From the Rising Sun to the Boogie Down

Deuteronomy Madrid is back from his 3.75 year haitus in Asia! After experiencing both the countryside and the metropolis of Japan, and then backpacking for 5 months to see what more Asia had to offer, I feel as if I am a born again New Yorker. And while much in the city hasn't changed (with the exception of the skyrocketing prices-WTF?!), my personal world has been flipped upside down. I'm calling this time in my life my "Adjustment Period", words that come in very handy when trying to make sense of new feelings and opinions.

Adjusting.... Adjusting. Switching gears has always been pretty easy for me. This time, however, it's requiring more effort than I had anticipated. Nuances of Japanese behavior have seeped in and being back home makes it clear just how deeply. Take my excessive apologies for example. During my first week into my adjustment period my sister brought it to my attention that I apologized waayyy too much. It's OKAY!!! Are YOU okay?, she asked, thinking that I had changed my name to Tanaka-san or something. There have also been times times when I appeared a bit too thankful. Uh, you said that, like, 3 times... what are you gonna do next... bow? After being in Asia, a continent where harmony amongst the masses is held above all other priorities, it seems as though I have become a bit too self-conscious about stepping on other people's toes. When I realize that I'm acting Japanesey-y again, I tell them that I'm adjusting and apologize... again... oops.

Perhaps the stereotypical New Yorker is someone that unapologetically charges down the street, Prada-clad and Blackberry in tow, on their way to the next high-powered meeting with the masters of the universe. Truth be told, we can be an obnoxious bunch. I mean, we are the shit...clearly, but this is not to say that we lack manners and won't stop mid-charge to help the a lost person, a stranded kitty, or even a hot daddy. We care, we do - it's just tough love. The "tough" in my "love" is what seems to be missing nowadays. Again, I'm adjusting.

While still living in Osaka, I can remember craving some sense of excitement, some thrill, some danger. My life as an anglophone there had come to a standstill and evenings spent watching Carrie's dramas and dilemmas unfold on Sex in the City had become trite. One evening I decided that I was going to take personal safety into my own hands and head to the "dangerous" part of town, an area called Doubutsuen Mae, or literally "In front of the zoo". Warned about the homeless population in front of the zoo, I felt that this might be a place to head to if I was ever going to shake off the feeling of desensitization. I found the area to be boring to say the least. Yeah, there were some homeless people scattered throughout, but I didn't get the thrill that I was looking for. Here in New York, you rarely have to chase the thrill as it usually finds you.

So, now I'm back here in the Bronx, the boogie down, staying with my sister and her fiance. Still in Asia-mode, I usually leave the house in batik pants a la Thailand, a random "been there, done that" shirt from SE Asia, and my CROCKS clogs (THE accessory for the wanderer of Asia in you) to get coffee from the local bagel shop around the way. And yes, I do get stared at. People's eyes usually dart up and down as they try to make sense of my fashion and then you see that look of confusion hit their face. What the fuck?! Amid the parades of Fubu and Roca Wear, I am an anomaly - an adjusting anomaly.

One day, dressed in pink and listening to Madonna on my iPod, I left the house in my faggy best to go a friend's house. European sneakers, straight cut jeans, wrap-around sun glasses and my Powerbook G4 slung on my shoulder completed my anomalous look. Reflecting on how I had adopted the geisha ways of one Deuteronomy Tanaka, I had vowed to be a bit more conscious of my behavior. Who the fuck was I kidding with that outfit, I just don't know, but I digress. Then I heard them behind me.

Voices from the rear: Hey you, what's your shoe size?

Me (thinking): are they talking to me?

VFTR: Hey you, you got money?

Me (thinking): Ohh hells noooo they're not talking to me! I'm done tired with all this racial profiling... I come back from fucking Asia where I don't as much as get harassed by the homeless people in front of the muthafucking zoo when I want to and here I am being harassed in the Bronx because these mothafuckas think I didn't go to school here and that I'm some sort of half-assed....

Me (turning around and articulating, suddenly): YOU TALKIN' TO ME?!?!

As Madonna reminisced for about the millionth time about being like a virgin, I saw the adversaries that I had painted in my mind... two school kids pushing twelve and a half, maybe thirteen.

Adolescents just verbally assaulted the over-reacting queen : No! (said with an air of Why would we be talking to your old ass, dummy?)

It was then I realized that they were tormenting, as elementary school kids do, a lone kid that was just a couple of steps behind me. Although a bit shocked and embarassed, I felt that I had succeeded a bit in moving away from the Japanese Tanaka and more towards the New Yorker Madrid in me. I also felt a little stupid. And so, of course, I said, "Thought so..." and kept it moving.

Now about a month into the my adjustment period, I've taken to looking more like my classic New York self. Not one to quit anything cold turkey, I still find that I have to wear my loose pants from Thailand, and the I haven't shelved my traveling shoes just yet. Adjustments can take time, I've learned. And while I haven't made it back to my NY mid-charge stop for a glamour-less tranny anytime mindset, I've clearly brought back the hoochie that can be your best friend when you're up against those too cool for school eighth graders.

Thought so.