The world keeps getting--there's no use talking about it. But I will. There is now a trans-aged movement. Oh, yes. A man claims that he is a six year old girl trapped in the body of a middle-aged man. He wants his rights (link) (link).
I couldn't be happier. Pushing barriers, moving the frontier. Soon my own people will be free to live as they wish. I hope that day is coming soon. In the meantime, I'm self-identifying as a much younger olympian. I expect people to respect this and to treat me accordingly. I have rights, too, goddamnit.
Meanwhile, the man in the picture at the top of this post is living the dream. Some people have all the fun.
Why do trans-anything protest Trump? We all should get to be what we want to be.
Poor, poor Hillary.
I got my car back late yesterday afternoon. The dealership is no longer my friend. They have abused me for the last time. I won't tell you everything. It is too embarrassing. It depressed me very much so that I was not good company last night. The light and liveliness provided by my mini-vacation has been annihilated. I am back to gloomy old boy.
Time and money. That is all I want. More. Much more.
Wynwood, though. Miami. A cultural capital of Hipsterdom. It is beat, of course, and features many food trucks and outdoor bars serving craft beers. There are lots of garish clothing stores. Murals dominate the landscape.
The famous Wynwood walls were pretty much what I expected. When I was young, those people would have been building elaborate car models painting them in fantastical colors, modifying them so that they were like nothing on the street. Now they get to paint giant murals on walls. The pictures are terribly naive, I think. That's not bad. I'm just saying.
If nothing gets in my way, I'll finish up my Miami narrative tomorrow. I wanted to do that before I forgot a lot of things, but it is too late for that now. Still, there are some things I remember in spite of it all.
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