My Magical Mystery Birthday Trip Through Massachusetts

On 2 July, I turned 29, entering the last year of this crazy decade I've called my twenties. This wasn't as depressing as it could have been, entirely because my amazing and wonderful bff Sarah who arranged a week-long trip to Boston and Salem, two cities in Massachusetts that I've wanted to visit my entire life. (Okay, technically I had been to Boston once already, as a very small child, but I remembered nothing of this trip. Parents, take your kids on vacations after they develop long-term memory.) Sarah did such an amazing job planning - every day brought new wonders!

But the fun started before we reached Boston. You see, this was no ordinary vacation. While we were on the Amtrak train up through scenic New England, the conductor dropped off a package. In it was a puzzle box, and in the puzzle box once I'd solved it was a cryptic note:

"The quest for your birthday present begins here and now!
It may begin common, but go through valleys to hills.
Come morning, follow the trail of clues and wow!
Free the mystery from obscurity for an abundance of thrills.
And since these puzzles do get greater,
Here's something you might need later..."

Attached to the note was a polybius square. And yes, the italics were present on the note. (It was printed out from a computer, so no handwriting to clue me in to the writer's identity.) Sarah and I quickly determined it was referring to the Freedom Trail, which starts at Boston Common and ends at Bunker Hill, and so decided to walk it on our first day in Boston.

This set off a scavenger hunt/mystery that wove itself throughout our entire trip. We did not know who this mysterious person - who we dubbed "the Watcher" - was, we did not know what they wanted, but they remained two or three steps ahead of us, leaving cryptic clues throughout Boston for me to find and solve, with no idea what would be at the end of the mystery.

Read on to discover what we did in Boston, and just how the Watcher's mystery unfolded! A minor warning - this entry is going to be A) long as hell, and B) VERY full of photos because I took SO many.

NYC Heathens Present: The Lay of Thrym!

I have not posted much as of late, as to be honest with you all I just do not have the mental or emotional energy lately to do much at all. My continued lack of a purpose and feeling of being trapped has not ebbed, and it's getting me way down. Also I've been working on a secret project, and also also I just got back from vacationing in Boston (hopefully I'll be able to find enough motivation to write that trip up sooner rather than later)

I have certainly been busy since getting back. I've been working long hours (since I have my regular shifts and I'm covering someone who is also on vacation) and I've also done a few things with the other NYC Heathens. And one of the fun things we did recently?

A group of us got together and did a performance in Battery Park of the Lay of Thrym, aka the best of all the Norse myths. It was a little bit religious drama, a little bit comedic improv, a little bit fantasy LARPing, and a whole lotta fun! (This is, after all, one of the more comedic myths.)

Naturally, I played the genderbending trickster god Loki (if any of you are at all surprised by that please read the rest of this blog's archives). Other players were Heimdall (who, as a god who sees all, was also the narrator), the beautiful and desirable Freyja, the king of the frost giants Thrym, and of course the mighty Thor.

The myth begins when Thor loses his hammer.

Searching for Purpose and Cleaning Our Ocean

Rockaway Beach

"Purpose, It's that little flame That lights a fire Under your ass. Purpose, It keeps you going strong Like a car with a full Tank of gas. Everyone else has A purpose So what's mine?" ~ "Avenue Q"

Okay I think I'm ready to go public with this on the blog now. I've been public with my friends and family about it for about a month now, so I think it's an appropriate time. I did not get into grad school. And for awhile, it crushed me. On my personal facebook, I wrote an explanation as thus:

"Some of you know this already. Most of you don’t but I think I’m ready to go public. I did not get into the doctorate program that I applied to. The initial blow was very hard on me and caused me to become depressed. I’m still grieving it - it’s hard to come to terms with being rejected from something I wanted so bad. I do not want to talk about it. I do not want to plan next steps. I do appreciate everyone’s concern - I know I haven’t been the most fun person to be around lately because of this - but I’m simply not ready to talk about it. I’m only informing people because I’m tired of people asking me about it individually."

Part of the reason it crushed me so deeply is because, well, it seemed like the logical next step in my adult life. You know, that's what archaeologists/anthropologists do. In this field you pretty much get a doctorate or you don't work as anything other than doing the grunt work for the people with doctorates.

I'd spent so long assuming I wanted this that I never once considered if I actually did or not. And - can I be real with you guys for a second here? - I'm still not sure. I have no idea if this is what I really want or if it's just what I think that I should want. Do you see the difference? Because I'm still trying to figure it out.

I know what I don't want. I don't want to be stuck working as a secretary my whole life. I don't want to wake up at 40 and realize I got stuck in a passionless life.

Right now it still hurts too much to think about any passion I may have for archaeology and the like, so I am trying to turn to other things I am passionate about:

• I was at my happiest when I gave tours at the Winchester Mystery House and, later, Hamilton Grange, so I may try to get a NYC tour guide license at some point. I am still undecided about that. I don't have a lot of free time as it is.
• I do want to write a novel. I've written for NaNoWriMo of course, but I want to write one that I actually manage to get published. I don't need it to be a Harry Potter-level bestseller. If just one person counts it as among their favourite books, that would be enough for me. I just... need to stick with an idea beyond a few chapters. (I have so many stories abandoned around chapter three.)
• I am getting deeper into my own religion. I'm considering The Troth's Lore Program and - if I complete that - their Clergy Program. One of my kinsmen will be finishing the Clergy Program soon so I may pick his brain once he does so to see if this feels right for me. 
• And, if nothing else, I am passionate about cleaning up the SERIOUS plastic waste problem that is plaguing our oceans, as you all know from past entries.

And last weekend, in honour of World Ocean's Day, the nonprofit group 4Ocean (I've really believed in their work for awhile, and I have one of their bracelets) hosted a beach clean-up on Rockaway Beach. Well, cleaning up a beach is certainly a good purpose for at least one day, isn't it? So I signed up and went.

I wasn't alone. Thousands of people showed up. Even on the shuttle over from the A-Train, the train was completely filled with people who were just as passionate about this cause! I met people from organisations such as...

Billion Oyster Project -- New York harbour used to have the most oysters out of anywhere in the world, but between New Amsterdam and the turn of the 20th century, New Yorkers had severely depleted the local supply, and in the process had also severely polluted the waterways that surround our islands. The Hudson River and the East River are still recovering. But the thing about oysters, you see, is that they're excellent natural filters. One oyster can filter 5 gallons of water in one hour. So they can naturally help clean up the water. What the Billion Oyster Project does is take oyster shells from restaurants willing to donate them and uses them to create oyster reefs around Governor's Island, Brooklyn, and lower Manhattan, then gets live oysters ti those reefs. Live oysters thrive on the shells of their fallen brethren - who knew?! (There's a metaphor for ancestor work in there somewhere.) Isn't that neat?!

Coastal Steward Long Island -- Like the Billion Oyster Project, this organisation is also creating oyster reefs with recycled oyster shells, just further out on Long Island. (If you eat oysters at local restaurants who donate, you're helping the cause too, congratulations!) They also host education programs at the Marine Environmental Stewardship Centre at Cedar Beach to educate people about local marine ecosystems, and they work with local businesses and schools on preservation and restoration events.

Oceanic Global -- This is a nonprofit currently working with the United Nations to not just raise awareness of the plastic problem, but to broaden the conversation about it into other areas of interest in order to get more people on board towards the solution. I'm making it all sound rather cerebral, I know, but they partner with a lot of great organisations (including Plastic Oceans, the organisation my facebook charity event was for last year) and their website explains so much more.

Lonely Whale -- Lonely Whale is interesting in that I'm really not sure how to describe them other than that they're not like other organisations here. They raise awareness, sure, but do so in modern ways to connect with The Youth. They organise social media campaigns, guerrilla art campaigns, and even recently hosted a pop-up experience right here in NYC called the Museum of Plastic - which I DID go to. (Did you know that single-use plastic water bottles didn't come into wide use until the early 90s? They're younger than I am!) Their #StopSucking campaign was also instrumental in getting cities like NYC to consider plastic straw alternatives, and they really REALLY pushed for policy change surrounding that. While I realise the straw issue isn't simply black and white (some disabled people do need to use plastic straws for example, and inflexible metal or bamboo ones don't work as an alternative for them), those of us who are able to go without, should. 

From Lonely Whale's "Museum of Plastic" pop-up

The Riverhead Foundation -- Another Long Island organisation, they do a lot of marine research, but they also do wildlife rehabilitation and release, so they've seen firsthand a lot of the tragedy that plastic waste can cause. Also, one of the things they help with is local SEAL RESCUES, which is definitely something I can get behind. Eventually I'm gonna make it out to one of their seal releases, and when I do I'll post about it here.

Jamaica Bay-Rockaway Parks Conservancy -- As a partner of the National Parks Service, this conservancy helps with things such as restoring natural habitats around the Jamaica Bay region and, yes, helping to organise shoreline cleanups such as the event I was at. They are dedicated to preserving the long-term sustainability of these parklands so that generations of New Yorkers to come can still enjoy it.

And thousands of ordinary people, just like me - not just a bunch of extraordinary geniuses with doctorates (though there could well have been some people like that in the crowd), but also regular New Yorkers from all walks of life - got together and did something extraordinary. Look at how much trash we picked up all together:

4Ocean supplied hemp bags.

All that trash which may have gone into some poor seabird or whale's stomach, or which may have strangled some defenseless seal or turtle, is now going to be recycled, some of it into the bracelets 4Ocean makes for various ocean-related causes. 

Look, I may not know what I want to do with my life right now. I may have no idea what's next for me. I may not be 100% okay with that. But I am happy with the work I did last weekend. For the first time in months, I'm proud of myself. Oh, and I am starting to plan that novel. I'm not saying much about it yet except that some of my favourite Norse myths will be woven into the plot, though the main plot is all original, all me. I'll keep you guys posted if I actually manage to complete more than just an introduction.

-Nym

It's Hot as Hell! In Phila-del-phia! (My Recent Vacation to Philly)

Sometimes you need an escape. Desperately.

I recently received some very bad news that I'm still not quite ready to go public with on this blog. (I will make it its own separate post once I've fully grieved and processed.) My mother, my therapist, Sarah, my kindred, and my friend Eliza are so far the only ones who know. (I have two other friends I also want to tell before I go public, but I want to tell them in person, and haven't gotten an opportunity to do so yet.)

The point is that I just couldn't be in my day-to-day life in New York for a little bit. So it worked out great that Sarah had planned a vacation to Philadelphia, a city I had long wanted to visit. And with Philly so close to New York (only 2 hours by bus, about the same amount of time it'd take me to get from my apartment to the Bronx) it worked out surprisingly well.

And you guys. You guys.

Philadelphia is wonderful.

THIS STREET DOES NOT EVEN LOOK REAL DOES IT?

Between all the Revolutionary History (I'M ALWAYS A SLUT FOR THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION), delicious food, getting to cross an item off my bucket list that's been there since 2003, and way too many "1776" references (sing it with me now - "someone better oooooopen up a window!") Sarah and I had a much-needed wonderful time. I was able to decompress away from home and have a lot of fun, too.

Now this is going to be one of those "look at all this cool stuff I did!" travel posts. If that's not your jam, I will not be at all offended if you skip this one. (My viewcounts have been low since facebook censored me - yeah that's still not fixed - so I've made my peace with the fact that not everyone will read every post.) But if you wanna see what Sarah and I did, read on!

The Serpent Man, A Cryptid Nobody Asked For

Did you know that in the Pacific Northwest, dockworkers and boat owners use those inflatable air dancer things (you know, the ones you usually see at used car dealerships) to scare seals and sea lions away from the docks?

The poor pinnipeds stay away from these giant wiggling creatures, but the catch is that they need to be kept turned on, because if they leave them turned off for long, the intelligent sea lions might figure out they're not actually alive. That they're fakes.

But what if they were real? What if the seals and sea lions know something we don't?

Lokablót

Yesterday was April Fool's Day, a day that some modern Lokeans (I stress this is modern; this is definitely not an ancient Viking belief!!!) devote to Loki because, well, Loki loves fun and trickery, and it's a whole holiday for fun and trickery!

So I took my little toy seal/representation of my fylgja into Prospect Park this morning to go do a blót to Loki! (For my muggle friends, a blót is the most common ritual within Heathenry. In the old days this was done by feasting on an animal consecrated to the Gods and then slaughtered. As we are no longer farmers and our needs are simpler today, the most common blót is an offering of mead or other alcoholic beverage to the deities. In my case, it was some pumpkin cider because in my experience, Loki likes sweet flavoured beverages.)

Hello, Spring!

I love Spring! Can you believe it's already that time of year again? The birds are singing, the flowers are blooming, and baby Jessamyne is starting to crawl! It's made me feel so wonderfully #blessed to see the wonder in her eyes as she crawls through the grass in the local park, staring up at the blossoms as they rain down on her.

What's that? I've never posted photos of beautiful baby Jessamyne to this blog? Oh, let me show you all - gosh, you'll just wanna eat up her tiny baby face!

Her daddy's mama had this photo taken in a sweater she knit for Jessamyne (or crocheted? I confess I don't know the difference) and I just DIE every time I see it. Thank God Jessie got her daddy's eyes, right? All the boys at church will be knocking down our door to ask for her hand once she grows up!

What's that? Oh, gosh, you're right, I suppose I have been rather bad at keeping this blog updated. Surprise! I'm married now! And I bagged a man five years younger than me - guess us older ladies still got it, am I right ladies? #Cougar!!!

After the oh-so-cute Mormon missionary showed up at my door last fall, I didn't want to believe it at first, but now I cannot believe I ever denied it. Everything he said to me made so much sense - and when I looked into his eyes, he made sense too. I had thought I would always go on as I was. Living life as a lesbian in New York City had seemed so exciting on paper.

But God had other plans for me, and within two weeks Braeden's mission was over and we were flying to Utah to get married as soon as possible. And, well, the church has forgiven me for living my sinful lifestyle. ;) Luckily, Jessamyne will be raised to believe in our family values. She won't know about mommy's shameful past until she's at least 20.

And of course, I won't have to worry about getting a job. The real estate market here is so much better than New York's! No more slaving away in some job I hate to barely scrape by enough to live in a tiny apartment. Is that what feminism gets us? Borderline slave labour? Braeden says yes, and Braeden says we'll raise our daughter to know that true feminine fulfillment comes from living in a loving home with a daddy who works at his father's company and a mommy who stays home with the children. I want to be present in my baby's life the way my working parents weren't for me. Besides, with all the babies Braeden plans to put in me - I'm gonna be 28 this year, we gotta get as many buns in the oven as possible before the bakery closes, if you catch my drift - I'm not gonna have time for silly stuff like museum work. Though, maybe once Jessamyne is old enough to start babysitting her siblings I can volunteer and give tours of downtown.

I am happy that it's spring again. I'm going to bake rosy pink cupcakes with fondant blossoms on them for next Sunday. (That'll show Lynda who the best new mommy on the block is! Ha!) I'll let Jessamyne "help" by licking the frosting spoon. Show her early on that she can find fulfillment in the kitchen.

Oh, and this is of utmost importance - please, I beg of you my friends, do not tell my family I am here in Utah. They didn't approve of Braeden when they met him over skype, and they definitely didn't approve of how we got Jessamyne, saying "the math didn't add up" and "Her real parents are going to be looking for her" and other godless nonsense like that. So they can't know where I am. Okay? Okay!

Love and kisses,
~the eternally #blessed Nym~















P.S. April Fools, ya filthy animals, of course I'm not a hetero Mormon mommy who kidnapped some poor child. (Nor do I think most Mormons would ever do so - I just think most Mormons have a sense of humour enough not to get too offended by this.)

On Therapy, Seals, Faith, and Good Things

Swimming away from my problems be like...

Early one morning before people had gotten up, a man from Myrdal in the east was walking past some cliffs when he came to the entrance to a cave. He could hear that there was merrymaking and dancing going on inside the hill, and outside he saw a large number of sealskins. He picked up one of them, took it home, and locked it in his trunk. Some time later, in the course of the day, he went back to the cave's entrance. A beautiful young girl was sitting there. She was entirely naked and crying bitterly. She was the seal to whom the skin belonged that the man had taken. The man gave the girl some clothing, comforted her, and took her home with him. 

Later she came to accept him, but never got along very well with other people. She would often just sit there and look out to sea. After some time the man took her as his wife. They lived well together and had many children. 

The peasant hid the skin, locking it securely in his trunk, and he carried the key with him everywhere he went. 

Many years later he rowed out fishing and forgot the key at home under his pillow. 

However, others say that the peasant went to a Christmas service with his people, but that his wife had been sick and was unable to go with them. They say that he forgot to take the key out of the pocket of his everyday clothes when he changed. When he arrived home that evening the trunk was open, and his wife had disappeared with the skin. She had found the key, out of curiosity looked through the trunk, and found the skin. 

She could not resist the temptation. She said farewell to her children, put on the skin, and threw herself into the sea. 

Before the woman jumped into the sea, it is reported that she said:
This I want, and yet I want it not, --
Seven children have I at the bottom of the sea,
Seven children have I as well here above. 

It is said that this touched the peasant's heart. After this, when he rowed out fishing, a seal often swam around his boat, and it seemed that tears were running from its eyes. From this time on he was always successful catching fish, and luck often came to his beach. 

People frequently saw this couple's children walking on the beach while a seal swam along out in the sea accompanying them. It would throw colorful fish and pretty shells to them. 

But the mother never again returned to land.

~ "Selshamurinn" ("The Seal-Skin") as told by Jón Árnason

So I've started therapy. I've been at it for about a month and it is honestly so god damned weird sometimes but also I cannot recommend it enough. So far it's already been very helpful in getting me to begin to recognise when someone is unintentionally hurting me and how I can deal with that productively.

But it's also helping me recognise that I apologise too much. My therapist - hereafter referred to as "Dr. G" - asked me why I think this is. I guess on some level, due to past trauma, I'm afraid of displeasing anyone, but she also helped me to recognise that this fear is no longer serving me, and that I don't need to be so apologetic about taking up space. About existing. I'm not explaining this as well as she did, but I am trying to be more mindful about this, to stop apologising for every little damn thing and to stop putting myself out there and meddling in people's business every time I think there might be the smallest chance they might be mad at me. It's... easier said than done.

Dr. G, in trying to help me come up with a method of recognising when I am doing this, noticed that I was wearing my favourite socks that I own and asked "why not take on a seal as your personal power animal?"

I said "you mean like a fylgja?" because I am a white Heathen and have no right to the phrase "Spirit Animal" or its variants. (In fact, you shouldn't be using that phrase either.)

This is what I mean about therapy being weird. But what's weirder is that it's working.

The Curious Case of Mary Bell

WARNING: This post includes discussion of dark topics such as murder, violence, child abuse, and child death. Please be mindful of your own mental health and if you need to skip this one, I’ll see you next time.

Fuck it. If facebook is gonna censor me anyway, I might as well do a blog entry about true crime, a subject I've long been fascinated by and that I've wanted to dip my toes into for awhile. Not in the gross 'I wanna fuck Ted Bundy' way - seriously what the hell is up with those people? No, I more find it psychologically interesting to ponder what drives someone to that.

Child psychology in particular is interesting to me. In an ideal world, of course, this would involve the psychology of how a child grows, how their brain changes and how they learn, stuff like that. Unfortunately, this is not an ideal world. Many people are completely unfit to raise children, and abuse them horrifically. Due to my own personal triggers, I will not go too into detail as to what that abuse entails, but I'm assuming you all can use your imaginations.

Children raised in such conditions often have long-term learning difficulties, problematic behaviors, and increased incidences of physical and mental health issues, all stemming from the abuse. Children learn who they are by interacting with their primary caretakers, and it's little wonder that the ignored, marginalised, or abused child has little sense of who they really are. They internalise what's been said or done to them, and lacking any healthy coping mechanisms (often they need, with their limited facilities, to quickly cobble together maladaptive coping mechanisms) they suffer greatly - and often turn to making others suffer as a way to regain some sense of the power that has been robbed from them.

The "Child of Rage" documentary about Beth Thomas is an example about how such treatment can damage a child's psyche. At only six years old, Thomas admitted to a clinical psychologist, on tape, that she would hurt her adoptive parents and birth sibling if given the opportunity. Her adoptive parents, Jill and Rob Tyler, locked their young daughter in her room at night because they were afraid of what she might do - all because of the way her biological father had abused her from infancy. (Also what kind of sick fuck abuses an infant?!)

Beth saw a series of psychiatrists who struggled to help her develop empathy, and overcome her psychopathic personality, which was the result of her father's sick behaviour. And, after years of intensive therapy, she was able to re-learn empathy and has grown to be a well-adjusted adult woman who helps others as a nurse. Her therapist, however, was one of the adults responsible for the tragic and terrible murder (and YES, I do view it as a murder, as they all should have known better) of Candace Tiara Ellmore, better known as Candace Newmaker. (Warning - That link is the most sickening and depressing story you’ll probably ever read, and not safe for sanity.)

Of course, Beth Thomas was not the first (and sadly not the last) child whose psyche was horrifically warped by early abuse. A few decades before her, in a working-class town in England, there lived a serial killing child named Mary Bell.

Those of you who follow the blog on other social media accounts may or may not have noticed this already. But it appears Facebook and Instagram have both removed links to this blog without my consent. Even the link in my profile to this blog’s homepage gets an error message. I’ve tried deleting it and retyping it by hand, but to no avail.

Facebook seems to have removed all links to the blog itself for “violating community standards”. I’m not sure what community standards I’ve violated - the blog does not post pornography or NSFW content. I don’t post hate speech or threats of violence.

Is this because I said John Laurens was gay? Is the ghost of Henry Laurens trolling my Facebook ?

Instagram is even worse. It doesn’t even give me a reason why, and doesn’t give me an option to ask to have this problem reviewed.

I’m looking into the issue now, but as you can imagine, I’m not optimistic about it. Mostly I’m just annoyed and confused as to why this is happening at all. I’m not a “big name” blog so it’s not like I’m losing money on this but I still rely on social media to get people to read this, or else I’d just be screaming at myself in a vacuum.

If anyone has ever dealt with anything like this before please tell me what you did in this situation because I am at my wit’s end.
-Nym

How to Relive the Twenties in NYC...

...while you're waiting for summer to come around so you can go to the Jazz Age Lawn Party again! (No, that will not be on this list, as everyone already knows about it and also it's not accessible for everyone.)

Cue "Rhapsody in Blue"

Look, we're almost in the twenties again, and the scene nowadays isn't entirely dissimilar to 1919. Fascism and nationalism are on the rise worldwide, Europe is in shambles, newly-obtained rights (then - women voting! now- gays marrying!) are making manbabies cry, everyone is broke as fuck, and dada humour is back en vogue.

I'm not saying I want everything in the 1920s to come back. I don't want the Ku Klux Klan to be as powerful as they were back then (though it looks like that may be happening anyway, gross). I don't particularly want Prohibition or segregation to return. But sometimes I do want to take a time machine back just to get kind of a sense of what it was like to live through all that. I can't do that yet but there are ways to get a bit of that jazz age flavour injected right into my veins. Figuratively, of course. And here I've amassed a few of them!

P.S. I'm sorry I do not know the Bronx or Staten Island well enough to include anything from those boroughs; please tell me about cool 20s-esque places there and maybe I'll make a sequel to this post! I did try to include places from Brooklyn and Queens whenever possible

A Self Guided Walking Tour of the West/Greenwich Village

I will be completely honest with you - I have been living in New York for a couple years now and I'm still not entirely sure on what the distinction is between Greenwich Village and the West Village. As someone who mostly frequents the East Village, anything west of Broadway kinda blends all together in my mind. Either way, though, that infamous neighbourhood to the west is known for being quite charming, full of history and quaint shops and brownhouses and winding cobblestone streets that don't match up to Manhattan's grid at all. And honestly, I don't think New Yorkers know the distinction either - I've asked like ten of y'all, and everyone gave me a different answer for what the difference is between them two.

There are, of course, a plethora of self guided walking tours available all over the web. But none were catered to my specific interests. So - with the help of google maps - I spliced them together and added a few things and created my own, with the things I'm interested in - early American history, gay history, cool architectural details, and ghost stories. And after taking it... well, I figured I'd share it with all of you

Pocket Altar 101

Witches and pagans hear me out! Everyone else, ignore this post!

Have you ever been out in the park and suddenly thought "hm I'd really like to do a magical/religious thing right now but all my supplies are at home!"? You've probably already heard of the concept of a "pocket altar" but let me tell you, it is a lifesaver, and if you haven't made one yet then you really should! I mean, far be it from me to tell anyone how to do their own spiritual thing - like, you do you, obviously - but it is a nifty little thing that comes in handy.

First things first, you're gonna need an Altoids tin.

New Alexandria: An Alternate History

This whole post came out of a misremembering of the poem on the base of the Statue of Liberty, a sonnet written by Emma Lazarus called "The New Colossus":

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she

With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Well, despite the fact that even the title references the Colossus of Rhodes, my dumb ass remembered the first line as, "Just like the blazing lighthouse of Greek fame" because it was 6:30 AM, the coffee hadn't kicked in, and I was listening to a podcast about Cleopatra ("Timesuck" if anyone is curious)

So I was thinking (until two hours later when I remembered the poem is literally called The New Colossus, for fuck's sake Nym) that it was a reference to another wonder of the ancient world - the Lighthouse of Alexandria.

And it occurred to me that, in a way... it wouldn't exactly be incorrect to say New York City is sort of a New Alexandria. I mean, not for nothing, but certain areas of New York wouldn't look out of place in the classical world:

Alexandria and New York City both have reputations as multicultural metropolises (metropolii?) by the water, but what particularly sells it for me is the fact that Alexandria was one of many ancient cities named for Alexander the Great. And in a way, New York City has its own Alexander the Great in the form of Alexander Hamilton, who was so associated with this city even in his lifetime, that his enemies (Jefferson and his cronies) nicknamed it Hamiltonopolis. (And not for nothing, but I think that makes John Laurens Hephaestion, which is weirdly fitting, all things considering.)

I'm sure Amsterdam and York are both great cities, but perhaps it's time to associate NYC with another city entirely...

I know this was a short, somewhat silly post. But it's food for thought, isn't it?
-Nymicus Lesbianicus

P.S. There's a novel idea in here somewhere, something with Cleopatra as mayor of NYC and Marc Antony and Gaius Octavian both running for governor, but I'm probably not gonna write it anytime soon.

The Museum Girls Visit Rock Hall Museum

On this past Sunday, a group of friends and I went out to Long Island to visit Rock Hall Museum, a historic house from c. 1767 that none of us had ever heard of.

It was so worth the trip, you guys.

From getting to pet chickens to learning about some more Revolutionary War history to conspiracy theory conversations at a kitschy German food hall to having to climb into a building through the window, one thing is for sure - it's never a dull day when the Museum Girls get involved!

NYC's Gay Culture of the 1920s, and the Invention of 'The Closet'

A group of lesbians at NYC venue Webster Hall [Public Domain]

In the popular imagination, most people imagine that gay culture in New York City started in 1969 with the Stonewall Riots. This has always kind of pissed me off as a gay person, if only for the reason that if you even try to bring up the idea of anyone having a gay life before the 60s people just assume it couldn't be possible. As if we as LGBT folk didn't exist until the late 60s as anything other than the occasional person hung for sodomy or something. Condescendingly, many straights imagine that the gays of yore must have become self-loathing and passively spent their entire lives in the closet until Stonewall happened. Not that the Stonewall Riots weren't tremendously important, of course - that's not at all what I am saying - but gay clubs didn't get their start with Stonewall and Julian's and the Duplex, and the systematic suppression of the LGBT community was not due to some age-old, unchanging social antipathy, nor was it a sign of passivity by LGBT people. Anti-gay forces created the closet in the early 20th century.

Believe it or not, there was actually an earlier gay subculture in NYC - and it wasn't some hidden illicit thing! Granted, of course many straight people disapproved, but people were open about this subculture, and it was even written about in papers! And when else could this have happened but in the era of, as Cole Porter (a gay man himself) put it, "Anything Goes" - The Roarin' Twenties?

This was an era of, after all, the breaking down of pre-WWI social norms, as well as cultural experimentation and an overall irreverence for authority. Greenwich Village and Harlem in particular had a huge number of speakeasies that catered to gay men and lesbian women. One such club was known as the Hamilton Lodge. (It wasn't named directly after Alexander Hamilton, but after the neighbourhood of Hamilton Heights where it was located, which was named after Hamilton.)

An Authentic Hindu Temple in Queens

If you measure the importance of an institution by the height of its buildings, Wall Street has it over religion here in New York City. (Considering that the New York region was originally colonised by Dutch merchants rather than English Puritans, this makes some sense.) Still, New York is a vibrant quilt of religious ideas and practise - a diverse, tolerant (for the most part), disunited, immigrant-energised phenomenon that grew up under the eye of mercantile sensibility. And one of the places where this is most evident is the enormous Hindu temple in Queens.

So... I actually went to this location way back in October and meant to write about it then but got the awful news about my nephew's death before I could. Still, I recently found my notes I'd taken when visiting and figured it was still worth recapping. SO.

Queens is probably the most diverse borough in New York City - the 7 Train has been nicknamed "the international express" due to the fact that it passes through neighbourhoods primarily populated by immigrants from Thailand, Mexico, Tibet, China, Korea, India, and more. And if you get on the 7 Train, and get off in the Flushing neighbourhood, you'll find yourself in the centre of one of the most authentic Chinatowns in New York.  That's worth visiting in and of itself, but if you walk out a little further (it's about a 15-20 minute walk from the 7-Train), you'll spot - rising above apartment buildings and bodegas - an intricately carved Granite structure that looks as if it's been airlifted from the heart of India. (It is actually built of granite imported from India, so that's not entirely inaccurate.)

This is the Hindu Temple Society of North America, commonly referred to as the Ganesh Temple as Ganesh is its primary deity. It was the first Hindu temple in the United States, it's definitely one of the larger religious structures in NYC (though there are churches that are larger), and it's an experience like no other.

Top 10 Romantic Excerpts of Letters Between Hamilton and Laurens

I sincerely doubt that, within my lifetime, there will ever be a definitive answer to the question “did Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens have romantic feelings for one another?” Their letters certainly do seem to suggest so to some people. Even if one takes into account that men were a lot more outwardly affectionate with one another in the 18th century, the way these two spoke to each other was unusually romantically charged even for the time.

This may or may not end up a controversial post. I hope it doesn’t but inevitably when one brings up the possibility that anyone involved in the founding of this country was anything other than ultra hetero, it makes certain people ultra upsetero. But guess what - I don’t give a fuck. I’m almost 30 and frankly I’m done caring what straight people think when I speculate.

Also I’m not alone in this speculation - the theory that John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton May have had feelings for each other that were way more than friendly is not a new theory! I know some people want to pretend that this is something teenage “Hamilton” fans on tumblr made up (and even if it were, fuck off? Let teenagers - literal children - have fun while they try to find representation for themselves?) but this is actually a legitimate scholarly debate that’s been going on for years. There is a long-running gay veteran's club in San Francisco named after Hamilton, the New York City LGBT sites project lists Hamilton Grange in its LGBT historical sites list, so this is clearly a legacy that means a lot to a lot of people, regardless of whatever the general consensus ends up being. Even mainstream Hamilton biographer Ron Chernow had this to say about it, even if he was slightly “no homo” about it:

As the war progressed, Hamilton wrote to Laurens with such unbridled affection that one Hamilton biography, James T. Flexner, has detected homoerotic overtones in their relationship. Because the style of eighteenth-century letters could be quite florid, even between men, one must tread gingerly in approaching this matter, especially since Laurens’s letters to Hamilton were warm but proper. It is worth noting here, however, how frequently people used the word feminine to describe Hamilton – the more surprising given his military bearing and virile exploits... Hamilton had certainly been exposed to homosexuality as a boy, since many "sodomites” were transported to the Caribbean along with thieves, pickpockets, and others deemed undesirable. In all thirteen colonies, sodomy had been a capital offense, so if Hamilton and Laurens did become lovers – and it is impossible to day this with any certainty—they would have taken extraordinary precautions... At the very least, we can say that Hamilton developed something like an adolescent crush on his friend.

[... ]

For Hamilton, the news [of Laurens’s death] was crushing. ‘Poor Laurens, he has fallen a sacrifice to his ardor in a trifling skirmish in South Carolina,’ he wrote sadly to Lafayette, the other member of their war triumvirate. ‘You know how truly I loved him and will judge how much I regret him.’ The death deprived Hamilton of the political peer, the steadfast colleague, that he was to need in his tempestuous battles to consolidate the union. He would enjoy a brief collaboration with James Madison and never lacked the stalwart if often aloof patronage of George Washington. But he was more of a solitary crusader without Laurens, lacking an intimate lifelong ally such as Madison and Jefferson found in each other. On a personal level, the loss was even more harrowing. Despite a large circle of admirers, Hamilton did not form deep friendships easily and never again revealed his interior life to another man as he had to Laurens. He became ever more voluble in his public life but somehow less introspective and revelatory in private. Henceforth, his confessional remarks were reserved for Eliza or Angelica Church. After the death of John Laurens, Hamilton shut off some compartment of his emotions and never reopened it.

Historian Thomas Foster writes this about it:

Virtually all other biographers ignore the love between Laurens and Hamilton. One author, for example, mentions every aspect of Washington’s sexual scandals, however untenable, and thereby highlights his virility, but makes no mention of the controversy around how to read the Laurens correspondence or the fact that some historians for decades have been using it as evidence of same-sex love. Indeed, the book, which highlights “intimacy” in the Founders’ lives, limits itself to that shared between men and women, despite the fact that the author’s conceptualization of intimacy is not solely sexual and include bonds between parent and daughter and platonic, if flirtatious, male-female friendships. The decision to leave aside intimate bonds between fathers and sons and also between men leads perhaps to Laurens’s being cast as a participant in a decidedly heterosexual relationship. 

As to what I believe... well, I’m sorry, but I don’t have a definitive answer myself. I do think John Laurens probably was gay. He definitely was depressed and seemed to seek death, and before Hamilton he flirted with Francis Kinloch. Yes, Laurens married a woman, Martha, but it seems to have been out of duty rather than romance. Tumblr user john-laurens makes a far more detailed and convincing argument for John Laurens’ sexual orientation. As for Hamilton, of course as a gay I want to believe that one of my favourite historical figures was bisexual. I don’t want to say that he was or was not for sure, but, as “The X-Files” would say, I Want to Believe

Either way it’s fun to speculate. And hoo boy once you read some of these letters I wouldn’t be surprised if you were speculating too. Besides, just speculating doesn’t hurt anybody. I mean both guys involved are long dead, I doubt they really care what some lesbian with a blog says. It’s not like I would EVER say anything about this at the Grange while giving a tour. (Not unless someone asked me directly, I am a professional.)

Without further ado, I present to you words actually written by John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton (mostly Hamilton as he wrote more) that, to be honest, would not look out of place in a love letter.

Jazz It! Or a Night on the Town with Sarah

Bill Saxton, King of Harlem

My love for the 1920s is very well documented on this blog, and those who know me in real life know it all too well. I wore my hair in a bob for years because of a life-long flapper fascination, and my outfits for both my High School Prom and my 10-year High School Reunion were 20s-inspired looks, both complete with strings of knotted pearls. I am constantly looking for ways to infuse my daily life with a bit of that irreverent 'Anything Goes!' 1920s flair.

Luckily for me, I live in New York City, where it's not as difficult as it would be if I lived in, say, Cleveland or something. (No offense to those of you in Cleveland; I have family there which is why I picked it.) Yes, I've been to the Jazz Age Lawn Party on Governor's Island. Yes, I've been to a few speakeasy-style bars, and I even have a favourite. (The Red Room, if you're wondering. The Back Room also has a cool aesthetic - it was used in the episode of "Broad City" where Abbi's alter ego "Val" performs - but it tends to be too overcrowded, at least the times I've been.)

And a couple weeks ago, Sarah and I went to one of the most authentic jazz experiences in the whole city, up in Harlem. I have a couple other upcoming posts that touch on this a little more (one in my LGBT history series, one in more conventional listicle form) but in 20s New York City, Harlem was one of the places to be. (Greenwich Village was another place to be.) Clubs in this area from this time are iconic, legendary performers like Cab Calloway and Josephine Baker were entertaining the masses, and 133rd Street in particular had so many speakeasies that private homes on the street actually had to put signs on their doors stating that they weren't speakeasies.

Of course, it wasn't some perfect ideal. Even in Harlem, which had a primarily black population, society was deeply segregated. The Cotton Club was themed after a slave plantation (isn't that just awful) and while black people - who had invented jazz music and many of the popular 20s dances, mind you - could perform there, they could not go as club patrons. (Those of you who've seen "Who Framed Roger Rabbit" are inevitably gonna draw comparisons to the Ink and Paint Club where Jessica Rabbit performed - that allegory was intentional in that movie.) That's not an aspect of the 1920s I'm looking to bring back, I just like the fashion and the music and the overall irreverent attitude of the time.

So Sarah and I wanted to theme our night out as follows:

• Dress in jazz age inspired looks. (I would have loved to go out in full flapper dress but it was raining so I had to wear rain boots. Thus my look actually skewed more 1930s.)
• Eat at a black-owned establishment with retro inspired vibes
• Finish out our night at a real Harlem jazz establishment

These Gay WWII Soldiers Will Break Your Heart

I apologise for the clickbait-y title but as soon as I read about these two earlier this week I knew I wanted to cover them on the blog. I've been on a bit of a kick lately about proving that LGBT history didn't start with Stonewall (there are three other half-finished posts in my drafts involving LGBT figures during the American Revolution, the Regency period in England, and the 1920s) because I'm so tired of the straightwashing of history, you guys.

But I saw a post about these two men on facebook (one of those 'Did You Kno?' graphics with very little information and no sources - my sources are from BBC news and the Oswestry Town Museum) and was immediately curious enough to google everything I could in an attempt to learn more.

What I learned was that, in the notoriously homophobic 1940s, British soldiers Gilbert Bradley and Gordon Bowsher (THEY EVEN HAD THE SAME INITIALS YOU GUYS!) fell in love. I present to you all the tale (and excerpts from the letters) of Gordon and Gilbert.

Single Again

Out of respect for the other human involved, I have decided not to post any of our couple pictures. Instead have this stock photo of an emoji

The thing about a whirlwind romance is that it's nice in theory. In reality it moves way too fast and leaves pain and heartbreak in its wake.

Look, I'm almost thirty. One issue with being a lesbian in a heteronormative world is that it's very common for us to start way too late. Things that straight people get in their teens, we don't experience until our twenties, because our teen years are spent dealing with figuring out we're different and then struggling to learn not to hate ourselves when all our classmates use "that's gay" derogatorily so that we feel like we must be as awful and trashy as whatever they deem "gay".

At least, that's how my teen years were spent.

But I digress. The point of this post is to announce... I am single again. My relationship with the incredible person I met in August did not work out. And, hard as it may be to believe, I am the one that ended it, even though I didn't want to.

Happy (Belated) Birthday Alexander Hamilton

Two days ago I braved the bitter cold and a government shutdown cancelling half the events to attend the AHA Society's Hamilton Birthday celebration with my friends Nicole (who is a member of the society) and Lindsey (who I've written about before on this blog many a time because I absolutely adore her).

In honour of the man's birthday, our group of me, my friends, AHA Society members, and onlookers curious enough to join, walked a (electronic) candlelight procession up Broadway from the Alexander Hamilton Customs House (named after the man), through Bowling Green park (a park that dates back to the 1730s), to Trinity Church Cemetery to gather around his grave.

We facetimed (ah, the wonders of modern technology) a group in Nevis (the Caribbean island where Hamilton was born) and we all sang "Happy Birthday" to the grave. Then we sang "Silent Night" - because, believe it or not, that carol's debut in the English language was at Trinity Church.

Of course, the irony of me, a heathen Jew, singing a carol about baby Jesus in a church cemetery, was not lost on me. (And honestly it was a little cheesy, but in a sweet way.) Then again, Hamilton had a Jewish education in early childhood even if he himself was not Jewish, so, like... I like to think he'd appreciate the irony?

Afterwards, we headed over to Fraunces Tavern, a restaurant that existed during the Revolution, one where Hamilton ate multiple times (including a week before his death), and also one of my most favourite places in New York City. I can think of no better place to end the day's festivities, with hot cider and pub food and good friends and friendly people I had just met that day and a lot of history-based jokes and puns.

I have been pulling back from my Hamiltonian studies lately because I have actually been focusing more on other historical periods in preparation for what I hope is the next big chapter of my life. But part of me still feels some affection for the man, considering how - even though he died centuries ago - my life really did change a lot due to things he did when alive. I'm not some "marry me Alex!" fangirl, and I'm not saying he did no wrong (to some extent all of the founding fathers, Hamilton included, were petty assholes and hypocrites), but I'm still endeared by the man. Kinda like a beloved uncle who's a little backwards in some of his views but he's so charismatic and endearing that you can't help but love him? Idk, I don't have to explain myself to y'all on my own blog.

And as such, it was meaningful for me to be able to celebrate the man in this way, with other people who feel that same weird affection for him.

(Oh, and as it was cold, yes, someone did make the "Brrr"/"Burr" joke. In case you were wondering.)

So happy birthday, Hammy. See you at next year's celebration.
-Nym