*Push/Pull*

I keep seeing all of these ads for weight loss products, systems, procedures, etc. The pièce de résistance is always the before and after pics that try sell us on the projected success we could claim for ourselves, if only we used their products. It got me to thinking... What would be depicted in my before and after images if I were to illustrate my progress?

I wish I had some sort of symbolic gynormous pant icon to tote around with the new and improved version of me to earn the accolades. I wish I could have charted my success in any one given element of my life and feel productive. Be my own spokesman for whatever challenge I have overcome.

{Two days ago, I was diagnosed with A.D.D. – that sounds about right. My inability to finish any project that I begin, to be flooded with endless ideas for small businesses that I'd like to start, stories I'd like to write... It feels like the Hitchcockian "Push/Pull," zooming in, while simultaneously rolling the camera backwards, away from the protagonist. (Am I my own protagonist?) I *appear* to be moving forward, but is it all an optical illusion?}

My transition was supposed to be my breakthrough, my arrival on the other side. Not the other side of the gender spectrum, but the other side of paralysis/inertia towards the kinetic momentum of my own self-development. "Becoming myself." (Which I know sounds odd, as we are always ourselves, but...)

I am wishing I opted to take physics in high school, rather than choosing more art classes, since I don't remember how this kinetic energy thing works. Any ideas?

There was a sign at the Post Office in my neighborhood with the word "endurance" emblazoned over the image of an old timey athlete from the 1940s. I began wondering: What in my life has ever required endurance or perseverance? I think I have a habit of giving up quickly. Quitting before I begin. Maybe it's a fear of success. A fear of failure. The A.D.D. Maybe those particular things weren't worth the effort. But it still made me wonder: What is it that I am working towards? If I am enduring all of the challenges that have surfaced in this lifetime, than what do I hope will become of them? What lessons learned?

Um, can I create a system of quantifying our individual successes? Can I invent a line of products that can make us feel more productive, chart our progress in any one facet of our lives? (I love lifting weights because I can see my physiological strength increasing on a weekly basis, when I can lift heavier dumbbells when I do curls or bench presses.) So, a product line like oversized pants that make us look fit, or petite, or IQ tests where our scores improve with each round of testing. Can I create a system to track our psychological development, like some magnetic emo-flow chart we can slap on our fridge?

How do we know if we're getting any better?

*Extra*

I'm watching Brideshead Revisited. I think my new plan is to move to England to be a permanent extra in British period pieces. All those peaked lapels and salty wool. Makes me swoon just thinking of it.

Is that a tough gig to get?

"The unhappiness of not being happy."

So, a lot has happened since I started this thing (hence the huge silent pause after the few first submissions). Too much to even go into, but some thoughts for scheming had crossed my mind:

• to slip on ice (as I have already done) and sue the building owners to make some cash
• to have let that speeding police cruiser actually crash into me when he took a wide turn en route to a chase, and sue the city for damages (which I am pretty sure they don't pay out)
• to try to "make something of myself" and get my MBA in entrepreneurial studies (but that seemed like it would take some effort, so I crossed it off my list)
• to take a brief leave of absence from work, and have an adventure in another city (I guess that's more of a day dream than a scheme...)
• make a road trip documentary with my best friend Jules and sell it to some fun network, like logo ("tranny road show?")
• burn myself on McDonald's coffee, or find a finger tip in my chili at Wendy's (if only I drank coffee, or ate chili, plus it's not inventive enough. already been done. must stay ahead of the curve)

This all wreaks of desperation; of having to come up with an actual plan. Shit!

The ironic part is that I am actually quite good at "fixing" other people's issues (not in a sycophantic kind of way) ~ I studied Conflict Resolution back in the day. Yet, when it comes to my own junk, I feel dim-witted and slow. Why is it that our minds seem to be stuck in this tediously crawl when we wish we could figure it out already?

Patience, right?

I am reading Eric Weiner's book The Geography of Bliss, thinking maybe I'll find some jumping off point. (Or Eat, Pray, Love. Should I just follow everyone else's prescribed travel-to-find-enlightenment texts?) But there was a telling quote from the Geography book:

Maybe happiness is this: not feeling like you should be elsewhere, doing something else, being someone else.

Huh, guess I'm not there yet.

Cliché clique

(this is from about a month ago... going to try to get back into the swing of this.)

I am sitting with my laptop “telecommuting” and blogging at a Starbuck’s in Logan Circle in DC. Oh my fucking god, I hate myself right now. I never come to Starbuck’s, not because I am some raging activist, but simply because I don’t drink coffee. (Or anything with caffeine really, since I get debilitating migraines. I know, I am infinitely more lame for admitting that now. Caffeine-free; it's never sexy...)

I am here because I got up early to drop my car off to get an oil leak checked. Not only am I a walking cliché, but at this Starbuck’s apparently I am a lounging cliché, too. With so many gay men here for their morning pick me ups, I had on almost the exact same outfit as one of my ‘mo counter parts. The main difference is that I am drinking herbal tea, and eating an apple fritter. The one tell tale sign that I am not a gay man: my affinity for sugary delights (as well as my imbibing of beer, and colorful alcoholic beverages, rather than just vodka tonics…) but I digress.

Now car-less, I resort to swimming downstream. Mainstream. Walking to a Starbuck’s. God, how much do I sound like a bourgie asshole right now? Sad to see one’s self for what I am.

Listening to the prescribed soundtrack at this coffee shop, I wish I had some talent to “sell out.” I wish I was still in a band, but one that could turn a tune and make a buck. Wishing that I could find some corporate compilation to woo me into submission.

The truth is: I want to submit.

I had a big realization the other day that much of my life has been wrought with resistance, riddled with conflict. Tensions within my family, my inability as a child to self-soothe, and therefore spinning out of control emotionally, feeling like everything was just beyond my reach.

It sucks to grow up and realize that I have to take responsibility, and have to be the one to change the patterns that I now recognize. I am trying to yield. I am trying to learn how to resist the temptation to resist. I know, dumb, right?

I don’t want to fight everything anymore. Not everything has to be a plight. Some things can just be simple. I mean, can’t they? Where do the Zen mantras I learned from watching the Oprah show end, and my own affinity for psychological awareness, spiritual pining and general wellness begin? (Insert sarcastic grin here___.) Fuck.

In the first entry I said that: “I want to want something.” The truth is that I already do. Much of my life has been circling around wanting things “too much,” and then trying to wean myself off of that desire accordingly.

I want to be in love. I want to have multiple careers as a writer, a creative/inventive business director, a philanthropist supporting the arts and social welfare, and work towards developing programs that focus on assisting “at risk” humans and animals. (I mean, who among us doesn’t need our own metaphorical “Dog Whisperer” to rehabilitate us from the fucked up patterns we cycle through?)

There is a struggle for me to realize and truly meditate on what I want, and the process I subtly find emerging, where I unknowingly convince myself that maybe I shouldn’t want those things. Why should I feel like I deserve to be a “personality” when clearly those who want it badly enough are already there? I used to want to be an artist, as I was classically trained as a metal smith, and gave all of it up when I started to win national awards at a young age. There was a resistance within me to give way to that path. Is it a fear of success? A fear of disappointing people if they want me and then find out I am not as good as I appear to be?

This concept of selling out seems somewhat dreamy in this moment of listening to Mary J. Blige on this commercially chosen café soundtrack. I want the external affirmations of someone else telling me: “I really loved that one thing you did. I want it for myself in this specific way.” I don’t have to think about it. I don’t have to do anything, except say “yes or no.” It’s much easier to sell out than market the fucking hell out of yourself when you are just not sure.

Put a fucking bull’s eye on my back: “I am not ready. I am not what you want.”

Okay, rather than becoming the “Debbie downer” that I risk settling into here… I have been thinking about inspiration. How does it get sparked within us? I began to wonder, what is it exactly that propels us to where we “should be?” How do we develop the personal monologue to guide us there? (Meaning: How do we cancel out the negative self talk that sabotages our early strategizing on our new courses?)

Later, I began thinking about all of the works of art, the well coined pop songs, the fractured cinematic moments that have inspired me to want more for my life. And this curiosity began to surface in me, as I wondered what kernels of inspiration struck those particular inventors while creating those pieces that have forever changed my psycho-emotional landscape.

In short: What if all of the people that have inspired me the most were simply as stuck in their own inertia and self doubt, like I feel at times? What pieces would never have been created? What incredible provocations would the world have missed?


Man Ray once said something to the effect of: A bad doctor, a bad politician, or a bad chef can kill people. But a bad artist will just bore people, and not make them think.

Huh, and why was it that I was so afraid of living this meager life to the fullest? There is something pretty liberating about that statement. Maybe I should give some of this a "go". I mean, what's the worst that can happen? Right? (now watch, one of these "twisting my stache" ideas will end up maming someone, or worse: get a tall frappaccino with foam on the next hot day. sigh~)

Fake moustache day?!?

A friend sent me this forward the other day, which seemed pretty funny considering:

Hello world, You may or may not be aware of this: January 15th is International Fake Moustache Day. This holiday was invented by me and a friend six years ago with the vision of having everyone - wrinkly newborn babies, buses, bikes, busy bankers, old ladies, and ducks (yes: everyone with no exception!) - wear fake moustaches on the 15th of January by 2065. I may or may not live to see this day. But I am certainly determined to do what I can to make it come true. And so I am filling your inbox with this: an invitation to celebrate International Fake Moustache Day with me by planting fake moustaches on everyone and everything that happens to be around you this year on January 15th.
P.S. If you can't meet me in Denmark, then go celebrate in your local bars, zoos, libraries, and sandwich shops, spreading the cheer of Fake Moustache Day. And send me pictures if you can (I will assemble all kinds of Fake Moustache Day documentation into an exhibition in my kitchen (...to be announced)).

These pics are from this production site where they make these insanely enormous presidential busts in Houston, TX. It was kind of amazing, and I think only fueled the fire for my facial hair desire.

Happy Fake Moustache Day! (Finally, a holiday I can get behind...)

Resolve(r)

So... It's been a while since I have done any writing. I feel like I am starting this new blog in the middle of things. Winding down with the past year, and starting anew ~ which created this unwitting sense of a middleness that I hadn't predicted.

It got me to thinking about all of this talk of "New Year's Resolutions," which have always seemed somewhat ironic to me. Typically a resolution is created at the end of a process; the result of work done, and the clarity that comes with the related epiphanies. Thinking more about the silliness of a preemptive strike telling ourselves what will be important for the year yet to unfold.

"This year I will get in shape. This year I will find the perfect job, or the perfect relationship."

Did these summations come as the result of un-resolved feelings from last year? And are these the best we can do? Worry about our collective weight, about Mr. or Ms. Right hopefully being around the corner... Yet, I fall into the same traps.

I called this blog "Twisting My (Fake) Moustache" because (as many of you might know) I have always been a bit of a schemer. I love the imagery of sitting around twisting a handlebar moustache trying to deduce which of my many crazy ideas might just be "the next big thing." So, in short, this blog will be that clearing house. And to begin, my New Year's resolution:

To follow through.

That said, here I am writing again. Stumbling around a paraphrased quote from one of my favorite authors, asking: "Isn't it unfortunate that we learn the skills for responding to a challenge or crisis after we get through it?" Um, ya... Back to the irony of coming up with a resolution at the -beginning- of a year, before we've even had time to fuck anything up 3 minutes into the new year. (Unless you did fuck something up 3 minutes into the new year. Then if so, high five!)

So, despite being two weeks into the new year, I want to start twisting this 'stache. I am feeling a bit lost, and under-motivated. I jokingly said to a friend that maybe I should try being a motivational speaker. Maybe that's where all of this is leading me. She said something to the effect of: "Um, don't you hafta wanna do -something- with your life if you are trying to motivate others?" Hmm, I think she is on to something.

What do I want to do?

My schemes for 2009:

• To grow a beard (seems a bit daunting and unrealistic, but I still want it...) to stop looking like a 12 yr old boy
  
• To become a spokesman for a clinic featuring hair-transplants and botox/restylane injections to get free treatments to stop looking like a 47 yr old man
  
• To become a "house boy" for a few months mid-year (looking my age: 33)
  
• (To develop abs of steel in preparation for being said house boy)
• To be the witty, charming, tranny side kick in a reality show about my two gay bosses, and their three adopted kids
  
• To get corporate sponsorship to drive a hybrid vegan ice cream truck cross country to meet Betty White (a staunch vegan), and create a documentary about the American Dream ("go west, young man")
• To get a book deal, and an appearance on Oprah as a motivational speaker, (despite currently feeling completely under-motivated.)
• To write articles for both top men's and women's fashion magazines about my transition, and offering dating advice, pitting each side against the other, starting a new sexual revolution just for "ha-ha's" and irony
  
• To start a retail clothing line for "petite & short" men's wear, with Pele as the spokesman
• To become a "personality" (think Graham Norton with more muscular shoulders, and hair plugs)
• To become the "go-to tranny" (check out this grave stone I found in Galveston, TX engraved with "Captain Trans" ~ someone beat me to it! Fuckers!)

Okay, so clearly I don't have any clue what to do with my life right now. And this isn't even that funny, but maybe not all new beginnings have to be. Sometimes they are scary, and intimidating, and not arrived upon by choice. Sometimes beginnings are delivered after an ending, and are opportunities in sheep's clothing, aka: loss.

I am in the midst of a few growing pains of my own right now, knowing that changes are inevitable, and trying to keep myself open to the possibilities. Letting go of what was, of what I thought had been but maybe wasn't... Of a job that maybe didn't really exist, or of family that is different than I had made them out to be. There are many adjustments, and as these external things morph and shift, I find the internal elements negotiating those losses, shape shifting...

I want something... Something.

I want to know what to want. And then how to get there. But as with my transition, it started with a question. "Is this what I want?" And the only way to know was to put myself in the way of knowing; to immerse myself within those questions, and flail around to eventually find my answers. I had no clue if I wanted to transition, but I knew with each shot of testosterone it could be my last. It could be my answer, even if it was one that maybe I hadn't wanted to find, or even consider. But I knew that not asking, not exploring, not pushing myself beyond the limits of what I had already known ~ it was no longer an option to stay in that inertia. It was fucking terrifying to embark on "something," not having any conclusive evidence of what the exact results would be. I had no clue how my body would react, how I would feel within a body that was changing, or how people would react to this newer version of me, and how that might feel. I just knew that I had to see, experience, put myself in that line of fire. I have no regrets.

Remembering those beginnings, and the horrible endings that came just before; it helps grant me the patience to stay open and trust that really amazing things can grow amidst the shit storms... (Wow, that was horribly ungraceful. Anyway...) Maybe all things worth doing require that leap of faith, to go just beyond all that is familiar and safe.

It feels unfamiliar, and unsafe. Does that mean that I am "on to something?" Soon enough I will learn these maps and be itching to go beyond these newly forming dimensions. And so it goes. And goes...

Here I go, with a leap of faith, and a bullet to bite.

Happy New Year, and gimme a shout if you need a house boy this summer.

XO ~ "Captain Trans"