Wednesday, October 11, 2006
I had meant to attend a lecture, on the semiotics of deliberate self-change to women's bodies, during my lunch hour.
But that started promptly at twelve. I was getting out time sheets under a new system and didn't get away until nearly half past.
It's obvious, for those of you who know me, or women like me, why that would be for me an interesting talk to attend. I recently made an appointment for my second annual mammogram, and on the phone the technician asked, "do you have implants?"
I don't know if she asks everyone that, but there was a bit of an edge there; it sounded like she was looking at my file and making enough of an assumption to ask.
"No, I don't."
I'm all natural, honey, or as natural as estradiol was able to make me.
But, sigh, missed the lecture, but it was beautiful out, and there was a Street Faire going on, a semiannual event, beneath the fall colors of the oaks, maples, and the like along Thirteenth Avenue across campus.
So I headed that way, but then remembered it's Pride Week. So I turned and ambled toward the student union courtyard.
There wasn't much happening. Under the regime of the Bushies, many people don't feel comfortable admitting that they were born different, it's a hide-who-you-are world right now; so events of this kind are attended by one-half to as few as one-tenth the people thay you mght have seen in the Nineties.
In fact , I didn't feel much like doing the open mike myself. Not that big a crowd; all students, with their own sense of style and their own agenda and their own language, with which I'm more and more out of touch.
But I saw the "Coming out of the Closet Door" there by the mike.
Two years ago, I went through that door and had my picture taken, but no one's ever been able to find that epochal moment for me -- mislaid, something. So I asked about a new shot and a kid in a rainbow wig said, "Sure."
I popped through, the camera went click, and the crowd -- such as it was -- applauded. Nice to feel appreciated!
And then I went shopping.