My Boy Freud

I realized today that I am mired in a strange, almost eerie, multi-borough, NYC schizophrenia as a result of traveling between two vastly different existences: Manhattan and my Midwest-like 'hood in Brooklyn.

Ascending the subway stairs every day at 6th Ave. and 14th St. is always fun because I know that I will encounter various different types of people in a hurry to get somewhere and nowhere. The smell is different. The climate (weatherly speaking) is different. And having been out of it for a while makes it all the more noticeable. When I returned home, I realized I had a craving for some Ben and Jerry's so I went around the corner to Adam's deli. No one was around. The sidewalks are wide. The storefronts are inconspicuous. The air is quiet.

I spent most of the last two days in Manhattan. I hung out with Renata for a few hours yesterday, which was fun. We got to catch up. I still didn't get any reading done, although I did rediscover my voice. I began writing in my journal again after taking a couple of weeks off and it felt really nice. The words just flew. I went to the butch-femme meeting. Unfortunately, it was the worst of the three I've attended thus far. There was this woman who is probably in her 60s who showed up.Now, remember, it's the butch-femme meeting. If you don't necessarily identify as either, you probably wouldn't consider showing up. And, you can imagine, the questions posed to the group by Yvette, the leader, are geared toward those who do identify as such. So this woman-- well, first of all, she talked too much.

Now you can take your time answering a question. You feel comfortable with the group, go ahead. Talk. But she was different. She was almost imposing herself on everyone. This made me uncomfortable because most of what was coming out of her mouth was ignorant. She's just coming out after having been married three times (all husbands are dead). She just likes women. Butch, femme, whatever. Women. And of course all kinds of other stuff came out of her mouth.

Now, remember that I just kind of tuned out every time she opened her mouth. Well, because of that, I missed what prompted a heated, though very polite, tongue lashing from Yvette, kindly reminding her that we don't dictate how people should live their lives/identify. Nor do we wish to be dictated to. This is a safe forum for those who identify as butch and femme and trans to come to meet people and just talk. Yvette ended up talking to/at her for about eight minutes or so (strange number, I know, but five isn't enough and 10 is too much).

Anyway, it was interesting. Annoying, too, because I actually really like these meetings and we wasted about 30 minutes. After that, a bunch of us went and ate and that was that. I only got five hours of sleep because I had to be up in the morning for an appointment at the health center. I also had a meeting later in the day but opted to come back home and try to get some work done. (I hate it when people don't call you back to schedule interviews for the frickin' story you're trying to write.)

The meeting I had was for the new staff of the TCDS. I'm getting really excited. I grabbed about 10 back issues and I will be studying them throughout the summer. On the one hand, next semester is going to extremely fulfilling because I'm going to be editing for workstudy, rather than simply working in an office environment making copies. On the other hand, I realized today that I am scared to death, as the responsibility I'm taking on has increased. Writing an article a month, editing this thing, and taking the standard three classes: no more sleeping in on the weekends. Despite all this, I'm very excited still to have the opportunity to edit the bulletin. It's going to be a great experience and so far I have gotten from people that there is a certain level of prestige that comes with being its editor. I'm up for prestige. I'm considering writing a review of a book written by an individual who attended the Krakow summer institute a few years ago.

The book is called The Dilemmas of Dissidence in East-Central Europe: Citizen Intellectuals and Philosopher Kings. I wonder what it's about. Anyway, I received a message that this woman sent to Elzbieta saying that she'd be interested in having it reviewed for the bulletin. I haven't officially started my position yet but the editor in me right away began to figure out what to do with it. Where is my pool of writers? Who can I contact to review the book? Maybe I'll ask the former editor. I did.

She said, "you can do it(!)" but she also said she may need it for the summer issue. We'll see. I think I'd like to do it. I've only reviewed computer books and those have been short. So this would be nice and challenging. I finally cracked Freud. Well, not cracked him like understood fully what the hell it is he says. But I got past my block. Sitting at my New(s) hangout, I was able to read with no problem. I made it through the chapter on Sexual Aberrations and made it safely to Infantile Sexuality.

Interesting stuff this infantile and hysterical amnesia. I think it's safe for me to try Freud at Housing Works again. I think I'm carrying this superstition stuff a little too far.

I ended my evening at a heterosexual hotbed of sexual instinct (read "drive") and desire called Bar None. It's on the east side. Fascinating stuff. I met a friend in my program there and a friend of hers. It was virtually empty in the back for a bit and then they all just came. When I wasn't talking to the people I was with, I was just observing the way the men and women interacted with one another.

The clothing they wore. The fact that, though they were all standing on the dance floor, no one was dancing. There was a sociology class offered in the GF last spring called "Sex in the City." A couple of friends took it and basically they had to go to a different "sex" establishement each week. Ones I remember are gay bars, fetish parties, etc. I don't think they had to just go to a hetero establishment. That kind of bothered me but then I started thinking at the time that straight people are everywhere and there is nothing ethnographically worthy to note.

But I found out tonight that it's not true. I can't even put my finger on what was so fascinating about it. Maybe it was the sexual energy that I detected flowing through the room. I just felt like I was back in my undergrad in Chico all of a sudden on St. Patrick's Day. Go figure.

So now I'm home, and it's really late. Though it's no 6:00 am. It's pouring, of course. What would June in New York be without rain? We never did really get a spring. Kinda sucks. I think I may go to Central Park tomorrow. There's a random bit of information for you.