Hello! This post is a test--of my ability to work out the configuration of this newly-minted blog, and of my ability to think of something substantive to say.
I don't really like introductions--they feel forced, stiff, artificial, almost like I'm trying to pitch you something. So let's pretend that I've already said a lot of introductory things: who I am, why I wanted to make this blog, why I chose the title and subject matter that I did, etc. I've been working for the last couple of hours to actually create/format this site, and while I could spend a lot more time thinking up a pithy and captivating introduction, using some gently transitional and gradually more familiar language to first snag and then hold your attention, and I could clarify my mission statement, begin to build a foundation, establish a rapport, explain myself... I'd rather not. I'd rather drive right into the story, so to speak.
It's hot in San Jose. Certainly not as hot as a lot of other places in the world, and not even as hot as a lot of other place in California, but compared to San Francisco, it's hot. I moved here a little over a week ago, but weirdly enough the heat didn't get to me until yesterday. Maybe that's because it didn't feel like I was really living here until yesterday. My partner and I have both reported feeling like we're on a very strange and uneventful vacation; like we've been brought to this slightly nicer, slightly newer place to unpack a bunch of boxes, buy some furniture, and figure out the best kind of water filtration system for tap water heavy in Chlorine and Bromoform. It's felt like any day now someone is going to knock on our door and ask for the keys back and tell us, "Thank you so much for choosing Airbnb, we hope you've enjoyed your stay, please make sure to leave us a good review, there will be a $75 cleaning fee."
San Francisco doesn't really have "seasons", at least not in the conventional sense. It's in a perpetual state of almost-warm/almost-cold, foggier in some areas and sunnier in others, but it's nearly the same weather no matter the time of year. So for the last week the omnipresent heat and the clarity of summer in San Jose was pleasant, a novelty--the way anything different that you encounter when you're on vacation is "charming" or "interesting". You're in New Orleans, and no matter where you seem to walk, the air is uniformly thick with the seductive/repulsive aromas of stale beer, fried food and vomit--a permanent-carnival smell. You're running through a sudden downpour, almost slipping on the slick and uneven streets of Saigon, trying to find a place to take cover but loving the thrill of the unexpected extremity of the weather. You shuffle down the subway steps, feeling a deliciously painful tingle in every exposed inch of your skin, the warmth of the subterranean tunnel and the bodies around you thawing your freezing face and offering a sweaty, dank respite from the blizzard up above. All of these things are "an experience" when you're a visitor--that changes when you're there to stay. When there's no expiration date on the smells, sounds, sights or weather, when there's no promise of return to a different place (with its own set of peculiarities, but ones you're well-accustomed to), the "charming" and "interesting" can quickly become "frustrating" and "tedious" (or "familiar", "beloved", "ironic", etc. But "interesting" and "charming" tend to be transient qualities that have a short shelf-life).
It's funny that yesterday was the day that it finally started to sink in, that I really live here now, because I spent nearly the entire day not in San Jose. My partner and I drove down to Gilroy, a place that's even hotter and drier than it is here, to see my family for the first time in over five months. We talked and talked, my mother fixed us tall, strong madrases, we played a choose-your-own adventure game, I ran with my 5-year-old niece through the sprinklers, we sat on patio furniture and ate grilled foods off paper plates. After we left, we stopped by my in-laws' house in Morgan Hill, and sat in their backyard talking and tossing a frisbee for their Australian Shepherd until just after 10:00 PM. By the time we got back to our apartment, it was close to 11:00 PM. The air in the apartment was like breath--warm and a little moist. The cat was laying on the floor like a small pool of fur, seemingly lifeless, melted into the carpet. The sink was full of breakfast dishes that neither I nor my partner had any intention of dealing with that night. Small piles of my clothes and shoes and books were scattered atop every flat surface. The recycling needed to be taken out. My phone *pinged*, notifying me that Susan Stryker's Transgender History: The Roots of Today's Revolution had been delivered and was waiting for me in our mailbox downstairs. I put my mask back on, took the elevator back downstairs, grabbed my new book, and headed back up again. I was starving, so I made myself a box of Annie's Shells & White Cheddar, and I ate it in bed, naked, half-watching an episode of Law & Order on my phone and feeling the little fan in the corner push warm air around the room.
"I need to do the dishes tomorrow. And I need to put all my laundry away. We have to take out the recycling before it overflows. Do we have anything to make for breakfast? Goddamn, it's hot."
These are all such normal thoughts. Completely boring thoughts. Hardly thoughts at all, more like semi-conscious reactions to routine stimuli, like turning off a light as you leave a room or glancing in both directions as you cross the street. They are the mundane thoughts that occur to you when you are so comfortable that you aren't even aware you're comfortable.
I went to sleep hot, and I woke up hot. I haven't gotten dressed today, other than a pair of underwear and the thin cotton shirt I picked up off the floor. My partner took out the recycling and bought some Cheerios and milk at the market down the street while I was still half-asleep; I did the dishes, but not the laundry. The cat is still melting, but this time on the bed beside me instead of on the floor. I feel sweaty, sticky, hot... and comfortable. I feel at home.
The things that I'll write in this blog might be like this--recounting moments interwoven with feeling, sometimes brushing up against some sort of meaning. They also might be completely different--less linear, less expositional, more explosive, more analytical... I also might post the occasional recipe or short story or poem. I would ideally like to use this blog as a platform to create an advice column. That will probably take some time, and can only happen if anyone out there feels like they need some advice, and would like to seek it from a stranger on the internet. If you or someone you know might be interested, please send me an email! You can find it over on the right-hand sidebar, under the heading make some contact. All emails will be read, and all queries and the responses published on this blog will remain anonymous to protect inquirers' privacy. If you'd like to learn more about me, click on the heading who am i? who are you? If you'd like to follow this blog, subscribe via email. If there's anything specific you want to see, read, know, or discuss, let me know.
Okay, time to go take a cold shower. Bye!
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