Funny story

I never told anyone this. At first because I would never have thought I needed to tell anyone since I assumed it was common knowledge, later because I was embarrassed, and for the last ten years or so because I wasn't sure I'd be able to explain it in words. But let's try.

When I was young I believed that the world made sense. I believed in authority. I believed it earnestly, based on nothing more than my reasonable assumptions of how stuff should work. I believed there was organization. That the grown-ups, who had been doing this job for longer than I could easily imagine, had figured it out.

I'm being vague. To be specific, I imagined when I graduated school and walked into the employment office the people there would know everything. They'd know what I wanted to do, what I liked to do, what I was good at, what I should do. They'd know what work needed to be done and who would be best for it, and they'd put me to work according to my ability and reward me according to my need, just like every other adult in the world.

It's hard to understand just how I came to believe this. I guess it was the same way most people come to believe in God. Not having the slightest idea how much stuff there was I didn't know, I just made crap up that would soothe my sheltered sensibilities and decided I was right, and sought evidence to support my theory and ignored evidence that didn't.

And let me tell you, walking into the employment office with these preconceptions was very confusing for everyone.

The most boring ghost story

Everyone has one, right? I got into videogames when I was about twelve and we lived in the country. We moved back into town when I was seventeen. This is important because of the time frame. My memory works pretty poorly with placing incidents chronologically, but I remember sitting in my giant room on the second floor with a balcony and windows in three directions like it's still happening.

And that's where I read my videogame magazine. I read a wide array of magazines and comic books sitting in my room, well, mostly comic books. But this was one of two or three magazines I bought for a heavy penny because they were in English. British or American, I couldn't tell. (My English wasn't that good, and I hadn't really figured out the distinction between "US" and "UK". Circumstantial evidence suggests this magazine was American.

So I'm probably older than fourteen but definitely younger than seventeen, on the sunlit wooden floor of my room reading this magazine full of personality and jokes. I read it a bunch of times, I can't remember the specific occasion, but I certainly remember the place, the mood. I remember the characters of the writers better than what games they were actually writing about.

And, more to the point, I remember this full page movie ad on the inside of the back cover of the magazine. You can probably picture the ad if I describe it. It's a picture of a movie theater, seen from about where the screen is. The picture has a cold, desaturated, blueish dark hue. The seats are almost empty. There's only two or three people there as far as you can see, sitting side by side. One of them is wearing a rabbit suit with a weird gleaming hard mask for a face, almost skeletal, with long crooked ears pointing almost straight up.

Well, we moved a couple of times and some time later I sold almost all of my comics and magazines to a second hand store in vast heaps and I never saw the picture of the spooky movie theater with the spooky man in the rabbit suit again. Not until I got Donnie Darko on DVD when I was 22 or 23.

That's the ghost in this story, do you see? The movie. I'm haunted by a ghost movie beloved as a cult classic all over the world. I'm rather fond of it myself as a movie and weirdness enthusiast. I like that it's different. I like what they tried to do with the extranarrative website, and I like how the story makes perfect sense if, and only if, you read The Philosophy of Time Travel. I try to ignore the special edition with the make-everything-dull director's commentary as well as the unnecessary sequel.

It's a great movie, and I don't see any need to make it more special with a, let's face it, completely ridiculous real world time travel story, as perfectly unprovable as it is unbelievable and pointless. It's just that it happened.

Thoughts on being rejected for gender correction treatment after going through the system for a year

My first impulse is to write a strongly worded letter. If you ask Swedish anti-racist twitter, I have one of the sharpest pens in the country and I want to use it on these people who I thought wanted to help me.

I hold it back and only write my old regular shrink to ask about resuming regular therapy, as they suggest, and then I hop in the shower and thoughts start falling over me like rain.Maybe I should go after black market hormone pills. Maybe I should open my veins in the tub. Maybe I should stop shaving completely so that my beard can measure the long and elusive process of getting rid of it.

Maybe I should give up all attempts to control my weight and just eat candy until I die from a heart attack at 40. I have a feeling I'm never going to get to fix my body anyway so what's the big deal if I look like a monster. Maybe deep down I want everyone to be as disgusted when they see me as I am.

Maybe I should cry.

I decide to sleep for four hours in the middle of the afternoon instead. In my dreams I'm a flying pirate captain in a world of flying ships, cruel and bold as only a child can be, drunk and afraid of getting close to people after her time on a slave ship, dying to save the sorceress she loves.

And maybe just the fact I'm having these thoughts proves I need the help I think I need. That's why I'm writing them down. For hope.

Pizzataco: The quest for decadence

This recipe comes from the brilliant game Dream Daddy: Take a pizza, fill it with taco stuff and eat it. After careful planning and preparation, I set out to make it a reality. And per a last minute request, I made a photo journal out of it.

Part I: The Hunt

The road to the pizza place. Don't let the pavement fool you, this is wild country. I see nothing moving except a man and a dog, who force me to wait like two minutes before they disappear from sight. The rain is heavy in the air, as if already sensing the vulnerable cardboard box I'll have to use to get my pizza home.

Some signs of civilization: Graffiti, birdhouses, several people on bicycles. Oh hey there's a car.

I emerge from the wilderness, the first part of my prize in sight.

Ciao Ciao. It could mean hello. . .or goodbye.

While they make my pizza I head over to the grocery store for the taco stuff. This is actually five minutes' walk from my door, with the pizzeria on the way. But I wanted to show the nice forested place where I live.

Part II: The Labor

Here's what I got. I'm actually quite strapped for cash this month (I've eaten lentil soup and rice for six days to afford this) and I have had to strap the concept of the taco down to its greasy, decadent core: Meat and cheese. And an onion because they're cheap and healthy, and olives because I haven't had them for a month.

Abracadabra. The pizza is supposed to have pepperoni, aged cheese and spinach on it by the way. I see some kind of cheese and some kind of green vegetable. I don't know why I go to this place. (It's because it's 3 minutes' walk from my door.)

Part III: The Feast

I'm beginning to suspect I've made a mistake.

I mean, it's only noon. I skipped breakfast because I guessed a pizzataco would be good enough for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It's delicious, by the way, though that may just be my masterful use of salt and pepper on the beef. Still no sign of pepperoni.

PS. I only used half the taco stuff.

PPS. That used to be a paper towel before I used it to try to control the grease flooding the pan. Boy does cheese have a lot of fat in it.