Happy New Year!

Congratulations everyone on reaching a new opportunity for improving life. I hope and predict 2025 will be a banner year for all of us.

I have "brat" dreams for the new year. (If you don't know what brat means, click on it.)

It's valuable to have dreams: they can be targets to aim at. Perhaps we achieve them, perhaps not but their existence helps us orient effort.

Currently I have three dreams in my heart. The extent to which I realize them will depend on several external factors like generosity from the Crypto Gods. The more resources I receive, the stronger my ability to build these environments.

My close friends (like you!) know of my oldest, most precious dream: to create a safe, private space for living authentically. A "home" where I can wear dresses and bright red polish on my fingernails. A space where I can engage in various feminine activities like chatting with girlfriends over hot tea and watching rom-coms. Privacy shields us from ignorant hate (triggered by my mere existence). In public I can, for example, be attacked or even jailed for using the "wrong" bathroom. Life for transgender folk has gotten dramatically worse during the past decade.

A second dream is to build a private art museum. A place to display my growing collection of fine art. I've got the beginning of that assembly: numerous objects of world-class art. I hope to spend over $1 Million rounding out the collection. In addition to the art collection I want to display a group of objects having deep sentimental and personal meaning to me, like the first and last motorcycles I owned. And results of projects I completed, like a handmade 1950s-style cocktail dress designed collaboratively by my seamstress friend Aimee and me. It fits me like a glove, shimmers and excites me in all the right ways. I keep it on a dress-form stand and want to exhibit it like art.

My final dream is odd: a personal drag-race track. My visual impairments prevent me from driving or riding a motorcycle on the street or a racetrack because I can only see forward with narrow view. (My vision is like looking through a dirty submarine periscope.) I realized, however, that I can still operate a race-car or motorcycle in a straight line if there were no intersections or risks coming from outside my view. A drag-race strip! On one I could twist the throttle and let 'er rip. Get my motorcycle up to 140 mph. There are also non-street-legal race-cars that appeal to me which I could hurl down the strip with much enthusiasm. Right next to the track I'll build a large garage both for storing vehicles and hosting parties. Decorated with moto-sports memorabilia the space will house a kitchen, open bar, couches and items for entertaining. Come watch the races at Ally's Garage!

What dreams do you have for 2025 and beyond?

Oh, Crap

Hi everyone. I hope you enjoyed Christmas and are relaxing during this holiday season.

If you have a moment I have some questions for you. I faced a situation last night that never occurred to me before. It flummoxed me and I'm still confused.

I attended a holiday dinner with friends, all of whom are nice people and all of whom are intimately aware of my health struggles. I see these same friends every Christmas. We ate a lovely meal. Afterward instead of chatting someone suggested we play a game. We'd never done that before. Of the 15 people present about 10 expressed eagerness to try a game. I was among them.

We moved to the living room and sat on couches eight feet apart. The game's suggester described how the game works. Every player gets a little plastic card (about 1 inch tall) on which they write a word. Players then show their cards to other players and talk about the words. One rotating player doesn't get to look at the cards and tries to guess what others wrote. The details of aren't important.

I tried to play the game but it became immediately obvious I couldn't due to my visual impairment. My eyesight isn't good enough to read small words displayed eight feet away. After five minutes of frustration I gave up, withdrew from the game and sunk back into the couch. I listened to everyone else talk excitedly, laugh and continue play without me. 

I didn't sulk because that's not my nature but I did feel sour. I felt like my friends abandoned me.

I'm sure nobody wanted to exclude me but the requirements of the game had that effect. When I stopped playing I explained the reason for withdrawing (inadequate vision) but nobody paid attention; they were too excited to continue their fun. 

Afterward I felt trapped: I couldn't find any way to discuss my exclusion without making the situation worse. No matter how I might try to explain things I feared people would get defensive and think I was criticizing them for playing without me. I know nobody was trying to hurt my feelings so I didn't want to give that impression. And I didn't want to ruin everyone else's fun.

Some questions for you. First, if you invite someone into your home, to what extent do you accommodate their physical limitations? Second, in the future is there any way I can avoid this situation repeating? Everyone at the party knew about my limited eyesight so mentioning that won't change anything. Finally, is this just something I need to suck up as another sad consequence of losing eyesight? Am I tilting at a windmill here?

Thanks.

Holiday Greetings

Happy holidays, everyone!

The holiday season is finally here. Time to knock off work, rush to buy presents, and gather with family and friends. Robin and I have several Christmas traditions, starting this weekend with decorating a Christmas tree. And snuggling in a warm home looking out at perfectly-timed snow.

It's fitting time to appreciate the loved ones in our lives. I had several medical challenges arise recently, up to and including major surgery. The only way I can endure these hardships is with support from Robin. She's a skilled Sherpa who guides us to the summit, handling tasks beyond my current ability. As we enjoy the view from our mountaintop I want to gratefully acknowledge that our presence here is due to Robin's quiet quotidian efforts.

We both wish you all a wonderful holiday and Happy New Year!

A Star's Career

There's an old joke in Hollywood, which has been quoted many times, about the five stages of a star's career. For purpose of illustration I'll use my name for the star:

1. Who is Ralph Hummel?

2. Get me Ralph Hummel!

3. We need someone like Ralph Hummel.

4. What we need is a young Ralph Hummel.

5. Who is Ralph Hummel?

Parting Words

We expect people to say nice things about us when we die. That doesn't always happen.

Truman Capote and Gore Vidal, both famous writers, both deeply flawed men, feuded for years. Each spat vitriol at the other with venomous delight.

The last years of Capote's life were sad: he openly abused alcohol and drugs. Eventually, at 59, his body gave out and he died. 

Vidal wasn't kind. In words widely quoted, Vidal called Capote's death "a wise career choice."

Ouch.

Cursive Writing

When I was a child we were taught "handwriting" in school. It was intended to teach us not only cursive lettering but also fine motor control. The skill was drilled into my brain with endless repetition. I thought I'd never forget it. I was wrong.

Recently I've started using fountain pens which is a delight. Fountain pens work best when ink flows continuously, such as when you write in cursive instead of print. With cursive, letters are connected and you don't lift your pen off the paper; with print, you do frequently separate pen from paper.

My effort to revive cursive hit a snag: I forgot how to make some letters. Like capital F and capital Q. I searched for and found posters made for schoolchildren showing correct shapes of capital and small-case cursive letters. Eventually the alphabet's letters came back to me. I'm now practicing them like an 8-year old.

I've noted before that resurrecting activities we pursued in childhood can be very pleasing. Our brains return to early learning, sometimes with hitches but they do get there. Feelings triggered by stimulating those old memories are deeply soothing.

Do you remember all the cursive letters? Give it a shot.

Funny Story

I could claim that I read Tom Wolfe's work for its erudition but the honest truth is I most enjoy its humor. Wolfe makes me laugh so hard that coffee flies out of my nose. That happened today at Starbucks and I needed several napkins to clean up the mess.

This anecdote needs context. Tom Wolfe started his career in the early 1960s as a general assignment reporter at a dying newspaper, the New York Herald Tribune. The newspaper had a moribund Sunday supplement that it wanted to turn around. They hired a new Editor, Clay Felker, and told two staff writers (Wolfe and Jimmy Breslin) to produce articles for the weekly supplement. (This was in addition to their normal duties).  The supplement was re-named "New York."

A boulevardier, Felker had sensitive antennae for interesting New York social life. He pointed Wolfe and Breslin toward the beau monde, fascinating sub-cultures and odd events. Wolfe and Breslin investigated these and wrote some of the most trenchant articles in magazine history (e.g., "Radical Chic"). The supplement became immensely popular: readers loved exciting tales of hidden social life in the Big Apple. The host-newspaper, however, died. Soon after, Clay Felker bought rights to the name of the supplement ("New York") and revived it as a standalone magazine. The magazine prospered for five decades and continues to exist today.

Okay, here comes the funny part...

Years later, at a party celebrating the history of New York magazine, Tom gave a speech praising Clay Felker. He relayed how Felker was a natural New Yorker from earliest childhood. To prove his point, Wolfe said Felker's sister told him that "Baby Clay's first complete sentence was 'Whaddaya mean, I 'don't have a reservation'?"