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Despite living in the Seattle area for over thirty years, I'd never made it out to Bremerton, the naval shipyard on the far side of Puget Sound. I'd been invited to a 4th of July BBQ given by the Purdy Persian, about whom I've written here before if not under that alias.
First of all, let me say that taking the ferry there was a picturesque mistake. I waited two hours for an on-time (!) ferry, and then I saw why Washington State Ferries wasn't running very often on this route even at the height of summer: the boat was half empty. Compare that to the Bainbridge Island ferry right next door, for which service twice as frequent looked full. Ferry fare: $20.90. Toll at the Tacoma Narrows Bridge: $5.25. And the drive back was one of the easiest I've ever done through Tacoma.
Ferry by the numbers:
Pro-Trump stickers: 1.
Pro-shroom legalization stickers: 1.
Scantily dressed teens applying sunscreen: 2.
Masks: I dunno, maybe 5?
Passengers: about 100.
Possible drag queens: 1.
Definite trans women: 1 – yours truly.
Bremerton seems like... a large town or small city on the west side of Puget Sound. If you've seen others, you've seen something a lot like Bremerton.
Oh: the owner of the shroom legalization sticker was at the BBQ, because of course she was. She recommends making a tea of them to prevent an upset stomach. And I learned that the home where we were having this BBQ belonged to another trans woman, which wasn't at all what I expected on the well-heeled outskirts of a military town. I'm sure there's a story in there somewhere, but I didn't try to find it out.
Why at that house when the Purdy Persian lives on my side of the sound? Because her fella – she's adorably in love – wanted to smoke some meat, etc. I have to admit, the smoked monster of a king salmon was pretty great.
But what wasn't great was that the Purdy Persian had read Irreparable Damage and taken it at face value. I haven't read it, but the word in the trans community is that it's yet another rehash of the "social contagion" myth about why kids want to transition, with a side order of a claim about lasting side effects from one puberty blocker. Having been on the other end of this, I told her it was a load of hooey.
I will, however, say that the Persian has excellent taste in bleepy music. It's how we met.
The Purdy Persian reminds me an awful lot of the Siberian Siren and other ex-Soviets I know: they all harbor a deep, reflexive, visceral distrust in the idea that a government can accomplish anything positive. That's understandable, but I also think that's manifestly wrong. As the PP admits, that makes them easy prey for American rightists. But... she's purdy. And she's Persian. I really should know better by now, shouldn't I?
First of all, let me say that taking the ferry there was a picturesque mistake. I waited two hours for an on-time (!) ferry, and then I saw why Washington State Ferries wasn't running very often on this route even at the height of summer: the boat was half empty. Compare that to the Bainbridge Island ferry right next door, for which service twice as frequent looked full. Ferry fare: $20.90. Toll at the Tacoma Narrows Bridge: $5.25. And the drive back was one of the easiest I've ever done through Tacoma.
Ferry by the numbers:
Pro-Trump stickers: 1.
Pro-shroom legalization stickers: 1.
Scantily dressed teens applying sunscreen: 2.
Masks: I dunno, maybe 5?
Passengers: about 100.
Possible drag queens: 1.
Definite trans women: 1 – yours truly.
Bremerton seems like... a large town or small city on the west side of Puget Sound. If you've seen others, you've seen something a lot like Bremerton.
Oh: the owner of the shroom legalization sticker was at the BBQ, because of course she was. She recommends making a tea of them to prevent an upset stomach. And I learned that the home where we were having this BBQ belonged to another trans woman, which wasn't at all what I expected on the well-heeled outskirts of a military town. I'm sure there's a story in there somewhere, but I didn't try to find it out.
Why at that house when the Purdy Persian lives on my side of the sound? Because her fella – she's adorably in love – wanted to smoke some meat, etc. I have to admit, the smoked monster of a king salmon was pretty great.
But what wasn't great was that the Purdy Persian had read Irreparable Damage and taken it at face value. I haven't read it, but the word in the trans community is that it's yet another rehash of the "social contagion" myth about why kids want to transition, with a side order of a claim about lasting side effects from one puberty blocker. Having been on the other end of this, I told her it was a load of hooey.
I will, however, say that the Persian has excellent taste in bleepy music. It's how we met.
The Purdy Persian reminds me an awful lot of the Siberian Siren and other ex-Soviets I know: they all harbor a deep, reflexive, visceral distrust in the idea that a government can accomplish anything positive. That's understandable, but I also think that's manifestly wrong. As the PP admits, that makes them easy prey for American rightists. But... she's purdy. And she's Persian. I really should know better by now, shouldn't I?
