Jennifer Finney Boylan is a long drink of water with ginger hair and the mouth of a sailor, which I’d lay money was true back when she was a man. If she ever was. Jenny—as she calls herself when not on Oprah as the go-to gal for sex-change dishing—defines her check-box as ” born transgendered.” She married, published (Remind Me to Murder You Later, Getting In) earned tenure, and fathered two children as James Finney Boylan. Until 2001.
Hello world. Meet Jennifer Finney Boylan.
Two memoirs later (She’s Not There, winner of the Lambda Award, and a follow-up, I’m Looking Through You), Jenny was touring for the latter when I caught her act at Elliot Bay Books. Every seventh word was unprintable (and I used to write for The Stranger). The ones that weren’t were unbelievably funny. Ms. Boylan has the lightening wit of a Restoration comedy clown, and balls the size of England. (Can I say that?) She is to the lit scene what Barak Obama was to the ’04 Democratic Convention, except that she is white. And now has a vagina.
What will this rock-star-hilarious, tranny-heroine say about her Avatar? And what will she think of my piece?
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