hours with her, I felt transformed. I felt like a fountain of positive energy and I reveled in spreading it!

At the poker table, I gave pleasant conversation, people smiled, and I felt as if I became a warm light transforming the sulking faces upside-down. Oh, I still took their money, but at least I was giving a good time in the process! ;) I've recently been having fun with the fact that most people at a poker table don't look like they are having a good time... many of them don't even smile after they win! I get not smiling after a loss, but if ever there was a time to smile at a poker table, wouldn't it be while raking in chips? I made it a goal to get those winners to smile, and I had fun doing it! I became that bright, bubbly, pretty blonde and I played the part as best I could and it felt good! (Is that Linda Low I hear in my head?)

As the poker room was right next to the bar, the cocktail services was amazingly fast. Since there were only three tables, service was also amazingly frequent. About the third hour into play the familiar alert of 'Beverages?' turned into an affected voice. It belonged to an older lady and it was unclear if she had suffered a stroke, but she spoke in a very slow, deliberate manner. She couldn't say 'Vhhh' as in 'BeVhhherages' and much of her speech sounded like that of one who had never heard human speech (like someone born deaf), but who had learned to speak nonetheless.

The fella to my left thought perhaps she was retarded, but when I ordered a drink from her, I saw a very bright woman in her eyes- I connected with her briefly- so I knew that wasn't true; it was only her voice that was affected. Urged by my lunch conversation, I gave her compassion. I felt what must have been a very difficult time in her life (if not now, certainly earlier) and I wanted deeply for her to have a happy day.

After winning back the losses from yesterday, and on the urgings of my stomach, I left for home and fish tacos. What a great day!

I LOVE MY LIFE!

Searching For Sanctuary

More adventures on Craigslist...

The place I was planning on staying at for two weeks while I found a place to stay for three months turned out not so good. Vedran, an otherwise awesome guy, tried to pick me up from the airport, but didn't realize I had already rented a car. He gives me directions to his place, very close to the strip in a nice little neighborhood and we start to fix pasta with veggies. Yum!

He said he was a painter, but I soon found out that he didn't mean in the 'artist' sense, rather in the 'paints buildings' sense. Okay, that's cool, I'm just excited the place is clean! Well, if it were my place, it would be cleaner, but this would certainly do for two weeks!

I noticed he inhaled his food, but didn't give it much thought. Later, I realized that at some point over dinner, he figured out my little secret, and that must have made him uncomfortable. I assumed he woofed down his food normally, but I guess he just wanted dinner to be over.

Later, he entertains me with videos of live concert footage from Ramstein (Du... du haist... du haist me- means You... you hate... you hate me) The concerts were held in London, Tokyo, Russia, and Paris; a pretty cool European band in an Eastern-block kind of way. If you've never seen the band, they are like German gothic heavy metal. Vedran's skin-head references keep growing and I suddenly noticed his shaved head.

Wanting to get started on my flat search, I leave Vedran early (probably to his relief) and when I call him back the next day on a good time to move in, he lets me know that the deal is off.

I sat in my car surrounded by beautiful mountains and clear blue sky and cried. Not because he rejected me, that was his problem, but now I was in pretty dire straits.

I only allowed myself a few minutes before getting back into survival mode. I get back to the hotel, keep the room for another week (but only after pleading for a good rate) and start looking for a new place.

This time, I don't tiptoe around:

3 Months, Cash, Upfront...WSOP player looking for a nice place May-Jul

Hello!

I'll be in Vegas for three months from May 1 to Aug 1 and am looking for someone cool (drama-free) to rent a room from as close to the office (Rio poker room) as possible. I'll pay for the entire time upfront, in cash, and I leave places better than I find them! :)

I'm professional, educated, traveled, healthy, 420 friendly, clean, and very respectful. Not that it should matter in the slightest, but since I'm not here to deal with bigots or sheltered breeders, you should know that while I look, act, and identify as a fit, attractive female, I'm really a M2F transsexual, pre-OP, 8 mos HRT.

If this sounds good to you, please respond with a phone number and I'll call right away!

Refs upon request.

And that's how I met Brad.

Mandala Inverse

So the day begins as the last fifty:
I washed and I cleaned, made myself pretty.
The madness of March had not settled in,
My alma mater lost to Wisconsin.

Afternoon sushi, I love it so much!
Shopping required; perhaps after lunch?
Made music for friends down on the corner,
The mall this weekend? Oh no, the horror!

Public ridicule, giggles from curls,
What else to expect from all the girls?
For this is their turf; keep on walking through,
Let them have some fun; courtesy of you!

I wish they were not so vocal that way,
Can words from the young rain on my parade?
The smile is gone; the chin starts to fall,
All because we had to shop at the mall.

And at our lowest, a miracle comes,
But not one or two, here are three at once!
Strangers took your joy, but one fills to top...
He wants your digits, he thinks you are hot!

And then an old friend from days in the past
Calls on her birthday... an amazing chat!
And then from nowhere, a bolt from the Blue,
Aosaf connecting, reaching out to you!

It tickles me pink to get back in touch,
I'll try it in verse, it tickles so much!
Extending from here electrons to there,
My mind to your eyes, many thoughts to share.

Through air and wire I reach in the net,
I am almost there, can y'all feel me yet?
Please excuse this poem of quality fair,
It reflects my skill, not how much I care!

Gone, But Not Forgotten

Before I was conscious, I was communicating.
I knew not what I said, but said what I knew.
Now, remnants of those converstations are being preserved,
Scanning letters from pen-pals, and some men-pals,
Like an archeologist preserving old bones.

The ebb and flow of friends, reduced to just memories.
Emma, Tuomas, Severine, M. Columbier too,
Brian, Melissa, Jana, Holly, I remember you.
Though I was just a passing shadow on your screen of life,
Your words were kept, your friendship never dies.

Sometimes we're rich, and sometimes lean, but sometime inbetween we'll meet again.

Goodbye

Reluctantly, and for health reasons, my consciousness has decided to implement an isolationist policy regarding my current circle of 'friends'. I am worn out from striving to be there and be helpful for my friends and, in return, always feeling let down and alone when I need help. In short, I'm fed up with being used, abused, and neglected. It all ends today. No more free information, no more free help, no more favors, no more meditation/prayers for them, no more no more.

We've officially hit bottom.

Signing off

Deconstructing Gwen

Gwen Hughes is an angelic Diva that I am honored to call my friend. While I am merely internationally ignored, she is internationally renown for her performances and songwriting. Yeah, she's that good! If you want to hear for yourself, why not take a moment to check out her Electronic Press Kit?

She's humored my pesterings of musical questions and nurtured my ambition to produce a new, modern-Euro sound for her music in the past, but now she's gone one further... actually collaborating with me on two new songs of hers!

Now Gwen and I are two very different musicians (if I can even call myself that). We often talk at great lengths about how different our worlds are. True, I have modest keyboarding and music-producing abilities, but this woman sings and plays piano for a living... a real professional.

So I eagerly accept the opportunity to "re-produce" or "re-mix" one or two of her songs... but can I do it???

Well, I found it quite amusing that path I had to walk to be able to absorb her music, and so I created this post... let it bear witness to the genius that is Gwen.

Input

Two mp3s arrive in my mailbox. I eagerly listen to them. On first glance, they seem like complete songs... drums/bass/keys/vocals (all done by her). I play along with them, figuring out the chords (more or less) as the songs play and I think, "yeah, I can do this."

Now I should spend a moment discussing the ways one can go about re-mastering a song. The first method, identical to the way a DJ would re-mix a song off the radio, is to use the song itself as the building blocks to create a different song. The entails sampling the song into lots of little bits, which itself might require some audio processing.

For example, let's say I want to use a bit of the song as a base for a new song, but the part I want to use has vocals on it that I don't want. Well, you can consider a song to be like a layer cake: at the bottom layer (the lower frequencies) is the bass, and other instruments are found occupying higher layers. (Drums, especially hi-hits and snares, comprise the highest frequencies.) By using audio processing techniques, I can "cut out" instruments (even voice) from the original recording!

But, due to the fact that sound "leaks" between the layers (as harmonics) the end result isn't as nice as if I had started with clean recordings of each individual instrument.

Add to the fact that I'm serious... I want to create a 24-bit, 44.8KHz recording... and that I'm starting with a .mp3 (which is already lossy) and you'll soon see that any end result I do would have to again be redone with higher-quality source material.

It's not like me to do something 1/2-way.

The second approach, also widely used, is simply to re-create the song first, using local instruments, so that one can start with high-quality recordings. A bonus of this approach is that if done properly, one gets more than just a recording... one gets a capture of the creation process that can be edited (say, changing a note, or a trumpet to a sax)!

I knew before Gwen ever sent me anything that I would want to use the latter approach. Why? Because I'm a musician... I feel like I have a larger expression with MIDI data than I do with MP3 data. Besides, if I'm going to help write a song, I think it's reasonable to assume that I could play the song.

The Devil's in the Details

But with Gwen... that turned out to be a much larger problem! See, Gwen is a professional jazz musician... her stuff is a bit more complex than the usual drivel that I was used to on the radio. (Even the "sophisticated" stuff I listened to is pretty simple by comparison to jazz.)

While I could play along with her songs, I was a LONG way from being able to reproduce what she sent. I could add to it, but not create from scratch. No matter how hard I tried to hear what was going on, it was stuff I had never heard or seen before and I was stymied.

I knew however, that if I just watched her play the song once, I would be able to reproduce it. God has blessed me with that skill. So, frustrated, I called her and asked for the chord charts. This would at least verify that my chord guesses were correct.

Well, after busting my chops (rightly so) for not putting more time into learning the song, she sent me the charts. (Thanks!) I now owned a few pages of symbols that, when presented to a musician might actually "sound" like a song- but in my hands, were just stark reminders of how much I was not a jazz musician. Armed with a map to the song, I began my quest.

Creating Audio Samples

The first step was to take her mp3 and break it down structurally in a way that it would be represented on a chord chart. To do this, I loaded the song into CoolEdit and meticulously set markers corresponding to the start of key measures in the song.

The next step was to get my recording studio setup. For this part of the song, I needed a mixer, drum machine, and samplers for the bass, piano, and strings. That was the easy part, harder is programming the instruments!

I started with drums. The song only has a basic 16-beat drum pattern looped, so I figured that would be a good place to start. Using the samples I just created, I figured out the beats per minute (113) and set up my recorder to loop over the first 16 beats while simultaneously playing the first 16 beats of her song. I listened to that drum pattern over and over on a loop until I could anticipate each beat. Once I could play the drum pattern, I programmed the drum machine and took a deep breath in preparation of doing the same thing with the bass and piano.

Normally, I can pretty much play along with a song on first hearing, but *replicating* a song is completely different. "Anal-retentive" attention to detail comes to mind. I won't say how many times I had to listen to just the first bar of the bass+piano, but a few hours later, I had something close!

However, this was just "replicating" ... this wasn't "playing." With heavy rhythmic devices like drums and bass, this is okay, maybe even preferred, but with other instruments, the result sounds ... mechanical. So, I quantized the bass (forced the notes to align on specific beats) and armed with the chordal structure as well as a close approximation of exactly what notes were being played, I put the the drums and bass on a loop and tried to "feel" the song. In other words, I had to "figure out" the unconscious little motions that Gwen used to make her music. (This is why it's easier to do if you can actually watch someone do it!)

Now, I won't say I replicated exactly her fingers, but it's really close. If anything, I have a tendency to "hear" more than what is actually there, so my recording might be a bit "heavy-handed" compared to her delicate fingerings. That's okay; now that I have the notes in MIDI format, I can delete (or edit) them later if needed.

And so, after a total of around 8 hours of work, I've replicated about 25 seconds of the song!

Recall that the point of doing all of this isn't to replicate the song, but to START from that point. So, I'm looking at more hours of tedious work before I can actually start to be creative and start contributing to the song.

Well... no one said it would be easy! Of course, I'm sure for some people, it is!

If you're curious... here's Gwen's original recording and then my version. The instruments might sound different (easily changed) and the volumes might be different (easily changed) but the notes and rhythms should be there. And, even if they are a little off, I can change them too without having to re-record. I love making music ... well, I will when I actually get to make it! :)

A Jung Woman...

I recently had a conversation with a close friend about Jungian archetypes. It went something like this:

Him: Have you considered which of the 13 archetypes you are?
Me: Uh... I guess I would have to learn more about them first.

So, we chatted, and after he left, I refreshed my college Jungian psychology. Here's a Wikipedia link as good as any other I found: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archetypal. No doubt you'll recognize aspects of yourself in these 13 archetypes!

What I found particularly interesting (and just plain news to me) were the Anima and Animus archetypes. Now, prior to discovering them, I would have primarily identified with the "Wise" part of "Wise old man." That is... I seem to be able to do things with knowledge that others can't... perhaps even change reality... yet I never identified with the "old" and certainly not the "man" part. And I've since met people who seem to innately know more "useful" things (i.e., wisdom gained from life experiences) while I seem to have more skilled learning suited more to abstract problems and machines rather than human behaviors. Question to self: should I try to adapt that ability to learn skills to the realm of human behavior?

Shrug. Back to roles... I never played Role Playing Games (RPGs) before, so I'm not really sure which archetype I'd be. My only two guesses would have come from times where I would have identified with the Merlin role, or the Warrior Princess role. Aye-yia-yia-yia-yia!

Then along comes Anima. Okay, I certainly seem to be embodying the totality of what little I know about Anima - the feminine inner personality, as present in the unconscious of the male. My Anima has a name, I am she, and she is me, and we are Clio.

And then I find this page on Jung's Anima Theory and how It Relates to Crossdressing. Note: I am not a crossdresser, although empirically, I crossdress. The author, a (former) crossdresser merges traditional transgendered case study results with Jung's theories in a plausible and constructive style.

So it seems I have come home to open up (and heal) old psychological wounds prohibiting me from realizing my full potential. This much is obvious by fate, and I have accepted and learned from it. Now what?

Well, I am happier as a woman, yet I am not a woman. I am miserable as a man, yet I made a good one. As I will never be biologically female again (we all were once women in the womb) I have to come to terms with being somewhere in the middle... but where?

If you've ever lived (as opposed to visited) in a foreign culture, you are familiar with culture shock - that uneasy feeling that comes from being immersed in a different culture. It's like jet-lag, but for culture instead of time. It occurs each time one switches culture, just like jet-lag when switching time zones.

Well, gender dysphoria is like that too... I used to think I could get by living as the duality:

In number 69 there lives a transvestite,
He's a man by day, but she's a woman at night.
- Space, "My Neighborhood"

but the "gender-lag" from switching is ... uncomfortable. Further, it just feels 'weird' to be the male that my body is. It feels right to be the woman that is the embodiment of my Anima, and I prefer to be her... this much is certain... but who knew she was a, pardon my French, a chick-with-a-dick?

So what does integration bring? I don't know what one does yet with this knowledge, so for now, I'll just take comfort in knowing that I am what I am.

I've dated a ...

A funny little list I made while bored on a recent plane trip... it's part of a much larger list that, when presented here, could only look like the work of a self-obsessed megalomaniac. In reality, it was part of a deep, introspective quest, and I was just reminiscing over fond times with those I've loved.

I've Dated A ...

• By Career
• Beautician
• Chef
• Gypsie
• Dancer
• Psychologist
• Single Mom
• Writer/Editor
• Stripper
• Professor
• Musician/Singer
• Equestrian
• Girl Next Door
• Boy Next Door
  
• By Faith
• Christian
• Catholic
• Atheist
• Jew
• Pagan
• Muslim
• By Nationality
• American
• Korean
• Chinese
  
• British
• Italian
• Turkish

But to quote Bono... I still haven't found what I'm looking for (or what's looking for me), so, if your country/religion/profession isn't listed, feel free to ask me out... Sushi is an excellent first date! :) )

Boys Will Be Girls

I had a crazy day; even by my standards!

I decided to go to the mall via MITS, the local bus. It's bitterly cold, but the central hub is a block away and the bus goes straight to the mall front doors. It's a weekend, so I know that the bus will be filled with the youth of Muncie. I hesitate, but am resigned to my journey. I manage to buy my ticket ($1) and take the last open seat on the bus (it seems everyone wanted to go to the mall too!)

At the mall, I pick up a total steal: a full-length ultra-soft terry cloth robe for $15, retail $100. Score. And, I made a new friend today at Victoria's Secret. (I can't help it! Beautiful VS store managers are just naturally drawn to me. ;;)

So, I'm feeling pretty good, looking pretty, got a great deal and begin my hunt for a Colt's jersey. You can't host a Superbowl party and not sport the home team attire. Of course, Muncie doesn't have pink & white jerseys, just the blue and white ones. (I'm not completely unreasonable in my expectations) Nay, they are even out of most of the blue ones too.. just the white ones left. And expensive! Oh my!

So I've got my jersey and I'm off to the other wing to Old Navy where I figure I can get a cheap blue turtleneck. On the way, this little kid and his friends just go nuts when they see me. You'd have thought I had six heads and was breathing fire the way this kid kept circling me, pointing, saying, "that's a dude!" He follows me for a bit until I turn around and smile at him and say, "nice grill," referring to the chunk of metal in the kid's mouth. At this, he runs away screaming.

I am not making this up. Can you make little kids run away simply by saying hello, or is this a talent just for me?

On my way back from Old Navy, I run into the kid again (it's a small mall, just an L-shape). He continues this act and keeps backing away from me as I walk toward him. Unfortunately, instead of just going around, he keeps retreating to where I'm heading, and the more he retreats the louder he gets and the more he points.

Finally, the kid runs out of choices and backs himself into the same small exit wing as where I'm going and runs outside. I chose to stay warm and sat on the bench inside where I met a lovely lady who was stood up by her friends, she thinks because it was too cold. (She reminded me of my great-grandmother). I should have offered to buy her lunch, in retrospect, not just cause then I wouldn't have had to ride the bus with that kid, but eating alone didn't seem to bother her, and, before it dawned on me to ask such a thing, she gave up on her friends, stood up, and went off to eat at MCL.

As I listen to the kid and his friends jeer on the ride home, I reminisce about Talia, a transsexual I knew from the islands of Tennerife. To me, she was a typical transsexual in appearance, and by that I mean beautiful and totally passable as a woman; you'd never know her secret unless she showed it to you. However, the one segment of society she couldn't pass at as a genetic woman was with pre-teen kids. Her pet peeve was that they could always read her. How much fun she would have had today!

So I laughed and thought about Talia and the good times in London.

Shakespear in rejection

I've got the cable on the wall for no reason other than I figured since I'm paying for it, I might as well see what's out there. One afternoon at 4:20, while I'm reflecting on the fact that I just lost a boy for cross-dressing, the wall shows me images of a girl winning a boy while cross-dressing.

So... I guess it's a wash?

Sigh, no. It's so depressing to find out someone you thought was a good person, someone you thought was a cool... someone you called a friend turns out to be just another bigot.

A bigot is a prejudiced person who is intolerant of opinions, lifestyles, or identities differing from his or her own.

Harsh words from me? After being ignored for weeks, check out this IM I received from a friend:

It's not that I dont want to hear from you. It's that I don't know how to relate to people that wear women's clothing. I don't understand it , I don't like it, It's is crazy to me, and I kind of wish you had never let me see that part of you. we could have been friends without having to know this. I'm sorry, but I don't want to hangout with a thirty year old man who thinks he's a fourteen year old girl.

Ouch! With friends like that, who needs enemies? How shall I deconstruct thee, let me count the ways...

• It's not that I dont want to hear from you. Um, I'm sorry but with phrases like "I don't like it," "I wish you had never let me see that part of you," and "I don't want to hangout..." it sounds like you exactly don't want to hear from me. Please forgive me for acting accordingly.
  
• I don't know hot to relate to people that wear women's clothing. Approximately half of all humans wear women's clothing, but don't worry, relating to them is easy. Just be nice to them, take a shower, wash your clothes, maybe buy them dinner, and you might see more of them.
• I don't understand, I don't like it, It's crazy to me. Honey, you won't understand 1/50th of the knowledge contained in my brain or my experiences. You calling me crazy is like a pebble calling a mountain small; it ain't true empirically or relatively, it's just naive. Crazier is to harbor intolerance with a closed mind. You don't understand? ASK! You don't like? Find what it is within you that is causing such a reaction, and ask yourself, "Am I free to judge?"
  
• I kind of wish you had never let me see that part of you. Then you never would have met me...
  
• We could have been friends without having to know this. Not really, my friends like me for me, and not because I'm what they want me to be. But I would have still been nice to you.
  
• I'm sorry, but I don't want to hangout with a thirty year old man who thinks he's a fourteen year old girl. Ouch. That's rich coming from a man who lives at home with his parents. I'm sorry you turned out to be a bigot.

Alright, where's the Hagen-daz?

My First 9/11...

Today is the anniversary of the Challenger space shuttle disaster. I consider this to be my generation's first '9/11' experience, that is, our first collective memory of an event unfolding live on world-wide TV.

I wasn't alive when the Beatles played on Ed Sullivan, and I wasn't alive when John Kennedy was shot, but I hear that if you were alive during those events, you remember exactly what you were doing while they happened (in contrast to say, knowing what you did the day or week before/after.)

But I was alive when faulty O-rings caused Challenger to explode itself into millions of pieces, killing instantly the shuttle crew of seven. One of them was to be the first school teacher in space. I am sure their loss is still felt today and my heart goes out to their families.

Back at home, at Wilson Middle School, 7th grade, we had canceled classes in order to watch the launch. CNN was not around yet, but this kind of event got full media coverage by all three (3!) networks, so we could watch it over the airwaves at school.

Believe it or not, we even had a competition science fair where one lucky winner got to go down to Florida and watch the launch live! I'm not sure, but I think Muncie was selected for this special honor because of Ball Corp. and their role in manufacturing the heat-shield tiles used for shuttle re-entry.

1/29/2006: Update from my friend...

I actually got 8th place the first 7 got to go to Florida... I was the first alternate.... So I got to participate in everything except the actual trip.

It was called the Ball Corp Space Challenge Program...the plan(back those Naive days) was that the prize in future editions of the contest would be an actual flight into space onboard the shuttle.

All of that changed after it blew up... in fact they cancelled the whole program. However... I love the Blues Brothers picture... it is extraordinarily cool

For some reason, I didn't participate in this event, and I don't remember what I did instead, but I do remember my what my friend (then arch-nemesis) did... he wrote a computer program (in 5th grade) which taught maths skills... more or less. You see, a problem was shown on the screen, say 5+7, along with a launching shuttle, and if you got the right answer to the problem before time ran out, the shuttle launched... but if you got the answer wrong... well, I think this is where we go into the vagueness of 7th grade humor and invincibility, mixed in with a colossal cosmic dash of irony. If you got the answer wrong, the shuttle blew up shortly after it launched.

Unsurprisingly, in retrospect, he didn't win and a project of lesser skill and talent (although perhaps a bit more taste) won. In the end, the selected students didn't get to see the lift-off... they went down to Florida, but the launch was delayed several times and they had to come home before.

You mind the coincidences. While I can't say these were auspicious signs, the events made me take notice in a whole new way that kid who wrote that program. He's still in my life, and in many respects, we're still those same kids we were at Wilson middle school...

Later that year, we became friends and performed a skit featuring the Blues Brothers. It was a smash hit and cemented our friendship.


And that's how an 11-year old goes from the biggest national tragedy in their life to their biggest friend.

Two Songs, One Eye, and No One (to talk to)

Chorus of the minute:

Je ne veux pas travailler
Je ne veux pas déjeuner
Je veux seulement l'oublier
Et puis je fume
-- Sympathique, Pink Martini

Roughly translated:

I do not want to work.
I do not want to have lunch.
I only want to forget.
And so I smoke.

This sums up almost exactly my feelings regarding my social life. You're probably thinking I'm a stoner or something, but the past few weeks have been rough socially and work-wise. I say, almost exactly, because I can smoke... what I want more is to smoke with someone.

But, alas, since I came out in 2007, those opportunities have withdrawn. I think I now make people too uncomfortable- get this- by just being me. Whereas before, people treated me as a freak they didn't understand, now people just seem to treat me as a freak they don't want to understand. Can you believe it? Someone as innately loveable as lil 'ol me?

Now don't get me wrong, I didn't expect to find support, coming out in MidWest America. In fact, I expected lots of hatred. The good news is that people seem to be genuinely unconcerned with Trans-folk, so long as they are beyond arms' length. What I didn't expect is this perceived alienation from friends and family.

I say perceived cause it could just be me. It *could* be... however, I can count the total number of phone calls I've received in the new year on one finger, and that ain't normal. So perhaps everyone just is super busy now. I'm sure no one is freaked out at all because everyone I know is so attentive to details, and I've only been slowly coming out now, for what, a year?

Whatever... so that's got this girl down, but we get through. We always do.

I now proudly wear my label of 'freak!'

We are freaks we are butch we are fem
We are freaks look at him look at them.
-- Freaks, Stephen Trask

Speaking of, check out this adorable little kitty! OMG, can you believe it? Unfortunately, 'Cy' only lived for a few days, poor thing... but she did live!

... and so do the rest of the 'freaks' like me. Even if the phone forgets to ring.

Experience Apple

I just recently applied to Apple for several openings for user interface engineers, usability experts, and software engineers. As you would expect from such a sophisticated computer company, their job application process begins with the web, at http://jobs.apple.com.

The first thing a potential employee needs to do is create an account. Actually, you don't need to create an account to search for jobs, and this is cool. So, I searched through the listings and started to make note of some potential good fits. After a while, I noticed that the site provided a mechanism for storing the details of jobs of interest. Bonus! So, I start adding jobs to my 'job list.'

But this process is time-consuming, and the way they have their system setup is - I kid you not - about the least efficient way of searching for jobs. So alas, my session times out, I have to re-log in, and guess what... my job list is completely erased.

Bastards! So, I create an account. I search for jobs again. I start to get annoyed that I can't press the 'back' button without resubmitting my search critera, and if I do, the server resets my page position back to the top (searching through a list of 509 jobs... keeping the same place is important!)

The alternative is to manually resubmit search critera (instead of having the browser do it) and that just yields the same results, except with more effort.

Interestingly, if I search for jobs in London, I get *MORE* jobs than if I search for the UK. Undeterred, I keep saving potential jobs to my list and begin to create my online resume for Apple (they won't accept PDFs of CVs like every other rational technology company does).

I start to create the resume. I avoid the temptation of the 'cut and paste' option; surely it will look better if I fill in their forms, right? Erm... I get strange errors trying to avoid the timeout issue... double postings of information... most forms handle, but some create problems... like adding schools. Bah!

I keep going and I keep getting timeout messages and finally, it ignores my request and times me out anyway. I lose my saved job list.

$@#@$^*%^$#$@#$^#&*$^%#$@#@%^&*(*&^%$#$%^&*(*&^%$#

...

I refine my online CV; it keeps treating it like I've created a new one and notifiying apple of the changes. (ick!)

...

You can send applications to multiple jobs in your job list at once; I plan to do in two batches, one for the software engineering job, one for the usability jobs. After doing one, the system deletes the saved jobs that I didn't apply for, so I have to add them AGAIN!!!

...

A friend of mine who works for Apple as a head engineer once proudly told me how all of Apple only has like 20 engineers. They should have spared one for their application system. Apple would be blessed to have someone like me working for them, and GOD AS MY WITNESS, I TRIED, but dammit, Janet!

In the end, I withdrew everything after seeing Apple HQ in Cupertino and having lunch there. Do you remember high school? That's *exactly* what it felt like. I repeat, I have not felt like I have been in high school that much except for the time I was actually in high school. Yeah, funk this, I hated high school, the last thing I want to do is work at a place like that.

Funny, cause I would have thought it would have been more like a college.

Apple? iGlad iNot

Their Eyes Closed

It's a shame we never really see people how they really are, choosing instead to see them as we want them to be, or as we remember them. And, when that happens, we prevent their growth; we hold them back, we stifle them. We do it because we encourage them to be what we know; what we are comfortable with - usually, at a great discomfort to them.

I have tried many times, in many ways, to merge friends from one world of mine to another... failing always. For it seems from where there was one, there cannot be two. Les jeux, ils sont faits.

Those who think they know me can never accept the real person inside; it is impossible for me to express her to them ... they simply refuse to see anything but what they already know. My friends live with their eyes closed.

As such, they will never know who I am or the gifts I bring. I don't blame them for that... and I don't fault them for it. It must just be too hard, too complicated, or too uncomfortable.

I am, however, finished with the pain of this life, and finished with trying to build a bridge between the two ... for it is a gap that cannot be crossed unless taken down through the valley, and it is clear that I walk it alone.

I know I am not unique to continue to have evolved my consciousness for 33 years; to have continually made myself a better person in every way I am aware of through diet, exercise, knowledge, and self-examination... to me, that's the point of being alive.

"An unexamined life is not worth living." - Socrates

It seems that to most people though, the person you are at 16 is the person you are at 60. Such people are doomed to never reach wisdom.

I have thought long and deep about this and with every train of thought, the tracks always come to the same conclusion:

You can never know the real person I am as long as you keep alive the memory of the one I was.

My friends have failed to keep up with the person I am, and I can no longer be the person they remember, so I say farewell to the normals.

I hardly knew ye; but ye hardly knew me.