nicole @nicole@myna.social

Things you forgot you photographed because the wind chill imparted memory loss.

Don’t even get me started on books: there’s a storage unit in Arizona packed full of them from when I moved to Illinois for law school in _2005_.

It’s going to be the same thing alll over again, here. 🙄

I’m taking art books, folklore (my personal jam), and whatever unread fiction I have lying around.

I also own a grip of video game systems.

There’s the RCA-modded Atari 2600; a Sega Saturn; a PS3, PS4, and PS5; a top-loading NES; a juggle of handhelds; two Switches (one Lite, one not); a Playdate; and literally _Every Single Console Analogue Has Ever Released_, from the original NT through the Duo. 😂

I’m ****ing insane. Unless you count Interactive Fiction, I don’t even play video games anymore.

The other thing I seem to have hundreds of are weird computer cables. 🙄

If it doesn’t terminate in USB-C, it’s gone. I only have the work laptop and the one pink iMac (leave me alone; it’s super cute). The desire to tinker with these things was put to rest years ago; I’d rather focus on my cooking.

Board games.

I own hundreds of them.

I don’t know why but pre-transition I obsessively collected them. Whatever that was, now they have effectively zero pull.

I won’t be moving with them, so I’ll need to either commit myself to the drudgery of selling them over time, donate them, or some subtle blend of the two.

But, for now, they sit on shelves in the garage, glowering at me. 😣

Packing up camera stuff to move. 🙄

I’m not a gear head. I own two digital cameras and two film cameras, and maybe six lenses between all four.

Each camera has a totally different utility, and I will probably put one or both film cameras to bed with this move. Voila, two digital cameras. 🪄

But I do studio portraiture.

And I plan to do more of it in SF.

This means I also have to reason about backdrops, lights, stands, umbrellas, snoots, reflectors, cards, … 🥺

Visited Super Nintendo Land when I was in Ōsaka. Last time I was there, it was under construction; you could see some of these props from our hotel window, under tarps in a parking lot.

The Mario Kart ride was utter trash. The weird pizza hand pie my friend had waiting for me when I emerged from the restroom, however, was delish.

Oh dear. Poor Things has confounded me. I love the dressing; I love the performances; I love the humor; I love so much of the message, and yet … I didn’t really care for it at all. 🙃

When I saw my mother last week, she tried to gift me a haggle of purses. They were all very nice, and very black, white, brown, and gray.

“You don’t like them, do you?”
“What gives you that idea?”
“Your coat.”

Moms!

Yes’m.

Whenever I come to SF for a doctors’ appointment or work I take the ferry home. Along the way, I stop in at the wine bar in the ferry building for a glass or two.

I’m probably not going to do either of those things again after today’s check-in (there must be better wine bars closer to my new home), so this is my parting toast. 😘

Okay, revision FFS scheduled for July.

Minor stuff: there’s a mystery dent in my forehead and my lip lift is a little off target.

DB is being a swell perfectionist and waiving the forehead work. 🥰

Going to miss this midget.

Third week back from Japan and I still don’t feel like I’m actually back.

Stepping back into my shoes at work has been particularly challenging: I lost my design and research partners, without who I can’t even tell all the different shoes apart.

A company reorg, role-reduction, depression, and the decision to seperate and divorce might also be angular momentum on the surreality dial.

The clocks must be at room temperature; they spread easily enough under the butter knife.

Nomnom gnomon.

The Barbie-themed Oscars celebration where Barbie hardly won anything at all was the most-Ken thing I’ve seen this year.

@pauline has occasionally said that there’s a lot of my mother in me. I want to bristle at that: my mother was not—by any means or metric—a good mother. But she does make more sense to me post-transition than she ever did before.

And, I think, I do to her too.

Saw my mother for the first time in 4 years yesterday; last time we met, I had a different name.

She’s living in a cottage behind a couple’s house in Atherton. It is, in keeping with her talents, a most-impeccably decorated abode: museum-quality miniature living; an art project in filling space.

I’ve inherited some of her talent; we crawled around on the floor with tape measures, discussing the prospective presence of a new coffee table—how the light will affect it over the course of a day.

I think the trick is just to burn it all; most of it is his stuff anyway.