Sugar, You’re Going Down

Before one can make a change to their life, they have to be honest with themselves.

I have an insatiable sweet tooth.

I eat dessert after breakfast, for God’s sake.  And something sweet after every other meal.  And something sweet as a snack during the day if it’s available.  This addiction is quite pervasive. And long-held.  And delicious.

From my honeymoon in Rome, there are more pictures of me with gelato than frescos.

I keep mostly vegan, but have rationalized in my head that no-dairy rule does not apply to sweets, and so no sweet is off limits.

My name is Eli, and I have a problem.

I have tried to taper off sweets in the past, and it works with very limited results, meaning, it works for a few days, or hours, then the consumption ramps back up to normal or is worse.

I have always told myself that going cold turkey will not work, that my cravings are too strong, and I would inevitably go right back to it.

But let’s try it anyway.

Day One: Obstacles 

So today I am going to try to eat no processed sugar.  That is the problem for me, the processed stuff; it’s not like I’m stuffing my face with pears.  In fact, I find most fruit decidedly tart.  That’s probably an indicator I’m definitely eating too much processed sugar.

Let’s outline the problem areas I can foresee for day one:

-I work in a grocery store, and most of my day is spent in the frozen aisle.  In that aisle, we also stock ALL THE COOKIES AND CANDY above the frozen food, so the deck is stacked against me in this way.

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While I don’t usually buy cookies, I do talk about them an awful lot with customers. Actually, I don’t spend too much time thinking about the treats in that aisle, as they’re always there and, for me, exist in the same way the wood panelling exists.  But I’m sure, on some subliminal level, it doesn’t help my cause.

-I am a forgetful person, and so it is that, in addition to a lack of general will power, that will foil my best laid plans and highest held hopes.  Sure, I am weak-kneed when it comes to sugar, but sometimes when I attempt to limit my intake of it, I just plain forget I was going to try to change my diet.

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-Sugar is delicious and when I don’t eat it I get crabby.  When I am at work and I am crabby, I think, “Hmm.  I am having a crabby day.  I am a good person and I am working hard.  Why not give myself a treat, to turn this day around?” So I go to the cash register and purchase a candy bar.  Because it’s true, I am a good person, and I do work hard.  It is not true that I should eat a candy bar because I am a good person and work hard.

Day One: Game Plan

So how am I going to get through today without eating processed sugar?  Let’s try the following:

-I wrote a blog post about wanting to quit reduce the amount of processed sugar I’m eating, so maybe this will help me remember I’m trying to quit reduce the amount of processed sugar I’m eating.  If you know me in real life, and you see me eating sugar today, can you do me a solid, and ask me if I remember I’m trying to quit eating sugar today?

-I will eat some sugar.

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Wait, here me out: I have trail mix I eat daily for a snack, that has some sugar in it: 6g, to be specific, in the form of chocolate chips and peanut butter chips.  I will eat that, like normal (normal being a quarter cup on my ten minute break), and maybe it will help with the inevitable cravings.  If not, oh well, there are nuts and good-for-me shit in the trail mix, too, so it won’t be a total wash.

-I will drink water, and lots of it.  I’ve read when a person craves sugar, they’re really just thirsty.  I am pretty good at staying hydrated already, but if I get a sugar itch, I will try to alleviate it with water.  I will also try to convince myself that water and chocolate are the same thing.  This will not work, but I will try, if I remember.

-I will attempt to remember the reasons I am trying to quit sugar:

-it will rot my teeth

-it will give me diabetes

-it is widening my waistline

-it gives me headaches

-it is an addiction and I would like to be in control of my consumption.

I bet there are other things sugar is doing to my health that I am not even noticing because I have been giving the cravings carte blanche over my sugar intake.  So I’m interested in seeing how my mind and body might change after a prolonged period of greatly reduced (meaning only the 6g in my trail mix portion) portions or no simple sugar at all.  By “prolonged period” I mean a month.  I don’t know if I can make it to the end of the day, but I do know it will take at least a month, probably many months, before I notice a difference in my mind and body.

I understand that sugar is added to most processed foods, but I am lucky and my wife is a great and conscientious cook: we rarely eat processed food.  We don’t eat bread, and our gluten is quite restricted.  I think over 90% of the sugar I eat is in the form of sweet treats I give myself.

Also, I would like to note here as it applies to the topic of this blog, I realize there is some internalized misogyny taking part in my negative feelings about my sugar consumption.  It’s not just about how I don’t like what it’s doing to my body, but it’s also about feeling ashamed about liking sweets because women like sweets and I’m not a woman.  When I think of chocolate I think of indulgent housewives on the couch.  I think of moms.  And I see those feelings of shame as obvious internalized misogyny at work.  It’s pretty tangled, but I think I need to spend some time thinking about how I feel about sugar and its connotations and how those thoughts and associations are unhealthy in their own way.

Be nice to yourselves, and wish me luck!
-Your Pal Eli

Update: 17 Months on Testosterone

Hello there!

I’ve not done a video update in, oh, six months or so, therefore I’ve chosen the decidedly unceremonious hallmark of 17 months to do another update.

Voilà.

 

I also wanted to demonstrate the shift in my vocal range.  Below you will find audio clips I’ve culled from my previous videos as examples of the change, with pictures:

3 Weeks:

4 weeks on T

3 weeks on T

8 months:

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8 months on T

And, finally, This audio from the video update at 17 months:

17 months on T

17 months on T

Thanks for all your support and comments!

Be nice to yourselves,
Your Pal Eli

I’m Taking Europe With Me

We all share this: an adolescence, music, an aching heart.  And it all gets tangled together, the memories, the feelings, the textures and desires.  You’re listening to an album in your bedroom, or watching a concert from the back of the hall and you want it to last forever.  And it does: you make a song of your own, or a poem, or a baby.  Something has its genesis out of the love you feel in those moments.  You can’t un-hear that, can’t un-feel it and so it gets mutated over time, a song is associated with a lover’s rejection, or the feel of their hand in yours.  You in a group of your friends in the dark and under the lights and the opening riff is plucked slowly, teasingly, ripples of recognition turn into applause, turn into whistles and cheering–we all know this one.

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Who was your favorite band when you were 18?  How did you come across that first song?  See them live?  Stand in line for a ticket?  Cut school the day the new record came out?  Turn the lights out and listen to the old stuff on headphones in your bedroom and notice new things in the background?  Have a crush on the singer?   The drummer?  Wait in the cold for hours just to watch them walk to the bus after a sold out show?  Made mix tapes of their b-sides, learned to play acoustic versions of the singles?  Imagine what you would say if they noticed you, said hello?

For me it was Veruca Salt.  I was just out of high school. They broke my heart when, at the height of their popularity, they disbanded.  Rumor had it, some dude, not even musical differences.  I wanted them to be better than that.  I held music on a pedestal and somehow thought it was unrelated to love.  How innocent.  But against all odds, we got a do-over.

20 years after the release of their first album in 1994, they got back together, said their sorrys (their emergence was announced with the line, “hatches buried, axes exhumed”), and the new singles sound like the old singles: sweet, pleading harmonies over heavy guitars.  Their songs, not so much the radio friendly singles, but surely the bulk of their music, build like an orgasm: you don’t know how good it is until it’s over, then you just want it again and again.

It gave me a strange giddiness to listen to the old stuff: to put on my headphones and hear Twinstar for the first time in a long time, and the afternoon before seeing them live for the first time in 15 years, I wanted to cheer and cry and could barely contain myself on the train.  I looked out the window as Nina and Louise harmonized the I’m stuck in my ways bit and thanked God for the Chicago River.

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That night, My friends and I waited out back by the bus for a few hours and eventually, one by one, Jim and Steve, then Nina and finally Louise came out.  I didn’t know what to say.  Or rather, what I wanted to say I didn’t want to say in the praise chorus of fans echoing in the parking lot.  So I waited a little more and did what I’m best at–I wrote them a letter to be delivered at the Chicago show:

Dear Veruca Salt,

I was late to the party with you guys.

In 1994 I was listening to Ice Cube and Cypress Hill and other mainstream, foul-mouthed rappers. It wasn’t until my buddy Reuben (with whom I was at your show tonight, and your Milwaukee show on Thursday) made me a mix tape with Sonic Youth and Pearl Jam, The Breeders, and yes, Seether. Who the fuck is this? I remember thinking right after the opening Ow! and a split second later, by the time the drums kicked in, I was hooked.

I’ve since lost that tape, but my friendship with Reuben and my twenties were both branded by pop-rock music: I grew out of the angry rap I listened to for most of my childhood and it was during this late introduction to 90’s alt rock that I got my first girlfriend, got my heart broken, bought a guitar, wrote some shitty songs, and worked in a record store. Reuben and I worked the same gig at different shops, we spent our early twenties bonding by getting high and going to free shows thanks to the comp tickets from the record labels. We were going to two or three shows a week, anything we could get our hands on tickets for, and I thank God I had that growing-up experience. We just wanted to hear music and talk about music and play music. I know you know that feeling.

We saw Stone Temple Pilots at Rosemont Horizon, We saw Korn at the Aragon—weeks later we saw Ani there too. We saw you guys at the Riv’ in ’97 and four days later Green Day at the same venue. Tori at Arie Crown and every winter it was time for Twisted Christmas at Rosemont and every summer Jamboree at World Music Theater. We saw Foo Fighters at the Riv’ one year on the fourth of July and I will never forget standing on the Red Line platform at Lawrence and watching the fireworks. That display was an explosive, sky-wide embodiment of my youth. I know you know that feeling.

No Doubt at the Metro. Fuck, we saw everyone at the Metro: Mr. Bungle and Soul Asylum, G Love and Special Sauce. I saw the Smashing Pumpkins’ original line-up (minus D’arcy; Auf Der Maur played in her stead) do their last show at the Metro and when Billy plucked the first notes of Mayonnaise my eyes began to well up. But I wasn’t emotional because something was over; but rather because I was teetering on that high wire between euphoria and nostalgia and it brought me to tears. I was missing that moment, in that moment. I know you know that feeling.

The ticket stubs from those shows are light sensitive, of course, because Ticketmaster didn’t want us xeroxing them and getting our buddies in for free. And so years later, even as they sit quietly preserved in a closed photo album, they are fading away. When I open that album now and again, it feels like that first break-up, the sting of watching something you love leave without any power to stop it.

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In my mid-twenties, I quit the retail business and went to college: I wanted to be a writer. My first year at college I was so broke I had to sell most of my cds to pay rent. But I read Jack Kerouac and Sylvia Plath and Harper Lee and was nourished in a different way from what food could give. And my life was changed again.  I couldn’t hold onto the 500+ cd collection that I had built up, but I had been changed by that music, by that time in my life, and I am so thankful I can access those emotions just by thinking about my finger on a wet car windowsill on the way home from Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young—the first concert I ever went to with my dad.

When people attack my profession, and ask me, what good is writing for? What good is a liberal arts education? What a waste of money, all those cds…I tell them: math might make a mathematician, but the arts make citizens. I am a thinking human with feelings because of all those cds, all those concerts. And because of that education I can take those emotions and make something out of them: I can make art. And that’s what changes the world–not calculations, and not bombs.

My first year of grad school my guitar was pawned for the electric bill. Seven years earlier I had named that Washburn acoustic Nina. Six years ago I bought another one, and I can still play Karma Police with my eyes closed. It’s rusty, but it’s there for the prying open. The new guitar, a sweet acoustic Art & Louthrie, is named Louise. Things sometimes change, some stay the same.

This is a rambling kind of love letter, one in which I wanted to tell you a little about the life of one of your fans, I wanted to give you a chance to see me in the crowd. I wanted to tell you how much your music means to me without listing out all the songs I love and dissecting them, scrutinizing the lyrics and twisting the albums to fit my life, my agenda. The lasting lesson I got from grad school is this: art should be respected, and allowed to live its own life. And so I love your music, and respect it, and it was part of the genesis I went through in my twenties, and here I am a 36 year old man, and I am a better person for having had Veruca Salt in my life.

To be specific, for just a moment, I will say this:
When you played that Tower Record show in ’97, right before the release of Eight Arms, I stood in line for hours in the cold, with hundreds of your other fans. I was infatuated with Nina, her sickly sweet voice, and that extended “me-ee” at the end of “Leave me” in the last line of Volcano Girls has left an indelible print on my heart. I got to the front of the line that day, stood before you guys and told Nina, “There are certain pieces of heaven on this Earth and you are one of them.” I was just sick with fear, what would she think? What would she say? Would I get thrown out or laughed at? I don’t know that you even heard me and oh God, a corny and rehearsed line for sure, but at the time I thought it was what I felt. What was that good for? It was the first time I looked a woman in the eye and told her what she meant to me. I was changed. I was made a braver person for it. I was emboldened by that act, and I remember it fondly.  Nina, you helped make a man of me. And Veruca Salt’s music has continued to help turn the cogs of my heart.

Tell me, how do we go about our lives while there are old ladies looking at paintings and dogs hanging their heads out car windows, songs being written by Veruca Salt and not just drop to our knees under the weight of the beauty of it all?

Surely because beauty is weightless.

Warmly,
Your Pal Eli

I hear most nights on this tour, Veruca Salt close the show with 25, the same track they closed shows with so many years ago.  Jim gets up and leaves his drums, then Steve puts his bass down and walks off as well.  Nina and Louise are left with themselves and their Gibson SGs and continue playing.  Nina talks about this ritual here,

“It’s pretty intense playing the song ’25,’ which is the last song on ‘American Thighs’…Back then, the song was about what happened when I was 25 — I was 26 when I wrote it. Now, it’s taken on this incredible meaning for me. When I was 25, all of this was happening: It was about what happened when I formed a band. I always got emotional singing that song, and now I really do. It’s nostalgic and bittersweet. This whole thing is fascinating from a personal standpoint. So many lessons have been learned, with time healing all wounds, the feeling of life being very long, so things you thought could never happen can happen.”

Don’t we know it.

On the blogs and message boards and FB fan pages some version of this image keeps popping up:

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This pic I took at the Milwaukee show.  Just Nina and Louise, two girls who started a band.  I’m reminded of the line at the end of Michael Cunningham’s The Hours, the bit about how we all die, but in the middle of so much misery and sadness we find, “an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we’ve ever imagined.”  Veruca Salt’s music gives me those hours.  But so does poetry, and the Lake, and my wife.  I want this joy to last forever.  Most people would say impossible.  Nothing last forever.  I would say bullshit.  When they played I’m Taking Europe with Me in Milwaukee I thought of Susan Howe‘s The Europe of Trusts.  And so I have this new memory now, of being at a Veruca Salt concert and thinking about Susan Howe.  The life of art, of joy, of happiness, is defined by its ability to connect to other pieces of art, of joy, of happiness.  And it is through those connections that we make meaning out of our own lives, ya know?

Be nice to yourselves,
Your Pal Eli

Remembrance: Matt Kailey

I first came across Matt Kailey‘s Tranifesto two years ago when I started this blog.  At the time I was certain about top surgery, and actively trying to talk myself out of testosterone.  But that argument felt a lot like the one I had with myself before I decided on surgery: I was going through the motions of a half-hearted, losing fight.  So I wanted to start looking for examples of dudes my age on testosterone: I wanted to see how it would look for a female body in its thirties to take testosterone, as I knew all the examples of kids in their 20s, with their high metabolisms and evolving bodies, would not be reflective of my transition.

Tranifesto was a revelation: TRANIFESTO in bold block lettering atop a brick wall, Matt standing confidently in front of it, eyes looking into the camera, looking at me.  Tranifesto a blog not just with his personal story, but also one with tabs for resources and links and trans FAQs.  He has a section for his bio and the bio of Tranifesto, he has a section for his public speaking and his books.  I spent a long time poking around, looking up his posts with testosterone tags, and his voice was reassuring.  Here was a guy who was a little older than me, had been on T for a while, and he was healthy.  Hell, he was thriving.  Matt’s life assuaged my fear of dying young from testosterone’s complications.

As I moved further along into my own journey I spent less and less time on Matt’s blog; what started as a weekly occurrence (I would read his Ask Matt posts religiously every Thursday) dwindled down to checking in sometimes as his new posts would pop up in my feed, and as my time allowed and interest was piqued.  I was becoming my own trans man, writing my own posts on T shots and answering questions from readers of my blog.  As my voice was taking shape, Matt’s was moving into the background.  But it was still always there, reassuring me.  One particular post of his deals directly with the fear of taking testosterone injections without any long-term studies to bolster the patient against the fear of fatal side effects.  In that post he writes,

“The one thing I do know is that you will never get out of this life alive…You will die of something, and my philosophy has always been that I would rather die after having lived a full and authentic life than after having lived as someone I am not.”

And that line, “you will never get out of this life alive,” has been a huge comfort to me. I wrote about this post of his previously here.  We all die of something, and even if testosterone is the indirect cause of it for me, at least I got to hear my real voice, look at and touch and have touched a chest that I am proud of.  I have been addressed as sir and moving in the world and being recognized by the world as a man have been perhaps the greatest joys of my life.  Clearly Matt has been a huge help in my personal transition, a soothing voice, a self-assured internet buddy, and I might not be the man I am (or might not have gotten to be him this soon) without Matt Kailey and Tranifesto.

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Matt Kailey (Image courtesy of Tranifesto)

As I was preparing my wedding and honeymoon, I’ve spent little time on WordPress recently, and so I missed that Matt died of heart failure in May.  I’m sad and his passing is a huge loss for our community.  His death, at 58, also stokes the embers of that old fear, the one of dying early.  So I let that fear sit with me for a half day, then I let it go.  In that same blog post Matt goes on to write,

“There are honestly a ton of trans guys over 50 out there. Some of us might not be as visible because we have assimilated into the mainstream and are not visible as trans men, or because we are not as Internet savvy (or as interested) as the younger guys who grew up with technology.

So don’t freak out about dying young. I can’t guarantee that you won’t, but I can guarantee that you will hear more about people who die than you will about people who are living, because death is almost always a shock, and when someone dies, people will talk about it.”

And here I am talking about it.  And even in death Matt manages to act as confidant and teacher; it is his early death that forces me to look at my own life and determine its length is in my hands.

Matt’s blog is still up and available, in fact his most recent post is about Tranifesto turning 5.  I suggest you go check it out if you’re not familiar, and if you are, take a moment there to say your goodbye.  I did, and it felt right and good.

Be nice to yourselves,
Your Pal Eli

The Advocate has a lovely Op-ed on Matt here.

And fellow blogger American Trans Man has a short goodbye here, with links to Matt’s blog and books.

 

 

 

Milwaukee

I took the Amtrak up to Milwaukee on Thursday to catch the Veruca Salt show at Turner Hall.  I’m writing a separate post on the show, as I also saw them Saturday night in Chicago and they have been a favorite of mine for many years.  Here I just wanted to document the amazing day I had in Milwaukee:

Historic Third Ward shot as I was crossing the Milwaukee River

Historic Third Ward Arch as I was crossing the Milwaukee River

The Milwaukee Public Market: A fun place to stop and have a  look around, or eat if you're an omnivore.

The Milwaukee Public Market: A fun place to stop and have a look around, or eat if you’re an omnivore.

First of all, as you’ll be able to tell from the pictures, the weather was gorgeous.  Mid 70s and just the occasional flirty cloud in the sky.  Above you see the Historic Third Ward arch I snapped on my way over the Milwaukee River toward my first destination: lunch.

I stopped at Cafe Benelux, just a block or two East of the River.  They had a great space, inside and out (check the pics on the linked website for an idea) and since it was such a nice day I enjoyed my salad on their beautiful rooftop patio.  I recommend the Beet salad: rocket salad, beets, goat cheese, blueberries, avocado, lemon vinaigrette, and there might have been some kind of nut in there too.  It was great.  And although it was very busy, the vibe there was really chill, I ate my lunch leisurely and finished the first Saga book while enjoying the sights and sounds of the space.

Although I saved my coffee for later in the day, I did pass Colectivo Coffee and hear it's fantastic.

Although I saved my coffee for later in the day, I did pass Colectivo and hear it’s fantastic.

After lunch I kept walking east for another ten minutes or so and I was at my second stop: the Milwaukee Art Museum.

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Little fountains all in a row

Little fountains all in a row

I’d heard lots of good things about this museum from friends, so it was a must for my first trip to this city.  I loved it: there was a rad Kandinsky exhibit going on, they had great little modern and contemporary collections, many little nooks to stop and sit and look out at the gorgeous view of Lake Michigan. On a Thursday afternoon there was almost no one there.  So without further ado:

Lots of time when I go to a museum, I enjoy not only looking at the art, but also looking at the people looking at the art.

Lots of time when I go to a museum, I enjoy not only looking at the art, but also looking at the people looking at the art.

This piece was a photograph from the exhibit: Postcards from America: Milwaukee.

This piece was a photograph from the exhibit: Postcards from America: Milwaukee.

Can anyone name this painter?  I forgot to get the details on this piece, but I really loved it.

Kehinde Wiley: St. Dionysus

I find Kehinde Wiley’s work to be really outstanding. This painting is from his series, Iconic. From the artist’s website, “These intimately scaled portraits use the visual language and gestures of 15th century icons to depict contemporary subjects selected by Wiley from the streets of New York City. The portraits are presented in specially designed frames that are architectural and gilded in the style of their Byzantine forebears.  The pose in the image above echoes St. Peter’s pose in his piazza in Rome. To learn more about Wiley, go here.

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Ellsworth Kelly: Red, Yellow, Blue II

Ellsworth Kelly: Red, Yellow, Blue II

Marino Marini: Battle

Sol LeWitt instructions

Sol LeWitt instillation instructions

Rothko, of course.  Not pictured: Rothko.

Rothko, of course. Not pictured: Rothko.

To give you an idea of the space these works are in:

To give you an idea of the space these works are in:

What learning looks like:

What learning looks like:

The sweet little family above were the only other visitors on this floor besides me, and it was so nice to listen to the grandmother talk to her grandkids about art, as she clearly knew a thing or two about it. But also, it was nice to hear her give the kids silence too, some time to think reflect on what they were seeing and to form their own opinions.  She would let them speak first, when approaching a new piece, and would help shape, not determine, the conversation.

Harry Bertoia's Dandelion in a nook with a view.

Harry Bertoia’s Dandelion in a nook with a view.

After spending about two+ hours in the museum, I was ready to get outside and take a walk along the lake.  Milwaukee has a great Riverwalk, one that unlike other major cities’ walk, preceded the genesis of its downtown area, and so in that walk the walk has a life of its own.  On this trip, I chose to stroll on the just as impressive Lakefront path:

Behind the Art Museum there's this lovely stretch to be found.

Behind the Art Museum there’s this lovely stretch to be found.

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McKinley Marina

McKinley Marina

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The pedestrian bridge from the lake to the commercial and residential areas.

I was ready for a mid-afternoon coffee and some writing time, so I said see ya later to the Lake and crossed a bridge that led me to Brady Street, a lively commercial area in Milwaukee.  The first viable spot for mocha and internet was, you guessed it, Starbucks, but I wanted something a little more local.  So I asked the nice girl with the bull ring in her nose where I could get some Milwaukee coffee.  She recommended Rochambo Coffee and Tea House. It was perfect.

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There I spent a few hours passing the time working on this here blog site and drinking what is, to date, the best iced decaf mocha I’ve ever had.  The spot was empty except for me, the owner, and two other people reading the paper and looking out the window.  As the afternoon turned to evening, I was packing up my bag and heading over to Comet Cafe for dinner with some friends who drove up after their day for the show that night.  Veruca Salt were one of my favorites in my early twenties, and so this show, more than fifteen years in the making, was something I hotly anticipated.

Until then,

Nina waves goodnight

Nina waves goodnight…or hello…or rock on, it could be any number of signals…stay tuned!

Be nice to yourselves,
Your Pal Eli

 

 

Welcome to the New My Life Without Tits!

Friends, Interweb Travellers, Gawkers, and the Gender-Curious,

It's pronounced E-Lie

It’s alive!

Let me reintroduce you to the blog My Life Without Tits.

Ta-dah!

Now let’s take this rig for a spin.  Please watch your step as you board the blogcraft.

-Just north of this post in the address bar you will notice a new url: mylifewithouttits.com.  Yes,  I have purchased my domain name and own rights to everything within it (unless otherwise noted).  So all those top surgery pics are mine, all mine!  And remember to update your bookmark!

-No doubt you notice a new theme: I wanted one in which I could customize the sidebar and widgets, and the old one just wouldn’t do.  But it did serve me well, and I thank the WordPress overlords for use of it.  With this new theme you get:

-An updated About Eli & About His Blog tab

-Updated Blogroll and Related Sites tab with some of the old and trusted blogs (Shout out to Transman, Karen,  Maddox, and friends) alongside some new blogs of interest and sites with trans resources.  Go and get to clickin’!

-The new Education/Public Speaking tab for employers, community organizations, and educators who would like to work with me in a professional capacity.

-I cleaned up all the old/broken links and messy tags and categories.  Looking for top surgery info?  Just type “top surgery” in the search box and all those posts have been properly tagged.  Want more information on my experience with testosterone, click on the Testosterone category in the side bar and there you’ll have all my bitching, right before your eyes!

This has been a labor of love, and I’m pleased with how all the changes have manifested themselves.  But of course this blog updating activity is always a process, so if you find a link that doesn’t work, or a tag missing, let me know.

I hope you enjoy your time here on MLWT.  If you’re new here, welcome.  If this is old hat to you, welcome back.  For the foreseeable future, please expect a new post weekly, likely on Fridays.

Thanks for dropping by, and be nice to yourselves,
Your Pal Eli

 

Under Construction: So Long (For Now)

Friends, I have long been neglecting this blog, and my writing at large, for fair reasons (I got married, went to Italy for three weeks). But I am home now, and feel recharged and ready to recommit to this blog.  The original intent of this blog was to make some space to chronicle my transition from female to male, to search for a trans community while trying to understand my own trans identity, and to that end, this blog has been highly successful. I have written for two years, and made many a friends here. But I want more from this space, as I am more than a trans person.  I am a writer, and this space should be able to serve the dual purpose of creative and autobiographical writing.  Additionally, those two things overlap, quite frequently, and so I want to blur the line here between my creative and autobiographical endeavors. To that end, I have taken the initiative to purchase a domain, and so from here on out this place will be http://www.mylifewithouttits.com, please update your bookmarks to reflect this minor switch.  Also, I am going to preform some long overdue spring cleaning, and therefore this blog will be made private (in a day or two, to give folks time to see this message) until I’ve got this ship in tip-top shape. It won’t be long, but this is so long (for now.)

Be nice to yourselves,
Your Pal Eli