Transplanted Life
Saturday, August 16, 2003
So, like I said yesterday, I woke up feeling different about it this morning. Little worrisome things came to mind, like can she press charges? I mean, I did engage in sexual acts with her body without her explicit consent. I suppose, if I had a good lawyer, he or she could argue that her suggestion I pursue a relationship with Kurt in her original letter implied a certain amount of sexual use for the body. Of course, if whatever technique was used to swap our bodies ever becomes common or even well-known, the legal system will go absolutely insane trying to establish who's who. Some old guy will swap bodies with a young man, refuse to switch back, and then try to argue that he shouldn't be charged with murder because he's the victim, what with his body being dead and all.

On the other hand, it could also absolutely destroy any type of racism, sexism, ageism, "lookism", any ism you want to name. That's the utopian, John Varley view of it - where a person is just a person, and all the silly ways we judge them without getting to know them are just matters of personal preference. Of course, I'd still want Michelle or whoever helped her to admire the brave new world she created from a jail cell for involving me without my consent. There has to be something really illegal about this.

Anyway, I was thinking about that when Jen called this morning. Apparently, her boyfriend made other plans for today (helping a friend get a two-week jump on Moving Day), and she had an extra ticket to the Boston Breakers' semi-final game, and wondered if I'd like to go. I figured, why not? Sure, it's only women's soccer, but I'd never been to a playoff game before.

It was actually a pretty nifty experience. The Breakers play where Braves Field used to be, and something like 10,000 fans showed up. The Breakers lost on penalty kicks after two "golden goal" overtimes (I gather FIFA or whatever organization runs soccer worldwide doesn't like the term "sudden death"). But Mia Hamm (or, as she's known in Boston, "Nomar's finacée") played on the other team, and soccer's fun to watch in person. It's terrible on TV, since the field's so big and the ball can move around it so fast when the camera's trying to do a closeup so you can see the look on a player's face. It's kind of draining to watch, though - unlike most sports, it just never stops. When a ball goes off-side, a new ball is given to a player for a throw-in within three seconds or so, with no stopping of the clock. And watching a ball go off someone's head and bounce fifty yards... That's gotta hurt.

It was kind of a surreal experience - not just hanging around with Jen during the weekend, wearing shorts and a t-shirt ("you dirty up well", she said), but watching women playing professional sports. In some ways it felt like the whole world had gone nuts and I was the only one who realized it, who knew that I was supposed to be a man and that sports was a male-dominated profession, with everyone else just going along like things were normal.

And it kind of makes my situation look a little less desperate. Sure, this isn't the sort of thing people normally associate with girls (yet - nine or ten thousand fans certainly suggests that it's not just a fringe thing any more), but they're doing it anyway. So there's no reason for me to do things - or avoid doing things - just because they're not what someone expects when they get a look at Michelle Garber.


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Note: This blog is a work of fantasy; all characters are either ficticious or used ficticiously. The author may be contacted at