Heidi Arneson is turning herself into a boy. "I need to find my sideburns," she explains helpfully while rifling through a hall closet in her West Bank duplex. The closet is stuffed to the ceiling with plastic tubs full of bits of costuming from the past two decades. After a minute, Arneson emerges triumphantly from the clutter with two strips of felt. She picks up a pair of scissors and pads into the bathroom, where she holds the material to her cheeks, cocks her head slightly, and pouts into the mirror. "What a... More >>>