REID #121

^ me toasting 2 the end of somethin that will inevitably start again in 2-3 days

---

SHORT:

About once a year I c a play by a lesbian genius that makes me feel like I did drugs (positive).

Shoutout to Bailey Williams’s Coach Coach for winning this year’s Reid laffin’ throughout and rememberin’ why they love theater award.

---

MEDIUM:

Last week I talked about my new year’s resolution: getting gay guy to care about girl who is ugly & shy.

It recently dawned on me that, perhaps I am the gay guy trying to care about the girl who is* also me.

Right after I had this realization, I blasted off into space and imagined myself performing as a drag queen named Shut TheFuckUp

(I was stone cold sober. Remember, I don’t do drugs. When I get high it makes me feel like my teeth are socks and I run around parties asking if people have seen 36 little corresponding shoes).

The only thing I’ve written for my solo show is the opening line: “there once was a boy, with a HUGE ass.”

Feel free to send this section of the newsletter to Tucker Carlson.

*or, was

---

LONG:

I am, once again, living the great American dream

(lost my california id & took it as a sign to legally change my name & finally get ny license, but turns out, to do that, u have to report lost id in ca, they send new 1 to ur ca address, ur mom has to mail it across the country, then u go 2 ny dmv and b like "i want a ny id" then u go to ny court and be like "i want to legally change my name", then u go back to ny dmv and be like hey so i changed my name and they give u a new id).

I also lost my NYU ID.

When I discovered all of this, I got very angry, which is something that doesn’t usually happen with me (I’ve perfected the art of converting anger into quiet self-blame-sadness before it even gets to enter the world as anger which is why my posture’s bad — don’t question me on this — it’s science — I’ve done 26 years of research on the subject).

But losing items manages to puncture my maze of mechanisms and punt my anger out into the open. I think it’s because I lost 15 GAP sweatshirts as a child (was busy trying to figure out who I was).

When I went to get my new NYU ID printed, I stood in front of the help desk, deeply aware that the man on the other side was looking at both my names in the system. I always wish I could shrink down and climb inside people’s brains in moments like these. Hear what they’re thinking. About me. About themselves.

In a dream world, there’s just silence. I think.

Maybe not.

I’m finding myself obsessed with projection and distortion again. Plagued by the funhouse mirror. For the 900th time (or maybe it never ended). What do people see when they see me? What do I think they see? How does what I think they see influence what I see and how I feel? The concerns twist together and ping-pong off one another like a fucked-up set of braids** in the wind.

I wish I didn’t care. But I do. And I think the-fact-that-I-care matters. I think embracing the-fact-that-I-care might unlock a new way of navigating things.

I currently move through the world assuming people see me as a girl. That they’re lying to me when they say anything otherwise. Doing what they think is the “PC, non-MAGA” thing to do. Being nice.

In turn, I move through space feeling like a girl.

I don’t want to. I try not to. But the funhouse mirror makes it difficult to exist in any other way. It’s been quietly damaging.

I feel like I’m “lying in both directions”.

But I think we all are.

(lying/performing/moving through things in fake-real ways, duh, Judith Butler, semiotics, the whole nine. shoutout! to! my! undergrad! degree!)

So I why should I allow my own skittishness around my own fake-realness (that I project onto other people and then re-absorb on a demented little loop) stop me from better connecting with others and myself blah blah bloo blah?

Instead of berating myself for being on guard, I am going to try and meet the feeling with grace/curiosity. Lord knows if it’ll work, but I don’t think “working” is the point anyway.

Alright, that’s the end of my existential dump.

Let me know if you cared about any of that.

Or if any of it was illuminating.

Or even? If any of it made sense!

**I almost said Babkas in the wind because that’s what I first imagined when I typed “twisted together” but then I was like, it would take a lot to get 2-3 braided Babkas to ping-pong off one another — that would cause like an avalanche of crumbs and who is swinging babka around slash what are the babka loaves doing in the wind — but someone let me know if you can picture it/ understand what I’m getting at.

Scroll down to see an insane photo of the “scoop of ice cream” my lover brought me. It really queered the traditional definition of “scoop”.

C U Next Tuesday!

---

Thank you for subscribing to my newsletter. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s not – like when people slip on ice. If this is your first time reading, check out the archives.

Sincerely,

Reid Pope

@rpopegram

@rpopetweets

Venmo: @rpope-venmo-26

Donate to The Audre Lorde Project

---

Bonus Jonas Zone:

first line of my solo show, only thing I’ve written

^ this is a photo of some funny comedians rehearsing for Comedians Earnestly Singing Musical Theater at 54 Below, if you live in NY and are around on Feb 10, you should attend! Get tickets here.

---