.MID file: "Karn Evil 9, First Impression, Parts One and Two" by Emerson, Lake, & Palmer.
"Awakenings" is, in the opinion of this video store operator, one of the finest movies of all time. For those of you who have not seen this movie, a description is in order. Robin Williams plays a physician in a mental hospital who tries an experimental drug therapy on a catatonic patient, played by Robert DeNiro, which results in DeNiro's "awakening" from his long-term illness. It's one of the few movies in which Robin Williams (or another character he befriends) doesn't appear in drag, but I digress...
Real life sometimes parallels Hollywood's best efforts, and it has been that way for me recently. Since making the big move 'out' in November '96 (it seems like a long time ago!), I've experienced an awakening of many interests long left dormat. I suppose that if a male person who is 6'2" tall in pumps, weighing 245 pounds, can successfully and repeatedly pass as a woman in public (or at least not be killed by roving gangs of redneck Kentuckians), they can also fly an airplane, play and compose music, design web sites, and write columns in TG group newsletters. In any case, the impetus to try new things and resurrect old ones comes with the success I've had in letting my femme self out of the cage. The encouragement of the many new friends I've met along the transgendered interstate the past couple months has made it even easier and raised my confidence level to higher levels than I've ever known. Now it is time to put that confidence to good use.
Politics was a natural interest for me to rekindle, but it hasn't happened the way I might have predicted. I hold a B.A. in Political Science from the University of Louisville, and used to be active in political campaigns. I worked in the 1976 Gerald Ford campaign while a high school senior, and in the 1980 George Bush campaign (remember "voodoo economics"?). I spent the summer of 1973 watching the Watergate hearings while wearing makeup and lingerie, and I dare say I probably know as much about that scandal as G. Gordon Liddy. I registered Republican at the earliest possible moment, and have only twice deviated from the Republican slate of candidates. The important point to be made here is that I deviated from my life-long conservative Republicanism recently, and not because of TG issues or any change in personal philosophy. I still believe that less government is best government, that government should not intrude more than necessary into people's lives, and that social programs must be as cost effective and short-lived as possible. What made me cast my '92 vote for Perot and my '96 vote for Clinton is the fact that the Republican party, the party of individual rights unfettered by government intervention, the party of Lincoln, is not what I joined 20 years ago. It is now the party of a misguided group of social engineers who wish to remake our country into a Fundamentalist Christian Republic similar to the Islamic regime in Iran.
I refuse to support the agenda or goals of the Religious Right/Christian Coalition, and if they are the only Republicans, then I am not. I am not a Democrat either. I am a fiercely independent TG person who is flying to Washington to take part in the ICTLEP Lobbying Days with many other transgendered people from throughout the country. ENDA is the main point of this lobbying effort, despite the lack of TG inclusive language in the bill presently before Congress. I can speak as an employer and small businessperson that there is nothing contained in the language of ENDA that would cause me any difficulty in hiring. The reason why ENDA must become law became crystal clear to me very recently when I lost a couple long-time employees to local banks. I was fortunate to find 2 good applicants who have worked out well. They were asked to leave by one of my competitors, who told them that he "didn't trust lesbians". This competitor came clean and crowed to me (when I called to check references)about "getting rid of those dykes". Under Kentucky law these ladies, who so far are proving to be honest and hard-working, have no legal recourse against the Australopithecus they used to work for, and they know it. Any indecision I might have had about putting on my makeup and red lady lawyer's suit and boarding Southwest Airlines on a Sunday morning vanished at that moment when that competitor placed his stupidity on his sleeve for me to view.
With this trip, we may only be fighting the battles of others and making ourselves and our positions more visible to some Members of Congress. That is quite OK. The trip may be completely in vain, given the conservatism of the Congresspeople I have made appointments to call upon. We may also serve as comic relief for some Congressional staffers. That is OK, too. If I can make one person in the halls of power sit up and take notice, I will consider it worth the trip. Probably, many of these trips are in order. I will be making the trip again in May for GenderPAC, so maybe seeing us twice in one year may help. What are you doing that is more important than protecting the rights of others? Those who don't speak up when they have the chance have no right to complain later when they suffer for their silence.
"If you want to get to heaven, you gotta raise a little hell" - The Ozark Mountain Daredevils
Freedom and Mascara! Anne Casebeer
Tennessee Vals Newsletter, February 1997
The subject of "coming out" has been a common one lately, one we discussed at length during the January Vals meeting. I spoke up then about my mother finding my purse on New Year's Day, after I'd partied and run my month-ending paperwork "en femme" . I am the only child of 80+ year old parents, and they live with me for caregiving purposes; Mom had found evidence of my "femme" self at times before, but in her present condition (stroke-induced senile dementia with memory loss and confusion ofnames and faces), these memories were ephemeral and buried. We briefly discussed the purse and what it meant New Year's Day, she expressed her reservations, and I went off to rent porno movies and PlayStation games to rednecks in Okolona, Kentucky for a living. Of course, I'd been getting eye makeup secrets from Mike the cat for years, so he was no problem. Mom buried the incident into the recesses of what remains of her mind, and it was more-or-less forgotten. I didn't tell her about belonging to groups, I maintained the ruse of going to Nashville and Cincinnati on "business" and Lexington to "visit friends".
This all changed on Saturday, February 15th at 6:45 PM. My father had undergone prostate surgery 2 days before (it went very well, and thank you very much for the kind thoughts) and Mom was at the hospital with him, not to return home until around 8:30 PM. I was brushing my hair and putting on lipstick in preparation for a trip to Lexington, when I heard that sound. Yes, that sound. The sound of gears meshing. That sound that meant only one thing. A key in the back door deadbolt lock. The lock turning, then the lower knob lock. Then, the rushing sound of the rubber weatherstripping rubbing against the threshold, along with the squeaky hinges from Michael Jackson's "Beat It". Mom came home early!
"No way out, babe. No, I just can't get out the door" - Gregg Allman
It took her about 2 minutes to get into the house. She moves pretty slowly, and she had 2 loads of stuff that the cab driver had left outside the door for her. She moved all her stuff from the driveway at the side of the house into the kitchen, which gave me some time to think. There I was, staring at my perfectly made-up face in the mirror. I had on my black Joan Leslie suit, with skirt coming to about 2" above the knee; black 2" pumps, stockings, my long black coat, my hair was done nicely with a gold barrette in each side, nails done just so, and matching gold earrings, chain, and watch. I looked beautiful, very classy, career womanish, and, yes, I would have passed anywhere for anybody. I had but 2 options: close the bathroom door, get in the shower and defrock myself, throw guy clothes on, stuff the girl stuff in the duffle bag, and change in Lexington; or just go ahead and face the music. So, what do I do now?
I was paralyzed with indecision for an instant, then a few notions passed through the abused grey matter inside my coiffed and painted head. "Here I am, 37 years old, I've been crossdressing since I was a little kid, I'm out to my boss, employees, friends, and nobody has commented adversely yet. Why am I scared of Mom?". "It took 1 hour and 30 minutes to look this great. I'm already going to have to drive like Lyn St. James to make it to Lexington by 8. I can't start over again now". What swayed it for me was an old line from one of Pamela's columns, dating back well before the time I knew that the Tennessee Vals existed; "It takes balls to pretend you don't have any". So true, Miss Pamela.
Mom was in the kitchen. I stood out of her line of sight in the dining room, with my purse slung over my left shoulder. I held my ground, and fired first. "Mom, I'm in the dining room. You can come in, but be prepared for a shock"
"What's wrong, Tony?"
"Nothing really, everything's OK, but you will be surprised. Come on in, I have to leave soon" She rounded the corner, looking at the floor, then turned and looked at me. Glanced into my mascara'd eyes, then followed my body downward, pausing at my bust, then looking at my purse, then my shaved and hosed legs, then my pumps, then back up to my eyes again. I spoke first, she was in shock.
"Well, Mom, you can't say you didn't know already"
"This is a shock, Tony. I knew a long time ago, but I didn't want to know"
"I know, Mom. I'm going to a support group meeting for this at 8 in Lexington, so I can't talk now. I will be back tomorrow afternoon. We'll talk about it then." "I need to know a couple things, then you can go. Are you thinking of having surgery? And , who else knows?" "OK, Mom. Larry knows, Becky (my Assistant Manager), and most of my staff. Chaz and Carol know. Amy knows. Nobody from the family, and no neighbors. I've considered the surgery, and arrived at the conclusion that I'm not interested in having it anytime soon, you know I don't trust doctors anyway. I've undergone therapy for this. It's time for me to not hide from it anymore, and I won't. Understand this, I never wanted you or Dad to know about this, you didn't need it at this time of your lives. It's probably good that this happened. I have to go, we'll talk tomorrow afternoon"
"What do I call you", Mom asked, as I shuffled out the door and got into my Taurus.
"If I'd been a girl, what would you have named me, Mom? I know that's what you wanted, really."
"Either Annette Louise or Sarah Louise. You know, everybody always said you were a pretty little girl when you were a baby. You're very pretty now, prettier than I ever have been"
"I guess it's Annette, then. I'm still Tony most of the time, OK Thanks for the compliment, bye"
I had 66 miles to drive, and 45 minutes to do it in, so I levered up overdrive, inserted The Who's "Quadrophenia" into the CD player, selected and cranked up "The Real Me" , and took off on I-64 East, the needle hovering between 85 and "Airbag Activated", and considered what had just happened. Did I really just out myself to Mom, and have her compliment me on my fashion sense? Did she just rename me? Yes, yes, and sort-of. But, did it really go OK? I found out the next afternoon. I cooked her a steak dinner with a little wine, and took her down into my office/computer room. I explained to her about the TG spectrum, and about where I fit into it. I told her about the 3 groups I belong to, and showed her the Vals site, TG Forum, TG Guide, and a few personal pages; then showed her my page. I punched up a few pictures of myself and others. She understood, but was not entirely comfortable with my other self. I didn't expect her to be. She also revealed that my father had crossdressed, and that she broke him of it in 1946. I told her that she couldn't have known then, but that was the wrong thing to do. She knew that already, but times were different then.
I'm still her kid. She's still my Mom. She won't ever like this side of me, but she is accepting it. When I left for Washington on February 23rd at 7:30 AM, she wanted to see me off; I was wearing the same black suit, with a different blouse; she said, "Wait a minute", and I did. She went to her room, and pulled out a nice 21-k thin gold chain, matching earrings, and tennis bracelet. She then removed the hoop earrings and gold chain I was wearing, and put these on me, and said, "I don't have any place to wear these anymore, I only wore them once to a party about 25 years ago. They look pretty on you, much better than this cheap jewelry. You have to look nice in Washington for the Senators" Thank you, Mom, I did look nice for the Senators (or their aides, anyway). You helped. I love you...
Freedom and Mascara! Anne Casebeer
Tennessee Vals Newsletter, April 1997
On the evening of April 5, the gods must have been in a particularly amorous mood .This was a rough week at work, so when the opportunity arose to escape my store by 8 on a Saturday night, I knew just what to do. I put on the red dress I found a couple weeks ago at LuLu's consignment shoppe, along with the new red heels from Payless, and my red lipstick. Got fixed up right, and headed for the "Pink Triangle" of Louisville to unwind, catch Simone's act at the Connection (our local answer to Bianca Paige), and enjoy a couple Beck's. (Open note to the Nashville Connection: Start stocking Beck's. Or Guinness. Or any other ale or stout. In the words of the great philosopher John Belushi, puh-leeze!)
I exited I-65 at Brook Street, turned on Main, and found a parking spot, about half a block from Murphy's Place, and around the corner from the Connection. I removed my windbreaker, used it to cover the CD player and car phone, hit the power locks, and strutted toward the bars, my short dress ruffling in the 25-mph wind gusts. Once inside The Connection, in between shows, I was forced to answer the call of nature, and after touching up at the mirror in the ladies' room, I had my sleeve tugged. It was two attractive GG ladies that had been in the restroom at the time, and we had the following exchange:
"Hi, what's your name"
"Oh, I'm Anne. How are you? What's your name?"
"I'm Tasha, and this is Dena. We just love your dress, and Dena thinks you have the most beautiful lips and eyes. I do, too. Let's go over here where we can talk"
The Connection in Louisville has an alcove off the dance floor with a fake fireplace and some couches. No music plays here, this is just a place for talk, or maybe more....Plus, I'm using my femme voice, and I'm not sure if they read me. I don't want to get my butt kicked by a couple of girls wanting makeup secrets who think I'm a GG after seeing me in the ladies' lounge.
"Tasha, Dena, well, I'm flattered. I really love this lipstick, it's L'Orea'l "British Red Coat".
"Anne, you just have the most luscious lips. Can we kiss you?"
Before I had a chance to reply, Tasha had achived liplock and was moving her tongue into position for more serious action. Time for a drink and a quick decision, it's not up to me, ooohh, what will it be? I was enjoying this, and gave her a little, uh, reciprocity. We broke it off after a minute or so, and I came up for air. Not long, because at that point, Dena got her opening, and pounced. Now, this was getting rather pleasant, I could get used to this. Two GGs and little ol' me! Then, I noticed something else, a hand easing up my dress, which was short enough to start with. Time to break this off! I broke lip contact, and straightened up, wrestling with the dilemma of dressing femme but having a masculine response to femme stimuli, without knowing if these ladies realized what I really was. I needn't have worried. Tasha said, "It's OK Anne, Dena and I always wondered what it would be like to kiss a trannie. We don't want to get up your dress or anything, I just wasn't sure - I was sure you were a trannie, but then you submitted to me and let me lead, as a woman would do. I didn't want to interrupt Dena, but, I just had to find out. I guess you're even hetero, aren't you?" I responded with a flirtatious bat of the eyelashes, and told her that she had me pegged. We chatted for a bit, and then parted ways. I suppose I'm now aware of how it feels to be a girl, caught in the back seat of her boyfriend's dad's Buick LeSabre, sitting next to a date who's taking liberties. Do you believe in karma now, Anne....
I left the
Connection shortly after the last show, and found this note from "Dan",
written on the back of a Visa ticket, attached to the window of my Taurus
with black electrical tape. Apparently, he was sitting at the light watching
me run in my heels across Main Street, or maybe was sitting in Murphy's,
watching my semifemme strut. No offense, Dan, I wasn't interested in any
more action. But, thanks for the compliment just the same.
Upon returning home, the following Email was waiting for me on the computer:
Hi, Anne, I came across your post-note while surfing around and thought I'd introduce myself. I'm 35, 6'4", 195 lbs., attractive, married and very interested in exploring a long-running fantasy of mine with an attractive TV or pre-op TS. I live in Cincinnati so natch, your note caught my attention. If you're interested in learning more or meeting me in Cincy, reply and tell me a bit about yourself. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, huh?"
I'm a bit puzzled. I do post to the bulletin board and "Friends"
in the TG Forum regularly, and I do have a rather elaborate web site nowadays,
but I don't have any personal ads in any publications that I know of. I
would say that tkq has been to my web site, because I do mention my group
memberships in it. How else would he know that I regularly visit Cincinnati?
Actually, I'm quite flattered by these notes. In male mode, I've never
had a woman EVER hit on me. Most of the dates I've had have been arranged
for me by others, not having the savoire-faire of Don Juan. I suppose that
en femme, I'm becoming Don Juan's Reckless Daughter, because I'm sure attracting
a whole lot more attention than I would have imagined. Could it be that
the secret to getting dates may lie in being an open crossdresser? Point
is, if I'd stayed home drinking Scotch and listening to Joni Mitchell records,
as I once would have done, none of this would have happened, and I would
have missed out on one of life's better classic experiences. Now, can I
actually pick up girls while dressed as one? Would trading my Caravan for
a red 'Vette, and cruising the Pink Triangle in my red dress with the T-tops
off work? I guess the answer is to just hang out in the ladies' room and
let 'em come to me!
Speaking of ladies' rooms, it is good to hear that Free Enterprise has won out over the best efforts of terrorists, and that "The Otherside" in Hot-Lanta is open again. I have made plans for attending Southern Comfort this year, and intend to join Marisa and Jennileigh in their show of support for this business. I'll be proud and unafraid to stand at the bar, order a Beck's (hint hint, management!), and drink a toast to the perseverence of good vs. evil, ale vs. pilsener, the little people vs. big corporations, intellectual debate vs. terrorism, Ford vs Chevy, Red Sox vs. Yankees.....hope there's a cab available for the trip back to the hotel.....
Freedom and Mascara! Anne Casebeer
Tennessee Vals Newsletter, May 1997
Picture this scenario, if you will. It is Sunday, May 4, 4:45 AM, in Fairmont, West Virginia. I am standing under the garish fluorescent-lit overhang in the damp foggy West Virginia night, pumping 17.6 gallons of Mobil regular unleaded fuel into my Taurus. At this point, I've been awake for about 20 hours, and I know that it'll be another 20 or so before I can sleep; an awareness stimulated by the 6 Diet Coke cans I've drained in the interests of short-circuiting my body and mind's desire for sleep. "Tragic Kingdom" is playing too loudly on the car stereo. I'm shocked out of my road-hypnotized revelry by a local policeman: "Howdy, where you goin' tonight?" "Officer, I'm heading for DC." "Why're you going there? You work for a Senator or somethin?" "No, they work for us. I'm just going to ask them to do some stuff for us taxpayers" "Good, somebody needs to. You think they'll listen?" "Yes, I've asked them to before, and they will listen to us, believe it or not" "Well you tell them to remember who owns this country. It's people like us, not them" "Thanks officer, I'll do that" "Oh, can you turn down that music? "No problem, I will", and I did so. The gas pump clicked off, I ran my card through the slot in the pump, and walked inside. Bought some chips and some Diet Mountain Dew, and hit I-79 again. About 2 miles up the road, the reason why I was making this journey to DC really hit me, thanks to that local West Virginia cop: We own this country, our elected officials DO work for us,.and I'm going to tell them what I want to be done. They have to listen, no matter what I'm wearing! I just popped myself another diet soda and punched an 85-mph hole in the night, wearing a smile with my black jeans and UK sweatshirt.
Yes, I can hear you thinking already, who'd want to do this boring political stuff? Well, you know the answer to that, and it should be you. I don't care what label or tag you want to hang on yourself, realize this: you can be the victim of a violent crime because some fool or bigot considers you an easy target, and you can be legally fired from your job just because you crossdress or are transitioning; others certainly have. That stated, you should know something else: that when you go to the trenches and fight with your fellow TG's, you will establish friendships, build cameraderie, and have a lot of fun. Lobbying Days are hard work, but not boring, not at all!
Sunday, after picking up my friend Vanessa Edwards of Houston, TX. at the Baltimore airport, I changed to femme attire (and remained so until the wee hours of Wednesday morning), then took in Riki Anne Wilchins' and Dana Priesing's "Lobbying 101" meeting. Our lobbying thrust this time was on modifying the Hate Crimes Reporting Act to include transgender people, and addition of trans people to the proposed Employment Non-Discrimination Act (ENDA). We were given packets to give to the legislative assistants in the offices we visited, with orders to only give them out to those who seemed receptive. Teams by state were formed from the 60-some odd lobbyists in attendance.
Monday was spent calling on Senatorial and Congressional offices, and we were remarkeably successful. On April 26th, I traveled to Columbus, and spoke to Crystal Club about lobbying, so I teamed up with Sarah Fox, Maryanne (?), and Cathy Platine of Crystal Club. We visited Sen. Mitch McConnell's (KY) office first, where I did the full presentation; generally, one person takes the lead, and others in the group add anecdotes and make pertinent points. I knew Chris Bertelli, the legislative assistant from our February lobbying, and I knew that we'd receive a good hearing there; Senator McConnell was the original author of the Hate Crimes Reporting Act, and is open-minded. 3rd District (KY) Rep. Anne Northup was next; I have met with her LA, Meghan Boland, on 2 occasions previously, and she greeted me with a hearty welcome. Anne is the representative from the Louisville area, and is generally supportive and open-minded on social matters. Diane Torrence of Cincinnati joined our group at this point, and we started on the Ohio delegation, where Sarah, Maryanne, Diane, and Cathy did a lovely job with Sens. Glenn and DeWine, and Reps. Kasich, Pryce, and Kucinich. In fact, all of the above legislators offices appeared to be agreeable to transgender inclusion, and particularly Sen. Glenn and Rep. Pryce. Sarah and Cathy had driven across Pennsylvania to attend Lobbying Days, and their argument that use of the restroom in Pennsylvania was your choice of a felony (for using opposite to birth gender restroom), or misdemeanor (for misrepresenting gender) had a devastating impact. Sarah also made the point rather forcefully that the frogs she uses in her research have more rights and protections under law than she does. They certainly learned this game quickly, but after meeting them about 10 days earlier, I expected no less.
On Day 2, I attacked the rest of the Kentucky delegation solo, which I knew would be hostile. Reps. Lewis and Whitfield had refused requests for appointments, their offices stating directly that they did not support extended rights for GLBT people. 'Nuff said, we'll remember that on Election Day, those who live in their districts. Likewise, the offices of Tennessee Sens. Frist and Thompson refused to meet with me, which wasn't unexpected. Reps. Bunning and Rogers' people granted me very brief hearings, and I don't (and didn't) expect support there. Representative Baesler's office was supportive and heard us out. I skipped Sen. Wendell Ford (KY); his office was hostile in February, and he's anounced his retirement at the end of this term anyway. I have a business in Rep. Lee Hamilton's (IN) district, hit his office, and received a fair and possibly supportive hearing. I then joined up with Vanessa Edwards of Texas and we visited Kay Bailey Hutchinson's (TX)office, and dropped in on Senator Phil Gramm(TX), where they didn't have time to see us. Right. Vanessa and I then visited Rep. Sheila Jackson Lee, where we were heard with great respect and support. Sen. Slade Gorton of Washington St. was next, and we were welcomed cordially there as well. After this , we joined a San Diego area therapist whose name escapes me; he wasn't TG himself, but was there is support of us and his TG clients. He wanted a couple TG people with him to meet with his local representative, "Duke" Cunningham, who is conservative. Vanessa is having trouble in the workplace due to transitioning, and of course I have my crossdressed/small business point of view, so we were glad to help. Shannon Ware from Missouri also joined us. The LA at Cunningham's office was discomfited by us, but since the good doctor was a constituent, he had to listen. I really enjoyed watching the guy squirm, and watched the expression on his face change when he heard how hard a time Vanessa has had finding suitable work. I know we won't be supported there, but it was fun to make the guy think and wonder a bit about his preconceived notions.
Don't think for a minute that we just worked. On Monday night, Vanessa, Angela Bridgman of Allentown, PA, the Crystal Club contingent, and I got dressed up and tried to hit the town. We were looking for dance club (straight, supposedly) called "Traxx", which turned out to be closed. DC does not exactly hop on Mondays, so after some looking, the Columbus contingent turned in. Angela, Vanessa, and I decided anyplace for a beer was OK, so we stopped at a place called "Mr. Eagan's" at 1343 Connecticut Ave. Ne. It is not a fancy place, just a neighborhood pub with an Irish emphasis, but Genny, the bartender, took to us immediately. We chatted for a couple hours, and enjoyed a few draught Murphy's Irish Stouts. We were very welcome, and once again filled an educational role. Angela is a wild and crazy gal indeed! We had a great time, were able to relax as never before while femme and returned the next night with Vanessa, Sarah, and Shannon, after an excellent Italian dinner in Bethesda, MD. We closed it down, threw darts and listened to the Rolling Stones with the regulars, and were made to feel at home. I would recommend to any TG folks visiting Washington that a visit to "Mr. Eagan's" should be in order at the end of a long day, en femme or not. It's right across from the Metro station at Dupont Circle. A great place to unwind. We then found ourselves cruising the monuments of DC at 3AM. Crazy trannies on the loose, beware...
Freedom and Mascara, Anne Casebeer
Tennessee Vals Newsletter, June 1997
Most people take the city they live in for granted, especially if they've lived there for many years. I hope you citizens of MiddleTennessee don't make that mistake. I don't hail from the Nashville area, in fact, prior to becoming a Val, my only contacts with the Nashville metro area had been a job offer, declined, to manage for Shoney's, and a few stops to buy gasoline on the way to Florida. This is a city I've grown to respect and like more on every visit, and you are lucky to live here, given the economy, lifestyle, sports, and events available. The thing that astounds me every time I visit here is the way the average local citizen treats a transperson. I'm certain that there must be some unfriendly folks in this city, but I haven't encountered them yet.
I would say that I have spent at least 90% of the time I have been in Nashville femme, and have never had anyone comment in any sort of derogatory way; any comments I have received so far have been those of curiosity or support. I had assumed that Nashville was a bible belt bastion, and that may be true, but so far, so good.
"George" Magazine is a magazine of political commentary and satire, slickly published by John F. Kennedy, Jr., and intended for people of wealth and taste. In their April 1997 issue, a short article deals with Nashville and its importance to the next Presidential election. 3 Tennessee natives are expected to throw their hats into the Presidential ring for 2000, plus 2 of the best zip codes in the US for political fundraising are located in the Nashville metro area. This would be fine except for the fact that 2 of the 3 candidates are decidedly unfriendly to GLBT issues, and the third is Al Gore. Regardless, the article is interesting and favorable to the image of Nashville as a city of growing importance. Those of you who are webheads can access their site at www.georgemag.com. This, along with the recent announcement that Nashville will gain an NHL franchise, plus the Oilers' relocation, is putting Nashville on the map for more than country music.
Now, Louisville is not a bad place to live; our cost of living index
is low & our unemployment rate is under 2%. Our fine arts are nationally
known -our ballet, orchestra, and opera have won national awards, Actors'
Theatre is known for debuting new plays by new American playwrights, major
Broadway productions like "Miss Saigon" come to town regularly,
and many of the better-known popular musical groups play here. Our Palace
Theatre is an excellent place, acoustically and esthetically speaking,
to hear great music; recently I enjoyed a concert by Crosby, Stills, and
Nash there (en femme, I might add), and have tickets to see John
Fogerty in July. Still, we don't have NFL football and we aren't getting
an NHL franchise. I've unearthed some resources locally for transpeople,
but nothing like what is available in larger cities. Louisvillians are
a bit odd, personality-wise: they tend to act friendly and tolerant to
your face, then turn around and show their real colors when you have your
back turned. This is true with our relations with the Louisville GLB community;
there are many who accept us and many who don't think transpeople belong.
I have actually been told by some local gay folk that HRC is correct to
exclude us from legislative initiatives! I excused myself from further
conversation with the subcretinous organisms, and still consider any contact
with HRC to be a total waste of time. The "Fairness Amendment"
has been introduced in the local Board of Aldermen, and trans people have
been included this time; I will be judging my city by the response this
garners. I don't expect it to pass, but I have written my Alderperson,
and hope to be able to attend any public hearings that come about to rouse
support. When I attend these hearings, my read on local politics tells
me that I should attend as Anthony the businessman, not Anne the transgendered
person. The fact is that transpeople are not very visible here yet, and
we have more work to do before we are perceived as normal and not a freak
show.
I have lived in other places, and live in Louisville now for parental caregiving purposes. When I have completed the caregiving obligations, I will choose where I wish to live, and it may not necessarily be Louisville. Thus far, employment and family issues have dictated where I lived. Nothing and nobody will dictate to me in the future, I will do the choosing. This is, to me, the very epitome of what being a transgendered person is all about. More than anything else, we have choices to make. To live any sort of transgendered lifestyle is to exercise choice; we can choose our manner of dress, how public to be with our lifestyle, whether or not to transition, to take hormones, to live full-time or part-time; to travel femme, to become politically active. We have the ability to act upon what we feel to be correct for us and our inner selves; we can even change our names and have SRS if we have the need, means and inner strength to do so. If you choose not to decide, then you still have made a choice; you've chosen to maintain the status quo of your life, which is a viable choice if you are satisfied with your life as it stands. I am still looking for that paradigm, and my nature is to seek and try new things, so I like the choices and alternatives offered by the transgendered lifestyle.
Freedom and Mascara! Anne Casebeer
July 4, 1997
Yes, folks, I've gone and done it. I'm guilty as charged, and chagrined. I've been a bad girl, and I should be punished severely. I shouldn't have done it and my therapist even agrees. But, guess what? I DON'T CARE!
Really, I don't know what possessed me to have the transgendered nerve to stand up in front of Terry Murphy, Marisa, and Jennileigh, and sing that song. Well, I know what, but Scotch is not a suitable excuse, not one that counts in any case. I just have to admit the truth to myself, and it took at least 10 minutes of screaming into my microcassette recorder on I-65 to know this: I've become a total ham. The more pork I lose from my frame, almost 100 pounds now, the more hammy I get, and that's that.
I'll backtrack a bit. Here we are at the Transgendered Mixer in June on that fateful Thursday evening. I'm off work on vacation, fully cognizant of the fact that my employees were using every available moment of my absence to rip me off (I had to fire 3 of them a week later for dastardly deeds perpetrated while I was marching down Church Street under the Drag-On's tail, but that's another tale). I was determined to enjoy this respite, knowing what was to follow. I treated myself that afternoon to a cut and style at a Louisville parlor called "Raindogs", then hit the highway for Nashville, with 3 hours 15 minutes to spare. Normally, that trip takes 2 hours 10 minutes. This time, it took 3 hours, 18 minutes, due to I-65 being blocked near the Corvette plant in Boring Green. Now, I'm developing a fair degree of self assurance about trans travel. I dress nicely, I look better than I used to, and having my own hair helps immeasurably. I don't know if you'd say I pass, but I probably do more often than before. On this run, I had to use the rest area, and confidently strolled past the truckers and picnicking families into the ladies' without attracting any attention or comment. Anyway, I arrived at The Chute with a dusty throat and severe hunger. The finger sandwiches took care of the latter, and a couple Heinekens did away with the former.
I thoroughly enjoyed Terry Murphy's talk, which meandered from the Southern Comfort Conference to transgendered sexuality. I'd never met Terry, and was very impressed. Southern Comfort is on my calendar in October, no question. Jennileigh then made a major tactical error: she pointed out to me that it was karaoke night at The Chute. Bad mistake. Letting me into a karaoke bar at this time in my life is like loaning a U-Haul truck full of fertilizer and a couple hundred gallons of diesel fuel to Timothy McVeigh. I LOVE to sing karaoke, and as Pamela and Jennileigh will attest, my tastes in music run from the absurd to the ridiculous (I'm listening to Melanie Safka as I write this). I do this both in male mode and femme, and don't generally take into consideration how I am dressed when I make my selection from the karaoke book. Often, I don't take into consideration the range and limits of my voice: my natural range is 2nd tenor, but on a clear day I can sing high forever, and try to sing soprano when I shouldn't. In other words, I have the natural tone of a Jimmy Buffett, say, but I try to get up to Robert Plant range.
Now, I could do that in high school and college; I sang and played keyboards in a lousy garage band, playing and singing covers of Chicago and Elton John songs. I've developed the cracks raspiness, and cruddy tone quality that 38 years of abuse and air pollution will inflict on a larynx, not to mention the fact that I treat my car stereo as a karaoke machine daily.
As always, I perused the book, selected about 25 songs that I wanted to do, narrowed it down to 15, then 10, then 5, then 3, then 2. By this time, I was not using a singer's head to select. I'd been talking to various Vals for months about how I COULD SING, and now I had to impress, or else. I wanted a song with considerable high range, to show that I really could do it, could really get up there into the ozone octaves normally occupied by teakettles, police whistles, and 70's rock singers. One song was safer, very doable, did it 2 weekends before at Tynkers 2 in Louisville - The Doors "Roadhouse Blues". That one fits nicely into my natural range, and I can do it in my sleep. The other, more dangerous choice, featured a very high bridge that exposes the vocalist to a difficult reach into Siamese cat territory. I took the chance anyway, despite never having attempted to sing a Boston song before.
I ordered up a double Pinch 12 year old on the rocks, earning the bartender's comment that he hadn't seen a lady drink double Scotches on the rocks in awhile and remain standing. I sipped it, waiting for my turn to come up, watching a few of the other artists in attendance; I noticed that my competition was about like most places, not ready to quit their day jobs. When I was 3 songs away, I headed for the ladies' room, touched up my makeup, downed the last of the Scotch, and let Terry, Jennileigh, and Marisa that my moment of stupidity was impending.
They called my name, mispronounced it, and I stepped on stage, walked to the microphone, adjusted it, then the opening guitar chords sounded and the lyrics, which I knew by heart already, ran across the screen. One of my favorite songs, one nobody but a crazy crossdresser from Louisville would attempt at a karaoke bar, Boston's "Amanda", a fantastic song from their "Third Stage" album. Somehow, I think I pulled it off, as soon as the line "Tomorrow's so far away, looking for the words to say", passed my lipstick into the mike, I was comfortable, and I just knew I'd pull it off somehow. Still, that bridge - could I hit and maintain that? It arrived, and I was psyched for it, I was just going to pull it off somehow, and somehow, I got there. Something happened and I got to the high note that Brad Delp, Boston's singer, cracked the last time I saw Boston in concert in 1987 - and I hit and held it the full duration, and bent it higher still, following the original recording's note progression.
Those of you who've never been on stage, have never acted in a play, given a speech in front of hundreds of people, never sang or played an instrument for an audience, never taught a class or seminar for students or a professional group, have never known true fear. Walking out the door of your house wearing a dress, or using the ladies' room in a crowded roadside rest area in Kentucky, is easy in comparison. Equally unmatched is the feeling you get when you walk off stage, and you know you've pulled it off reasonably well. Adrenaline-induced euphoria washes over you, and you don't slow down for hours. This is a major benefit that I have derived from allowing Anne out into the world, warts and all: the fact that, once you've opened your closet door en femme, you can work up the confidence to pull off all the activities that previously seemed fearful. A year ago, I would never have walked on stage, even in my normal weekday attire of black jeans and golf shirt, to sing karaoke. Now, I almost live for the rush of being on stage. I also regard being out in public cross-dressed as similar to that: I know that I'm on stage to a degree. When I pull off a potentially touchy encounter in a store, at a restroom stop on the highway, in a Senator's office, or a club, I don't get that same rush, but I do get a warm feeling of satisfaction. It's a selfish feeling, but one of knowing that my acceptance greases the wheels for those who follow me. I also can, in my everyday working life, pull off the stressful meetings and details of the day with much greater confidence and force. That's been very rewarding.
I hear often of how transgendered people have a very hard life, but for me, life was much harder before admitting that I was transgendered, and becoming open about it. I no longer have anything to hide. When you've hidden your secret self in the closet, consider whether you might have been hiding inner talents with her. If so, why don't you let them out of the closet, too? And, if you see me heading for the stage on karaoke night, you'd be welcome to join me for a duet - I'd be happy to perform "Wooden Ships", "Teach Your Children", "Dialogue", or "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling" (the Hall and Oates' arrangement) with any of you who might want to try it. Beware-you could have fun, and we know that's absolutely not permitted to the transgendered!
Freedom and Mascara! Anne Casebeer
June 29, 1997
"I make my living off the evening news,
Just give me something, something I can use,
People love it when you lose, they love dirty laundry,
Well, I could have been an actor, but I wound up here,
I just have to look good, I don't have to be clear,
Come and whisper in my ear, give me dirty laundry"
Don Henley OOOOHHHHH, Marv! Welcome to the transgendered community, Marv Albert. Or, would you rather be known as Marva, or perhaps Marta? Now, we all know that there are a lot more people that crossdress that anyone suspects. The statistics are inaccurate because of closeting, but I've seen the figure of 5-7% of the male population. Question here is a difficult one: do we really want to claim Marv Albert as one of us? Should the TG support groups in Manhattan be expecting another member? And, is he transgendered just because he likes wearing frilly underthings while engaging in mattress trampolining?
Well, Marv Albert's choice of apparel during bedroom gymnastics does have a name. It's called fetishistic crossdressing. It's not uncommon. There are many men who prefer silk next to their skin, and many of these find arousal that way. Some of these people are satisfied wearing silk panties under their HartMarx suits, or just don the black garter belt prior to late night encounters. And, yes, in my humble and nonprofessional opinion, they're transgendered. Yes, Marv Albert is part of our community, even if the toupees he wears just aren't passable, and he needs a little lipstick and eye shadow...
There is a lot about this case that bothers me. I'm bothered by the fact that Mr. Albert seems to have a low level of respect and gentility towards the ladies with whom he has liasons. Human beings can behave as they wish with consenting adults behind closed doors, and I admit to being quite unimaginative in that area of life. A comedian whose name I have forgotten once made a joke about German people being unimaginative and boring lovers, and that may be true in my case. Still, I'd say that biting, using whips and instruments, so forth, with a partner without their consent or permission would be rather disrespectful behavior, to say the least. I'm not an S&M person, but my limited knowledge of that sort of thing tells me that there is a code of acceptable conduct that demands that each persons limits be respected. In all areas of life, the limits and boundaries of other people must not be infringed upon.
On the other hand, we have the problem of inflammatory, sensationalistic journalism. When people crossdress and are caught in compromising positions, it makes for good stories for "Hard Copy." We're still curiosities or freaks to most people. Elsewhere in this newsletter, you will see the story of Terri's custody battle. The most significant part of this story to me, other than the fact that the good girl won for once, is that her ex-wife sought to obtain custody through the malicious use of photographs of Terri crossdressed in open court. I look forward to the day when a non-passable crossdresser can walk through a mall and not even attract an sideways glance. At some point soon, crossdressing won't even be a story anymore. "Inside Edition" might be irritated that trannies no longer attract attention, but I will rejoice. The fact is, transgenderism is a fact of life. World, deal with us, we will not go quietly.
Still, we must live in the real world that exists today. Marv Albert is a celebrity, a visible and well known public figure, probably the finest basketball play-by-play man presently in broadcasting (Cawood Ledford, the long-time Kentucky announcer, was the finest, but he retired a couple years ago). People in that position should realize that their actions are never entirely private; ask former Senators Gary Hart and Robert Packwood. His escapade, whether behind closed doors or not, has made transgenderism a joke once again. I don't find the joke to be very funny. I don't want to suggest that we all go back into the closet - the opposite is needed. We need to show our faces in public more, doing public things, behaving in a respectful and honorable manner, carrying ourselves as ladies and gentlemen at all times. Whether Marv Albert wants to identify with us or not, he's transgendered; problem is, he's brought some dishonor upon us as well. We need to overcome that with public visibility and positive examples of transpeople doing visible, positive things. We need to do positive things, act in a positive manner, and be noticed by those who count.
Freedom and Mascara! Anne Casebeer
Bluegrass BelleView, October 1997
There has been a lot of inflammatory language traded back and forth between the trans community, and the GL community in Louisville. While much of it is justified, it's hard to see what good the acrimony achieves. I don't know if my perspective on the subject counts to anyone but myself, but here goes....
1. Fairness succeeded on one level this year: the overall populace of Louisville was convinced. Polls that even Frank Simon admits are valid indicate that over 70% of Louisvillians support rights for GLBT people. T's were included in the polls, and did not affect the results in any way. Signs and posters were visible in all parts of town, in all neighborhoods.
2. Fairness was DOA this year, due to the fact that the Board of Aldermen was basically constituted the same way this time as last. I don't care how many phone calls you make to your Alderman, if his or her mind is made up already, you are wasting your cellular airtime. When the final tally is totalled, there are 3 for, 2 possible, and 7 firmly against. Do me a favor, please, and don't bring this up again until we toss out some of these rascal Aldermen; why waste the time?
3. It's time for people to get serious about Aldermanic elections. I've attended a few meetings of the Board of Aldermen now, and folks, if you only heard the ignorance, pomposity, stupidity, and egomania that I have observed, you'd load yourselves up with Prozac and open fire. Are these 12 people the best representatives that the voting public can come up with? No way. I'd run for it, but I don't want anything to do with all these rampant egos - I'd tell them exactly what I thought of them in nondiplomatic language, and they're not ready for it. What is needed most of all is a fundamental change in how Aldermen are elected; they need to be voted on strictly by their own wards, not citywide as they are now. If we elected Congressmen as we elect Aldermen, we would be voting for Representatives from California and Hawaii. Steve Magre, Barbara Gregg, Bob Butler, and Dan Johnson are not representing their wards at all; they are running for citywide office and name recognition. This isn't right.
4. Trans inclusion was DOA this year as well. The official reason is that Aldermen Owen and Bentley didn't understand transgenderism sufficiently to be able to explain it or sell it to the other Aldermen. I can understand why. When I attended that meeting on July 30th, the infamous one where Dawn, Angela, Taylor, Amy, Marjorie, and I made our objections heard, I saw exactly one T person who had been involved. Yes, I know that we had, at that time, only been a group for 8 months, but Fairness knew we existed - they have been on our mailing list since March. I wonder why we weren't asked to assist. Now, I do not want to give the impression that those of us who could have assisted in the education of the Aldermen would have made the difference. I can say this: we could have brought to bear a number of resources from outside Louisville. If rights for transgendered people are involved, politically active T people are willing to travel to help. My friends in the Tennessee Vals, when told what was up, told me that they would have loved to come up and help in the education process, as well as in the show of force at the votes. I'm sure others could have been brought to bear from other parts of the country. This is a strategy that Frank Simon's stormtroopers use; at the vote, I saw church buses from Ohio, Indiana, Tennessee, and the surrounding counties of Kentucky. We can do the same thing, we have to do it, because most local transpeople remain in the closet to some degree - myself included - when it comes to local politics.
5. It has been said that we were "sold out", "used as bargaining chips", and worse. We have been accused of having sabotaged Fairness by our objections, and of only raising a fuss and showing our faces after being cut out. Please! Nobody could have expected transpeople to be excited and involved actively in a cause they weren't part of. A parallel example: I don't own a motorcycle; I feel that wearing a helmet while riding one should be a matter of personal choice, but don't expect to see me in Frankfort lobbying for repeal of the helmet laws, because I don't have a stake in the issue. I don't know if the powers that be at Fairness sat down and decided to cut us out of the Amendment out of spite or meanness; those who did, if they did, aren't talking, and never will. I can say this; Fairness did not gain any votes by exorcising transpeople from the Amendment. It was doomed already, and I think they knew it; it would have been much better to have failed with the Amendment worded as it should be, to make the point that we need protection from discrimination in hiring and housing under law.
6. In many places in the USA, transpeople are a valued and welcome part of the GLBT community. I can use Nashville as an example, where the Vals are integral in community activities. It isn't true here. Louisville does not have a GLBT community; here, it is a G community, a L community, a B community, and a T community. We are clearly not understood, and indeed, not wanted by many gay and lesbian people. The failure of Fairness this time points out the need to unite better as a community. We have to, as transpeople, once again, be more visible. Right now, the gay and lesbian folks do not know or care that we exist for the most part. Some good things are rising out of the ashes: "The Letter" has now added "transgendered" and "bisexual" to its name, and added 2 TG columnists (myself and Angela Bridgman) to its lineup, and there is now a bi/trans caucus at Fairness. It's possible that we may have a TG candidate for Board of Aldermen next year. More and more transpeople are coming out all the time, with the visibility of our group helping that. A number of us in the Belles are participating in a forum for therapists on the subject of transgenderism. The most important job we must do at this time is educate our gay, bi, and lesbian brothers and sisters, because they don't understand us yet.
7. We cannot expect or count on anyone but transpeople to fight for
rights for transpeople. Remember the motorcycle helmet analogy? It's time
for a group to fight for our rights. There is a way to do that: in other
states, It's Time! chapters have been formed to carry this fight
at the local and state level. The Illinois chapter was successful in doing
this in Evanston, Ill. lately. Angela is working to form one right now.
She will write on how that works and how to help. Let's support her on
this. A common misconception is that rights are only important for TS people.
Well, I'm a CD, and I'm proud to have been active in lobbying. More CDs
should be involved. We can encounter discrimination just as TSs' do; ask
Terri if you are not convinced. There are many things you can do to help
It's Time Kentucky! without taking undue risks of discovery. Angela
will let all of us know the details. She intends to do this with help from
transpeople all over Kentucky, and will be encouraging politically-interested
Kentucky residents who are members of the Belles, CrossPort, LGS, Valley
Girls, StLGF, and Tennessee Vals to join us.We can't expect anyone to listen
to us as individuals, but as a group, they must notice us.
I've said enough. We all have said enough. There has been enough vitrol traded back and forth between transpeople and gay/lesbian folks locally. I don't know if there is any reason to hope for a friendly relationship. I have been told that I wasn't wanted at local gay clubs (by customers, not management) because "we don't like trannies- you aren't like us." They are as bad as the bigots. We will have to earn our respect; at this point, it won't happen unless they see that we can help. This is the only way I see. The well has been poisoned in a number of ways, so now we must dig a new well, and maybe others may ask us if we'd let them drink from it. We also can help from the start in Lexington, and maybe that will earn us a little respect - our relations and level of acceptance there is much better. What else can we do?
Freedom and Mascara! Anne Casebeer
Bluegrass BelleView, October 1997
I'd like to introduce myself: I'm Annette Louise Casebeer, but you can call me Anne. I'm a transgendered person; and the Vice-President, Newsletter Editor, and Webmistress for the Bluegrass Belles, a support group for transgendered people that meets in Lexington. So, what am I doing writing a column in your friendly local lesbigay newspaper? Well, David Williams asked me to, and I'm honored to do so, because he wants "The Letter" to be your friendly statewide lesbigatr newspaper now. Thanks, David, you're a true gentleman!
It's time the T word was included in the GLB acronym, we certainly have an alternative lifestyle, and we are singled out for snide remarks and bigotry, just as you are. To do that, to understand who we are, you need to get to know us just a bit, because we transfolks are a bit different. In fact, the rainbow flag applies to us quite nicely, because transpeople are spread across a broad spectrum of lifestyles and human behavior. Sexuality isn't the defining factor involved, it's a side issue that confuses matters and adds spice at the same time, when you're talking about the transgendered. For purposes of explanation, let's just drop that issue, that subject is for a senior-level class, and this class is freshman-level.
First of all, there are crossdressers, and a very large percentage of transpeople fall into this category. Crossdressers typically are men who wear women's clothing. They can be the executive who likes the feel of silk panties under his Brooks Brothers suit; the guy who wears his wife's clothes when she's away at the mall; or the actor, dancer, or rock musician who enjoys the trappings of makeup and costuming that is part and parcel of showbiz. The great majority of crossdressers pursue their "hobby" in private, behind closed doors, and many never even let their secret slip to their families or spouses. There are some crossdressers who are very open and "out of the closet", a term we borrowed from the lesbigay community that certainly applies neatly to our situation. I fit into that category: I am a genetic male who has done such interesting things femme as fly on commercial airlines, lobby Congress, shop in malls and department stores, drive interstate, attend conventions (Yes, there are conventions for transpeople, and they are a lot of fun!), dined out in nice restaurants, sung in karaoke bars, and even once attended a Reds game. The closeted crossdresser who finally ventures out of the closet soon finds that society is surprisingly accepting, and usually won't remain closeted any longer. Many of us are married or involved in heterosexual relationships, have children, and hold responsible jobs in our male persona; families vary in their acceptance, but happily married crossdressers are not at all unusual. You have probably heard the term "transvestite" used to describe crossdressers, but that is a word that is losing favor in the transgendered community.
The transsexual is another case entirely. A transsexual is a crossdresser who wishes to live as, and possibly become, a member of the opposite sex. The phrase most often heard is "from an early age, I wanted to be a girl, and nothing will stop me from becoming one" I'll note at this point that there are both MtF (male to female) and FtM (female to male) transsexuals. A FtM crossdresser would be meaningless, because women who wear male attire, short hair, and no makeup are very common in society, while men wearing women's clothes are still seen as the dreaded "men in dresses. " Transsexuals can be those who live in the opposite gender role without surgery or hormones (they used to be called "transgenderists"), can be people who are undergoing hormone therapy and other treatments in preparation for the surgery, or people who actually have had sexual reassignment surgery (SRS).
Transsexuality is a difficult road to take. A transsexual who actually "transitions" (the term used for living in the opposite gender from one's birth gender) fully can be going through hormone therapy, psychotherapy, electrolysis, vocal therapy and/or surgery, cosmetic surgery, and finally SRS. The entire process takes a lot of thought and introspection, many years of work (Before any reputable surgeon will perform SRS, the patient must live full time in their preferred gender role), and a LOT of money - the entire process costs tens of thousands of dollars. Once, at a political meeting, a TS I know proclaimed that "it cost me $30,000 to become my kind of queer." Well put, sis.
Well, friends, I hope this helps. Like any group of people, we have our share of jargon, and now you know the most important terms. We are not just terms, as you can see; we're people, and if I say so myself, interesting people. In this column in the future, I plan to take you on some trips into the real world, introduce you to some of the best and brightest of our community, get political at times, be serious at times, but most of all have fun. Like with most lesbigay people, transpeople have a serious problem with self-esteem and pride, and we all share the need to hold our heads high, walk proudly in our pumps, powder our noses, and smile a bit. Closets are restrictive places, and you can be out. You NEED to be out! If you'd like to know more about the world of transgenderism (no advances, please - I'm a nice girl!), write me at PO Box 20173, Louisville, KY. 40250, or visit our website at http://www.transgender.org/tg/bgb. I enjoy questions!
Freedom and Mascara! Anne Casebeer
The Letter, Kentucky's Gay/Lesbian/Bisexual/Transgendered Newspaper, October 1997
One of the first decisions a transgendered person has to make when making the decision to come "out" is to define what "out" means to them. This decision is different for each of us, and depends on marital factors, employment issues, where you live, how many friends you have in your community, the sign you were born under, whether the groundhog saw its shadow or not, and the phases of the moon. Some newly out people are quite fearful and just increase the sizes of their closets; others are more fearless.
I fall into the latter category. I suppose that when you stay closeted past age 37, you have some lost time to make up . I don't have a wife to tell me what I can and cannot do, my job allows me a certain leeway to write my own work schedule, and when "en femme" I look nothing like my male persona, so I can get away with public crossdressing without too much fear of recognition. I pick my spots well, and don't go out without some consideration of whether the time and place are right . I have been able to enjoy many nice femme excursions; I have taken shopping trips, road trips, dined in nice restaurants, and gone to movies as Anne without having any particular problems. I would be kidding myself if I think that I pass perfectly, since I am 6 feet tall and weigh 235 pounds. I dress conservatively, in a businesswoman's sort of mode, do my makeup and hair with an above-average degree of skill, and when out in public in a non-group setting can walk and talk with some femme bearing when necessary. I am determined to have fun, and enjoy every life experience that I can have cross-dressed, while exhibiting caution and common sense. Some have told me that I have less fear than most trannies that have been out as short a time as I have, but going out in public while cross-dressed has never resulted in any major problems for me, only interesting experiences.
When Marjorie suggested that Julie and I join her for a late night snack after the January Cross-Port meeting, she didn't have to ask me twice. What can happen in a Perkins restaurant at 2:00 AM on a Thursday night in January in below-zero weather, other than some good coffee and a decent conversation? Little did I know that one of the most, ahem, "interesting" experiences of my life was ahead. First of all, Perkins was closed, which necessitated a change in destination to a nearby Waffle House. Now, I don't mind Waffle House, but I think we'd all agree that the term "greasy spoon" was coined to describe this august chain of upper-class dining facilities (NOT!). Upon entering , a table containing two couples I would estimate to be in the upper teens greeted us with some rather un-ladylike laughter and comments. The restaurant was very busy, and the only table was very close to the table occupied by this group of young people. While ordering coffee, I caught a glance at the table of youths, then a glance at Marjorie, and then the waitress; all three had exactly the same look on their faces; a look I would best describe as "on the verge of laughter". The catcalls subsided somewhat, but I still caught the occasional "fag" and "freak" remark while the three of us conversed .
About the time our food arrived, one of the youths rose from his seat and walked over to the jukebox, inserted coins, and returned. A minute or so later, a familiar chord progression rang out from the cheap ceiling speakers; the sound of a Gibson Les Paul guitar, played through a Marshall amp stack, using a flanger pedal. The opening chords to a song most transgendered people are very familiar with; Aerosmith's "Dude Looks Like A Lady". The youths convulsed in laughter. Now, ask yourself this question: how would I have reacted ? Here's how WE reacted: The three of us convulsed in laughter as well! Personally, I took this as a tribute. My only regret is that we didn't strike up conversation with these youths, because I think they'd have been receptive, despite the catcalls. I know we gave them something to talk about; long after that January night, I'm sure they will be telling the story about the three trannies they saw in the Waffle House. I don't feel we were in any danger from them at any point. I KNEW we were in no danger after the second song, ZZ Top's "Legs" played itself out. We simply paid our checks and disappeared into the frigid night.
About a month, and a few more transgendered road trips, shopping excursions, and restaurant meals later, Marjorie, our friend Dawn Wilson from Lexington, and I boarded a Southwest Airlines 737 at Louisville International for Baltimore. We spent every waking moment for the next couple days "en femme", and what an experience it was! We flew, rented an automobile, checked into a hotel, ate in restaurants, and lobbied Congress while crossdressed, and the entire experience seemed completely natural and easy. In fact, had we NOT traveled "femme", we would have missed out on a really special afternoon with Vanessa, a really cool Texas native who traveled "in drab", who we met while checking into the hotel in College Park, MD. Vanessa could tell what we were doing there, intro'd herself, and became fast friends with the three of us. We spent the remainder of the afternoon talking about our experiences and fiddling with hair, then included her in everything we did for the next couple days. We've kept in touch.
I now have a personal policy regarding my crossdressing: I do anything I damned well please. I shop, dine out, travel, and party "en femme", and don't worry too much about it. I am careful, don't do stupid stuff, and plan ahead. I buy gasoline in suburbs and cities, and pay at the pump. I make reservations when flying and staying in motels, and try to stay on the first floor. I treat everyone courteously while dressed, smile, tip well, talk a bit, and do my best to make a good impression on store clerks and waitstaff. In general, act as if you belong, take care of business, and act "femme", don't just dress "femme", and you'll be OK. If you have a problem, deal with it with humor and don't forget your survival skills. I had a wiring connector work loose on my Taurus on the way to the February Cross-Port meeting. I was wearing a lightweight teal dress, but I didn't let that stop me; I raised the hood at the side of I-71/75 in Northern Kentucky, and fixed the problem.
Just remember, when out, the danger is not in being "read". That's going to happen to any of us. The danger is in being recognized, which, chances are, you won't be. I have walked past people I attended high school with, as well as worked with, in shopping malls in Louisville, and never been recognized. Now, I realize that many of us have very good reasons to fear being seen publicly, and I won't rehash the gamut of reasons. That stated, I can't emphasize enough the fun of being out in public "en femme", I equate it to the thrill of getting away with something illegal. A couple weeks ago, I was in Nashville, and watched the movie "Private Parts", then went shopping in a mall, even fit on the jeans and skirts I wanted to buy in the fitting rooms, and encountered no problems from the store staff. In fact, I handed them my checking card to pay for my purchases, with no comment about my male name being on the card. I enjoyed every moment I was in that mall, but nothing comes close to the glow you get when you leave, knowing you put one over on a few hundred people. If you don't believe me, get dressed, get out, and try it for yourself. Isn't being out in public "en femme" what you always dreamed of when you were closeted?
Why wait? The feeling of walking through a mall, dressed right, being treated like a lady, and blending into the crowd, smelling the faint whisp of your own perfume and feeling the skirt whip around your legs is a heady one indeed. For me, it is the feeling of victory over a personal demon that haunted me for many years, and turning the tables on that demon and making it a friend instead.
My next fantasy is to attend a baseball game "femme", and live to tell. Anybody want to join me at the Be-All, and go to Wrigley Field? Won't Harry Caray love seeing us?
Freedom and Mascara,
Anne Casebeer
CrossPort InnerView, April 1997
At what point does a transperson cease to be a rookie? In sports, it's after a full season. Well, November marks the anniversary of my first tentative steps into the gender world. I'd say that most genderfolk celebrate their coming-out anniversaries, not unlike romantic couples. Recently, I attended Southern Comfort, like many of you, and had a terrific time, but that's a tale I will let others tell. Suffice it to say that it was an impressively-managed gathering that offered something for anyone who can fit under the big pink circus tent with the blue TG logo. Make your plans for next year, you are guaranteed to have a good time.
It's the aftermath of that convention that really marks time and illustrates what I've learned about myself and others in the past year. Following the completion of SCC, I was obligated to drive directly to Atlantic City for the Expocon East Coast Video Show, which is a personal and professional touchstone that I build my year around annually. When you have to make a 650-mile drive, you have a lot of time to think and enough privacy so that you can converse with yourself without having people render value judgments about your sanity and/or lack of same. What spurred the bout of deep thought in the vicinity of Greensboro, NC, was, as usual, a song lyric:
"I woke up this morning, feeling so rested and young,
My mind was clear of all the problems that have filled my head,
Couldn't quite understand why, I felt so fine, I felt so free,
But beyond it all, as I turned towards them, then I understood, it all came clear"
Oh, Thank You Great Spirit, Terry Kath ( from Chicago VIII )
I spent quite a few miles between Atlanta and Atlantic City, and again from Atlantic City to Louisville, contemplating what I've learned and discovered about myself and others over the last year. Last year's ECVS came under much more unpleasant conditions, and the contrast between the two periods of time a mere year apart was unbelievable. Confidence is the word that sums it up best. I respect danger and take most necessary precautions, but I've definitely learned that you can do nearly anything crossdressed, and if you can do some of the things I've done in the past year crossdressed, your confidence in nearly any situation will grow exponentially. Spending the 5 days of Southern Comfort crossdressed is expected; traveling to and from there is a bit riskier (or risque, depending on the cut of the dress); but when you take the risk of being discovered by your peers and go out publicly, you know you've made it. The old principal of "act like you belong and everyone will assume you do" usually applies to most situations a transperson faces, and when you pull off the crazy risk and have it pay off, that confidence carries over to your professional and family life, to your benefit
ECVS is structured much as Southern Comfort is, with seminars by day, and social events by evening. Unlike SCC, you are on your own for meals, but with the convention taking place near the Boardwalk, there is no shortage of possibilities for that - that's something casinos are famous for. The social events are sponsored by movie studios, industry groups, equipment suppliers, and magazines, and are "theme parties". Video store managers, studio reps, and show business people tend, as a group, towards being very wild, flamboyant, and more than a bit crazy. I see many of the same people annually, and they know me, thanks to my unusual last name and tenure in the business; I exchange Email with some of them, in fact. The only real obstacles to open dressing are the fact that my nametag (the wearing of which they enforce rigidly, and which has a magnetic strip so that items you purchase on the show floor can be billed to the store) said "Anthony Casebeer - Video Vault of Okolona", and the fact that I was Video Store Magazine's Handicapper of the Week the very week of the show, which was mentioned everywhere I went. Obviously, attending seminars as Anthony was necessary, but the evenings...well, that was another matter.
I broke the Atlanta-to-Atlantic City trip up in College Park, MD; checked in to a motel, retouched my makeup (I was traveling femme), grabbed a quick meal at Applebee's, and then proceeded to the scene of previous atrocities: the infamous Mr. Eagan's, on Connecticut Ave. NE in D.C. Ginny wasn't working that night, but the tall blonde girl who was made me feel right at home, and one of the regulars who was there the night 'Nessa, Shannon, Sarah, and I visited during Lobby Days happened to drop in. We chatted for quite awhile, and enjoyed a few Murphy's Irish Stouts. I left a note for Ginny, informing her that we'd be lobbying again next spring, and that we'd let her know in more detail when it got closer. A nice, quiet, welcoming evening for a weary traveler.
Monday morning, I had to let "the guy" take over, since I was driving directly to the Atlantic City Convention Center. The Monday seminar ended about 430 PM, and I checked into my room out in Absecon, NJ. (The idea of paying $120 per night to stay in a casino, versus $35 for Super 8 should be obvious.) Anne comes out to play again! I put on a navy skirt and blouse, fixed my hair and face, and went shopping in King of Prussia, PA, which boasts the largest mall in the Northeast, supposedly. I can't confirm that, but I do know this: I had no shortage of possibilities; the only problem was the money involved. Nordstrom's, Bloomingdale's, Neiman-Marcus, and Macy's are wonderful stores, but the prices were more obscene than the adult videos I rent for a living. After returning to Atlantic City empty-handed, while looking for place to dine (My policy when traveling is to never eat at a restaurant that I can enjoy at home), I spotted MY STORE: Value City. Yes, wild and woolly Value City, the trannie's paradise, where you can find, well, the same black velvet dress that Bloomingdale's wanted $155 for, for $29.95. I bought 2! Not to mention some very fancy black Hanes hose with lace thighs for $2! Yes! Yes! Yes! A fast stop at Kmart to pick up makeup, and I was ready for the next night.
Tuesday, I watched and participated in a number of seminars dealing with buying groups, the state or the video business, pay-per-view windows, talked to some of my "annual" friends, and shopped the show floor. The last seminar ended at 430PM, and I returned to the Super 8 t get ready for the "Video Business/Video Store/PolyGram Home Video Karaoke Party". Black velvet dress, spike heels, dramatic makeup, curled my hair,
painted my nails (which were still "done" from Southern Comfort, but were unpolished for daytime discretion), then gave Miss Thang a look in the mirror, and a twirl, letting my short dress fly and expose my lacy thighs. I can't begin to describe the power I felt: Given a series of days dressed, I get into practice; I had the look right, the voice right, and, frankly, I was hot and knew it! I strutted out the door, keys in hand, and noticed a couple guys do a double take and watch me climb into the van, lust in their eyes. I've had that look before, I'd know it anywhere! Drove to Bally's, parked, and while walking to the casino entrance, I had a passing motorist, male of course, damned near wreck his Toyota Tacoma while looking backwards at me - I shot him a seductive smile and tossed my head, hair flowing. Flirting!!! I took the moving walkway into the casino, a well-dressed gentleman who was escorting an elegant lady held the door for me, and was clearly comparing me with his date! I thanked him demurely, and strutted past the baccarat and blackjack tables, past the slot machines and roulette wheels, out to the Boardwalk, and down to Planet Hollywood for dinner. A bit of lasagna, and then up the golden main escalator that spans 4 stories in the atrium lobby to the Ocean B Room for the party. The usher at the door asked for my nametag, and I demurely asked her this: "I have it in my purse, I didn't want to put a hole in this dress. Could you discreetly look at it, and let me keep it there?" "Sure, hon", she replied, I showed it to her, and she was shocked! "I never would have known! You look fabulous! Nobody will ever know. Have a great time!" I strutted to the cash bar, ordered a glass of wine, and sat down to look over the karaoke selections; selected "These Are Days" and "White Rabbit", handed in my requests, and returned to the bar, where a gent who taught a lecture that I attended earlier in the day bought me the first of several drinks! I looked familiar to him, and he remembered the "guy with glasses" who attended his lecture from my store, but I convinced him that the "guy" was my boss. I sang both songs in femme voice, and not even the karaoke operator was the wiser; he was the editor of Video Business Magazine, and knows the "guy!" My challenge, come the end of the night was 3fold: One, how to get out of the casino on 3" heels while tipsy; two, the drive back to the motel in Absecon without spending the night femme in jail in New Jersey; and three: how to get rid of the guy. Mom didn't teach me that trick! I finally told him that my boyfriend was meeting me at 1AM for a snack after gambling, and that got me loose. I glided out and proceeded home, brimming with confidence.
The rest of the convention was uneventful and professional. I departed after the Wednesday session, and drove to Pennsylvania, checked into a Holiday Inn, femmed out, then went to a restaurant recommended to me by Angela Bridgman, the Ship Inn in Exton. The grilled chicken and mushrooms was wonderful, and I returned to the hotel, touched up, and went to the bar to watch the Indians-Orioles game. The two other patrons of the bar struck up a conversation, and read me after awhile; I was truthful - explained to them that I was transgendered, and answered their questions; something I never mind doing. They were friendly, and we enjoyed the game, a few Dock Street Amber Bocks, and some good conversation. Thursday, I put on a little black dress and drove home through PA, OH, and KY, using the rest areas as needed with no mishaps. Home was welcome.
ECVS is, as I said earlier, an annual touchstone for me. Last year, I was very scared, closeted, and knew that I needed to let that other side of me roam free. This year, she was free to run amok, and she had a lot of fun. The lesson here is an old one: you set your own limits. You can do anything you set your mind to, and the limitations are yours to decide upon. I like taking risks, and have few professional or societal limitations on my crossdressing, so I see myself as a pioneer. I don't mind taking the point position for others to follow, and so far, I've found no need for a Kevlar corset. The fun is yours to experience, but being careful is important. I took some definite risks on this trip, but they paid off in fun and an incredible adrenaline rush. Care to join me in public? It's fun out there....
Freedom and Mascara, Anne Casebeer
Tennessee Vals Newsletter, November 1997
Are you keeping your kids safe from those evil Disney movies? You don't dare let your families be corrupted by "Beauty and the Beast, do you? The evil subliminal sexual message embedded in "The Lion King" isn't going to be noticed by your offspring, right? The precious young minds under your care had better not ever see the cover of "The Little Mermaid", lest they see the phallic symbol that the evil Disney company left there to titilate those young minds.
Ridiculous? Totally, but the ruling morons of the Southern Baptist Convention thinks you need to protect your families from the evil clutches of Mickey Mouse. Why? A number of reasons, but the main one they cite is the fact that Disney corporately extends health insurance benefits to the significant others of full-time employees without regard for their sexual preference. For some reason, the Southern Baptist Convention thinks that this is good reason to boycott Disney. Additionally, Disney has been accused of placing a subliminal sexual message in the stampede scene of "Lion King", and of placing a phallic symbol on the cover art for "Little Mermaid". Disney, to their credit, won't give in to this overimaginative bigotry.
Now, you could read about this in your local newspaper. Why does this belong in your friendly neighborhood transgendered support group newsletter? Simply, you need to know why some companies extend benefits like this, and why we should support them for doing so. This issue also points to the reasons why we must continue pushing for employment rights, and keep working for acceptance publicly.
Disney doesn't have to extend benefits to the spouses of their employees - no company is compelled to do that by law. The company I work for does not even provide health insurance. due to vagaries of Kentucky law and the costs involved. Disney could do the same thing if they wished. They could choose to extend to spouses only -not to same-sex partners. Disney chose to extend these benefits not because they were trying to be particularly gay-friendly: don't kid yourselves. Their benefits program is structured the way it is strictly for one reason: it's hard to find good people, and Disney has found that this is one way to attract them. There are a number of companies involved in show business, and Disney wants the cream of the crop to work for them, instead of Time Warner, Viacom/Paramount, or SKG DreamWorks. People with "alternative lifestyles" tend to be attracted to the footlights of show business; how many of us in Cross-Port have acted in plays or played music? Many of us, I'm sure. It's a place where some of the trappings of transgenderism are part of the job. How many people really understand how computerized cartooning works? How many people can compose the music, master the videotapes, market the product, so forth. This was a business decision for Disney, a decision based on the profit motive, made with the knowledge that doing the right thing also would be the best business move.
There's a lesson here for transgendered people. Our rights in the workplace right now partly depend on the profit motive. You will gain and hold employment on two criteria: your ability to perform your job more effectively and profitably than someone else who is available, and your ability to function as a team player. You must pay attention to both of these, especially if you intend to transition and/or undergo SRS. Your co-workers may not approve of your lifestyle, let alone the boss, plus that unseen boss called "the customer", and, folks, get this: they legally don't have to. The only way to combat that is to be more effective at your job, and more team-oriented than anyone else that could be hired. You must walk the rope daily, taking an "in your face" attitude won't help anyone except your replacement.
While I'm on the subject of showbiz, those of you who enjoy movies might want to look at a copy of the July issue of GQ Magazine. SKG DreamWorks is in postproduction on a movie called "God", which will have the distinction of being the most expensive movie ever made - the shooting budget has exceeded $250 million. The movie's story line is a loose amalgam of the Book of Revelations and Joan Osborne's "One of Us". It stars Brad Pitt as God (originally, it was to be Marlon Brando at $10 million), Elizabeth Shue as God's love interest, Tom Hanks as the Antichrist (who is a Religious Reich Senator in the mold of Fred Thompson), and Nicolas Cage as Hanks' legislative assistant. The tentative opening scene starts with God being attacked by 3 transvestites, armed with knives and long fingernails; He smotes 2 of them in a quick burst of Industrial Light and Magic, asks them to say hello to Lucifer, and blinds the remaining one. To his credit, Brad Pitt did not like this scene, stating that "Hey, I don't thing this is something God would do", and it was rewritten and reshot with a much more merciful tone. That was nice of Brad Pitt, but what were the writers of this script thinking? There are 14 listed authors, including David Koepp (Jurassic Park, The Lost World), Nora Ephron (Sleepless in Seattle), William Goldman (The Princess Bride), and Carrie Fisher (Postcards from the Edge); one would hope that these people really don't think that transgendered people either attack people with knives and fingernails, or are destined to say hello to the guy with the pitchfork and red suit. I will be going to see this movie as soon as it appears, mostly because I'm interested in moviemaking, like the cast and director (Michael Bay of "The Rock"), and want to see what $300 million looks like on screen. I really expect to be disappointed. It sounds suspiciously like a cross between "Waterworld" and "Last Temptation of Christ" to me. One would expect any movie that portrays God as a mortal man, a slob, with a love interest, to attract the ire of the Religious Reich. If that opening scene stays in, could those of us who call ourselves transgendered find ourselves boycotting the same movie as the Southern Baptists? You never know.....
Freedom and Mascara! Anne Casebeer
CrossPort InnerView, August 1997
"Hooollyy Cowww, Steeeve! Lookee there, right under the press box!
Lookit that! Whadda call them guys who wanna be goils, transistors? That
one, right there, that one there, she must be 6' tall! Lookit that red
hair! Better get me another Bud!" "Harry, I think they're called
transvestites, not transistors - and they do seem to be having fun at the
ol' ballpahk!" "Right you are, Steeeve. Lookit, oneaddem caught
that fowl bawl! He's havin' a good ol' time at the bawlpahk, or she, ah
whatevvah!
No, don't get the wrong idea. This wasn't the Cubbies, just the Cincinnati Reds and Atlanta Braves, and Harry Caray and Steve Stone were nowhere to be found. I don't know if the ol' left hander, Joe Nuxhall, or Marty Brennaman, the Reds' announcers, noticed Angela or myself right under the press box at Cinergy Field, in the middle of the green seats directly behind home plate, but I guess it doesn't matter. What mattered is this: here we were, a TS and a CD, out at the baseball game, clad in nice, cool, short denim skirts and loose tops - and nobody ever gave us a sideways glance. In fact, the lady at the Heineken kiosk popped and poured my brewskis, and spoke to me with all the proper ma'ams and ladylike respect. "Did you ladies enjoy the game?" was asked of Angela by a street vendor on Pete Rose Way. The answer is, absolutely. You'd better believe it! Were we read? Absolutely, but nobody bothered us, and why should they? We were just a couple a cute ladies having a good time at the ballpark, like 35,000 other good people.
Like many good times, this was completely unplanned. My houseguest,
Angela Bridgman, and I, were driving from Columbus, Ohio, where I purchased
some custom-made kitchen cupboards from Cathy Platine, the President of
Crystal Club, and a friend from GenderPAC Lobby Days in May. I have a policy
of doing business with others in the gender community whenever possible,
providing this is encouraged by the parties involved. Her work is impeccable,
and looks fabulous in my kitchen. While in Columbus, we enjoyed an evening
meeting with the fine folks at Crystal Club, finally closing down a club
called "Wall Street" with several of the group members.
On our way back south on I-71 the next day, we happened to turn on WLW, just in time to hear Jack McKeon, the new manager of the Reds, discuss the impossible dream; how to hit the pitches of Greg Maddux, of the Atlanta Braves. The radio station confirmed that plenty of tickets were left for this Sunday afternoon game, and the plot thickened. We stopped in a Shell station near Morrow, OH., for fuel, and changed out of our very prim and proper tight skirts and frilly blouses, substituting short denim skirts and cool, loose tops in the ladies' room. With little time to spare, we tore through Cincinnati at noon like an oil slick fire, and exited at Pete Rose Way, sliding into a parking spot about 3 blocks from Cinergy Field, as the "Star Spangled Banner" played. For those of you who haven't partaken of the great American pastime in person, it's quite a spectacle. Television does not do justice to the game of baseball, and neither does the Astroturf-matted Cinergy Field. I much prefer Fenway Park in Boston, Red Sox fan that I am, and Angela is still nostalgic for the old Comiskey Park on the South Side of Chicago, her hometown. One takes what one has available, and the atmosphere of a Sunday afternoon at the ballpark is one of the simple pleasures of life. The sounds of "Get yer peanuts here!", and the ever-popular "Iceee cold Bud, get yer Iceee cold Bud!" fill the air; kids with their parents, the tykes carrying mitts just in case; everyone wearing red and white jerseys; and the aroma of hot dogs complete the scene. It's heaven for a couple hours, and I usually don't care if I ever get back...
We made our way to our seats, purchased from a scalper desperate to unload his crop of good green seats behind home plate for nearly face value. By the way, the scalper was smart enough to ma'am us, and that helped; the temperature was 98 degrees, and I know my makeup was beginning to melt. We sat down, procured beers, and I studied the pinpoint control and pitch selection of Greg Maddux; boy-crazed Angela was fixated on Chipper Jones' gluteal musculature. The Braves took an early lead from Dave Burba, the Reds' pitcher, who left early with back problems, which they held the rest of the way. Their lead was threatened in the bottom of the 9th, when Deion Sanders singled, stole 2nd, then scored on a single by Reggie Sanders, but the Reds could not maintain the rally in the face of Mark Wohlers' 97-mph fastballs. The Braves won 3-2, and the high point for us was when Chipper Jones hit a pop foul-directly at Angela! She caught it in self defense, and we waited for the press to arrive, imagining headlines like this: "Trannie catches foul ball at Cinergy Field". Or, is that "Trannie wanting to have them removed catches another?".
All good things must end, and despite a pinch-hit and stolen base by Deion Sanders, the Braves emerged victorious. By this time, my knees were screaming for mercy from being crammed into a narrow aisle, and we were both ready for my Caravan's air conditioning. A pizza was in order, and we stopped at the LaRosa's Pizza on Buttermilk Pike in Crescent Springs, KY., for some of that good hearth-baked pizza that we don't have in Louisville, KY. Desiree was our waitress, and she greeted us with the proper ma'ams, and later talked to us frankly about our day at the ballpark and our attire. I would not be surprised if she knew other crossdressers.
In the past months, I've taken on some very unusual crossdressing destinations. I've been to the ballpark, I've attended 2 concerts (Crosby, Stills, and Nash, and John Fogerty) femme, sung karaoke, driven on long distance trips through God-forsaken West Virginia, and lobbied Congress twice. On no occasion have I received any problems whatsoever. Yes, I get the occasional sideways glance, stage whisper, or question about why I might dress this way. I don't mind that. Criticism of my crossdressing doesn't bother me, because, after all, I am very much a guy in a dress - and that's OK. We exist, and we're tired of hiding, and guess what, boys and girls; we don't have to.
Freedom and Mascara! Annette Louise Casebeer
CrossPort InnerView, September 1997; TG Forum
Have you met any gin-soaked barroom queens from Memphis lately? Did any of them try to take you upstairs for a ride? No? You obviously weren't in Vanderbilt Stadium October 26th, when the Rolling Stones brought the "Bridges to Babylon" tour to Nashville. So, aside from the fact that Mick Jagger is an original gender-bending mascara-wearing rock star, what does this have to do with your friendly neighborhood gender group newsletter? Well, Editor Jennileigh decided that Mick's visit needed to be covered for this publication. Unless you plan to get no satisfaction, a job of this magnitude is just too difficult to be handled by just some girls, and we made a team effort of this. Of course, when the chance comes to see the Stones in concert, wild horses can't keep me away. It might only be rock n' roll, but I like it. Jenni obtained the tickets, and plans were made. We briefly considered soaking ourselves in gin for the occasion, but changed our minds when I remembered that I can't stand martinis. Since neither of us are from Memphis, we decided that to properly cover this story, we had to go ahead and be queens instead, which is a risk in itself in a crowd of 44,000 some-odd fans of the World's Greatest Rock N' Roll Band. But, as Hunter S. Thompson always preaches, a reporter must do whatever is necessary to COVER THE STORY AT ALL COSTS. After all, it could be the last time they will tour, I don't know. I started up later that I expected, so I never stopped the entire way to Nashville, and arrived with seconds to spare, still looking like a rainbow. Time waits for no one, after all, but this time, it was on my side. Jenni handed me the ticket, which I put in my purse and kept safely under my thumb, and we boarded the bus for the trip to Vanderbilt. Upon leaving the bus, we were engulfed in a massive crowd pouring through the turnstiles, and we slid on by, despite the fact that we were dressed like honky tonk women. Fortunately, both of us are sufficiently practiced at the art of deception, Sheryl Crow was providing the soundtrack as we made our way to our seats, and she was right; if it makes you happy, it can't be that bad.
Sheryl Crow finished her set, and we waited for the sky to be painted black, so the full splendor of the lighting and pyrotechnics that makes a Stones concert special could unfold. Around 6PM, the lights dimmed, the video monitors came on, and Mick Jagger and friends emerged, singing "Satisfaction". There are no other groups that can unload the arsenal of great rock n' roll songs that the Stones can, and unload they did: "Flip the Switch" and "Anybody Seen My Baby?" from "Bridges to Babylon" , "Honky Tonk Women", "Sympathy for the Devil", "Jumpin' Jack Flash", "Miss You", "Sister Morphine", "Faraway Eyes", "Start Me Up", "Gimme Shelter", "You Can't Always Get What You Want", "The Last Time", "Little Queenie", and "Brown Sugar", to name a few selections. This is the 6th time I've seen the Stones in concert, but the first time since 1981, and they have never been sharper musically than now; Darrell Jones is actually an improvement on bass over Bill Wyman, in my humble opinion. Jagger does not move onstage like a man in his 50s, and Keith Richards looks remarkably healthy for someone who has already died many times over. They also brought keyboardist Chuck Leavell, formerly of the Allman Brothers Band, and Bobby Keys on tenor saxophone, as well as an excellent background vocal section and a couple of brass players; they added greatly to the sound. Our seats did not give the greatest view of the stage, but well-placed video monitors filled in what we were unable to see, and the sound quality was excellent. Following the concert, we took the bus back out to our vehicles in Donelson, and dined at Ruby Tuesday's. Following that, I had to become the midnight rambler, and head back towards Louisville.
Now, going to concerts isn't unusual for me. I've attended countless rock concerts in many cities, but the manner of attire was important here. Both of us took the calculated risk of going femme; it was a cold, windy day, and we dressed as two women would dress for such an occasion. Despite being crunched into a crowd of 44,000 people, we were largely ignored. Is that because we pass? No, at 6' tall and 215 pounds, the only way I can say I'm sure to pass is on the interstate, I'm realistic enough to know that. The point of doing things like attending a Stones' concert femme is this: acceptance. It should not matter at an event like this one how people choose to dress, and for a crossdresser like myself, that's all I'm seeking: the right to present as I wish without repercussions. The more times people see us out properly attired, the easier it gets. I'm finding that nearly anything I'd enjoy doing in male mode works femme, if common sense is followed. Common sense involves dressing for the occasion. Yes, we all enjoy 3" stiletto heels, micro-mini skirts, and tight tops, but only for the right occasions. If you are going to a Stones' concert, try a pair of jeans and a sweater, or leggings and a sweatshirt, for instance, which is what we did, and what a genetic female would have worn. When we dress appropriately, even if we're clocked, we don't come off as being too unusual, or at least we raise questions and doubts. At this point in my life, I enjoy questions about my presentation from anyone, and never mind answering even the most inane questions about why I might wish to go out in public in a dress and makeup. It's part of my life; one I'm at peace with and enjoy after many years of denial, suppression, and hiding; and a lifestyle I'm proud of. If they ask about it, I'll tell 'em. We make friends one at a time, and nearly every time I get out in public, I get that chance. It's easy to go to "gay" bars and clubs, but the education happens when we go out in "straight" public, and that's what I'm enjoying most these days; the thrill of going most anywhere and doing anything, and having the chance to legitimize our presence in society with the general public. It's working.
Freedom and Mascara! Anne Casebeer
Tennessee Vals Newsletter, December 1997
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