Poppy Z. Brite's Blog, page 63

Another Reminder

Dear Self,

Do. Not. Get. Involved. With. The. Transphobia. Dating. Posts. On. sf_drama . DO NOT do it. You have way too much to get done this week and way too few spoons to do it; there are plenty of other cogent and sensible trans people representing (not that this always helps); and besides, you suck at arguing online.

When someone is wrong on the Internet? This should be you:



Love,

Doc

[edited for smaller elephant]

And now for my million and thirty-sixth post of the day

I just realized a bunch of people have asked me whether I saw the documentary about Chaz Bono and I don't think I ever answered. No, I have not seen it. Is there somewhere I can "stream" it? Is that the word they're using these days?

I did see a comment from someone who'd seen the whole damn thing and still referred to Chaz as "she." :-(((

Also, thank you so much for all the great information on the Episcopal church(es). I'll be referring to those comments in the future, I'm sure.

Avalanche

u2girl1966 made the following comment on my "Reminder" post:

When you walk into our apartment, you see two things...the Wall of Books and the Wall of Music.

A couple of weeks ago my husband came home with a Nook. Up until now, we've been anti e reader, but he pointed out that a chunk of what we have bookwise are in the public domain and we can download for free. And then I downloaded the ten or so books that I tend to re read once or so a year.

We cleared out a huge chunk of shelf space.

Which of course leaves room for more REAL books, since neither of us can walk out of a used bookstore without buying anything....

As soon as I read this, I knew I had to post a picture of the shelf collapse disaster that happened earlier tonight. I didn't have the energy to pick them up, so in the background you can see the Jesus nightlight turned on and my walker with a yellow CAUTION: AVALANCHE sign taped to it for when Chris comes home.

Also, Paris Syndrome!

Ever since my first trip in 1993, I have felt horribly guilty that I didn't like Paris. Mind you, there were many things I did like about it. It is a wonderful, gorgeous city with some of the world's best food, and in my experience, the stereotype of locals being rude is complete B.S. I've been wined, dined, fêted, and had the best-attended book signings of my life there. I hated not being able to appreciate any of it because I thought I was dying.

Unfortunately, the place freaks the living shit out of me. There seems to be this evil miasma throughout it that invades my psyche, gives me panic attacks, makes me physically ill*, and generally renders me useless, which is one reason I refuse to go there anymore. This has happened on three separate trips. I had a great time in the other French towns I've visited (Nancy and Nantes), so it's not France -- it's Paris. (I love London, which should certainly have at least as evil a miasma as Paris, and I've heard several people make this same claim about New Orleans, where I [relatively speaking] thrive.)

I thought I was just a philistine, but today on bart_calendar 's journal, a commenter mentioned Paris Syndrome. True, they mentioned it in the context of insanity, but I already knew I was insane, and I'd rather be crazy than be a philistine (though Chris, who has been to art museums with me, might tell you I'm both). And I just feel somewhat less dorky knowing I'm not the only person in the world who has had their ass thoroughly kicked by Paris.


*On my second trip to Paris, when Chris was with me, we both got some kind of stomach flu. He contends this association is my real problem, but that doesn't explain my various freakouts on my first trip. And he'd go back in a second, despite having puked for five days and concluded with an attack of diarrhea at Notre Dame Cathedral.)

Reminder

Dear Self,

As you know, there is quite a good multilingual bookstore in Amsterdam's Schipol Airport. It seems a bit cheaper than the pricey English-language bookstore on Kalverstraat and often has books that might be most interesting to read while you're in Holland, such as stuff on Dutch culture. Unfortunately, when going home, you always get to the airport at the last possible minute and never have time to take more than a whirlwind look through this bookstore. What you should do this time is: VISIT THE BOOKSTORE UPON ARRIVAL. You never think to do this because you're always in a big rush to catch the train into the city, but this time you get in at some obscene hour like 7:23 AM and won't be able to check into your hotel or go to any coffeeshops for a few hours anyway. It may be a little cumbersome since you'll have cleared customs, but if they see your cane, maybe they'll let you leave your suitcase by the cash register for a few minutes.

On the other hand, even when you're in a hurry, you buy an average of two books per trip at this store. If you have time to browse, you may end up with eight or ten to lug home. So be careful.

Love,

P.

P.S. This entry will probably be sort of boring for your readers, so why not treat them to some Working with Cats? (Thanks to supergee )

So ... How 'Bout Dem Episcopalians?

Yeah. I have to admit they're looking pretty good right about now. I've been feeling, I don't know, spiritually lonely maybe. I'm not real happy with either the current archdiocese regime or my own OLGC group for reasons I can't discuss right now, and as for the Church ... well, obviously I am "violent" to the unborn and to the "integral needs of women and men within society." Also, my existence is "ideologically driven, and actually delays the true advancement of women." Not to mention my homosexualist agenda. So I'm not feeling too goddamn appreciated here. I refuse to quit being a Catholic, because if the different people leave, only the Company Men will remain. But maybe I could be a Catholic who goes to an Episcopal church, at least for now.

Chris went to both Catholic and Episcopal churches growing up, but he claims to remember nothing about it except that he got to do the handshake of peace with Roger Staubach. So if there are any Episcopalians out there, especially current ones, I have some questions ("you" = general church member, even if you personally don't do it):

- Do you go to confession?

- Do you do communion the same way and with the same materials as Catholics?

- Is there similar devotion to saints?

- Are you more touchy-feely than Catholics? I can deal with the handshake, but that's about as far as I care to go with most people.

- Is it as "fancy" as Catholicism (statues, candles, "smells and bells")?

- If you attend a church in New Orleans, can you tell me a little about it? You can e-mail me if you don't want to comment here.

Thanks!

I feel energetic and spry. I don't know if testosterone is making me ditzy or if it's my natural brain damage acting up, but while running errands today, I did the following things:

- Attempted to parallel park so wretchedly, including bumping into the car behind me whose nice lady owner was standing right there, that the nice lady made me get out of my car and parked it herself. (I can be pretty pliable when I get into these states, as long as one is firm.)* I used to be able to parallel park. I lived in the Quarter for two years, for Christ's sake.

- Almost walked in front of a (moving) car in a parking lot.

- At not one but two different stores, accidentally left an item in my cart at checkout so it totally looked like I was trying to steal it.

- Drank a whole bottle of iced green tea even though I know very well it makes my stomach hurt.

- Lost my cart.

- Bought a baby corn snake. His name is Slenderman (OR LADY IF YOU ARE A LADY). He is tiny and Halloween-colored and adorable and I don't regret getting him, but Chris regrets that I did. My South American hognose, Koko -- now about half grown -- moved into my ball python Ziggy's old tank, and Slendy moved into Koko's old tank, so that worked out well, though I am sore from cleaning tanks.


*This happened while "Honesty" was playing on my iPod. I often seem to get into trouble when I listen to that song while driving, possibly because I can't help doing a dramatic rendition. I may have to start skipping over it.

Paul And Nan

My best friend in Amsterdam (a Louisiana native) has made this site for his parents, who lost everything to Katrina six years ago, rebuilt, and recently lost everything again in one of the tornadoes that have plagued the nation. So you'll know a little about him, Jason is a yoga instructor and hotelier, fluent in English, Dutch, Italian, and probably some other languages; also an out and proud gay man who lives with his boyfriend Andreas in the Pijp and has been a tremendous help to me on several of my trips. He also took me to have the best Indonesian food I've ever tasted. I know these are hard times for everybody, but I'm putting this up in case you can help a bit.

More about yesterday, I promise, when I've had a chance to digest it a little. There's a pretty bruise on my butt where I got my first shot.

Puddle of Relief

EVERYTHING WENT FINE! I HAZ TESTOSTERONE!!! Exhausted -- more later.

NERVOUS

OH SHIT. It's Trans Doctor Day. I am nervous. Nervous as hell. Nervous as shit. Nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Nervous as Norvus. Nervous as Nellie. Nervous as the offspring of Norvus and Nellie. Nervous like-a de vitch. Dig that nervous man. Too nervous to think of any more.

TOP PARANOIAS OF WHAT THE DOCTOR WILL SAY TO ME:

"You're so pretty just the way you are. Now go on home, little lady." (*pat pat*)

"You're on all these psychiatric drugs. I don't think you're stable enough to undertake this."

"You're too short to be a man."

"You're too old to transition."

"If you're married to a man, then why do you want to be a man?"

"I don't handle these problems and I don't know of anyone in New Orleans who does."

And if he says any of these things, I will probably rip his head off and hide it in his hazardous waste disposal bin, but they're sure to find it, and then I'll be in prison and won't get to go to Amsterdam. And it will all suck.

Stuff And Nonsense

Intense pain days yesterday and today, but I hadn't had any really severe ones in a couple of weeks, so I guess it was inevitable. Tramadol, THC, and much sleep are getting me through it. Come on, Amsterdam. Come on, Super Lemon Haze (or whatever turns out to be the royal flavor of this trip).

Been meaning to mention, as so many people have invited me to California and all since I learned that the Amsterdam coffeeshops might be closing: I have no problems with what I can get here at home, but most of it comes from the west coast, so I might already be smoking the pot you guys are inviting me out there to smoke. Or is it a Dutch cheese*-type situation where you keep all the best for yourselves? What I've had in California was good, but not appreciably better than New Orleans' best. I would like to try medical marijuana out there, though, as I'm curious about the quality, grades, setup, etc. The strains in Amsterdam are often bred from California strains, but they tend to have higher levels of THC; in fact, the levels have been getting so high that the Dutch government has already limited the percentage to, I think, 18%. I think the strongest strains are around 12-15% now. By comparison, American-grown pot usually has THC levels of 5-10%, or so I've read.

My appointment with the urologist is Monday. I'm wondering if I have made a mistake, since most trans people in the communities I read seem to be going to endocrinologists, but if so, maybe he'll refer me. I'm grateful for the Internet, as I would feel pretty alone with this whole trans thing otherwise. My mom is trying hard but doesn't like it. Chris is supportive, but kind of casual about the whole thing since he has thought of me as male for years and doesn't fully understand what a huge deal it is to be taking physical steps. And while I have several cisgender** friends who get it, I have to say some of them have surprised/disappointed me. Nobody has been outright ugly about it (yet), but cluelessness from people you love can hurt as much as ugliness. And I don't mean ignorance, which is understandable; I mean cluelessness. I don't think any of the people I'm talking about are reading this, but I'm reluctant to give examples on the off-chance that they are; hurting them in return is not my goal. It's just hard not to talk about this stuff, and Chris can only listen to the same stories so many times.

*I mean actual cheese, the dairy product that you eat, not "cheese" as it relates to weed.

**I keep assuming people know this word, and then they don't. It simply means "not transgender"; i.e. you identify as the sex you were assigned at birth.