Upcoming
Group Meetings
Tennessee Vals Newsletter MAY 2002
Upcoming
Group Meetings
In This Issue:
The Queens Throne by Marisa
"JarJarMustDie" Richmond
marisaval@aol.com
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away....there must have been a society in which all lived in peace and respected each other despite various differences. Unfortunately, in our own time and place, we have not yet achieved that goal, but if we keep trying, we can certainly accomplish this. You can't stop change any more than you can stop the suns from setting. Thus, we must all be vigilant in standing up for everyone's rights-even when we do not belong to that particular group. Thus, it made me quite proud to see recognition for Denzel Washington and Halle Berry at this year's Oscars. I just hope that the barrier they overcame has been lowered forever for all. If it has been, then we will all benefit.
Well, we finally made it through! We survived hosting the IFGE Convention here in Nashville. Several of us here put in a lot of effort over the past few months planning all sorts of logistics. For those of you who live locally and missed it-shame on you! That doesn't mean it was easy. At several points, one person or another said, 'I have a bad feeling about this,' but the rest of us just figured there is much anger in that one and persevered. It is also easy to criticize the efforts of others when you are not willing to step up and produce yourself. As we got into all the details and issues, some said, 'I thought they smelled bad on the outside.' But in the end, hard work and intense planning pays its own rewards.
It began with a Vals' hosted BBQ reception. It appeared to go well. Several arrived hungry fresh off the interstates or airplanes, so even bad tasting rotten food probably would have gotten a good review as long as it was filling. On Thursday, the convention had to endure my Plenary Session speech in the morning. Then, the very person who can be credited with starting the transgender community, Dr. Virginia Prince, gave a Farewell Address (she is 89 and slowing down!) that was punctuated by a power outage in the area.
On Friday, I attended my last IFGE board meeting as a voting member. I decided not to run for reelection in order to catch my breath after a year of whirlwind activity. Anyway, we reviewed a Five Year Plan, called "A Call for Action," which will hopefully place IFGE back in the center of gender community activities. This community has changed and evolved since IFGE was founded in 1986. At that time, the Internet did not exist, nor did many regional conventions or local groups like the Tennessee Vals. In order to stay relevant, IFGE has had to reposition itself in this changing community. I believe that it can do that, provided fundraising can improve. The organization has reduced costs and is now operating in the black, but the rest of the community must step forward with financial support if The Plan is going to come to fruition. The Plan was authored by Erica Lee of Montana (if you think you're the only one, imagine living in Montana!) and Lisa Scheps of Illinois. They are both emerging as new players on the scene. We will watch your career with great interest. Everyone also kept calling Lisa "adorable," but when I saw her ID one night while we were sitting at the bar, I noticed that she is actually older than me. I just hope I look that "adorable" when I get to be her age....
Also on Friday, I received special recognition as one of the recipients of a Trinity Award for my years of service through AEGIS, IFGE, Renaissance, Southern Comfort and, of course, the Vals. Then they took it back. Actually, I was told they were redesigning the award, so the old design was used in the public ceremony, while I will receive the new design in the mail. I do all this because I enjoy helping people, not for awards. I do believe that they think I am some sort of god. I would have been perfectly happy with a pre-paid, open bar tab. Still, I no longer have to sit here wondering When Will I Be Loved. It is nice to know that you like me because I am a scoundrel. Only one other Trinity Award winner was present: Courtney Sharp of New Orleans. It was a real pleasure to meet and talk with her and I look forward to further exchanges with a very remarkable person in the future. Friday, several Vals members entertained the crowd with a special Variety Show we had put together. Despite the extreme nervousness of the entire cast, it went very well. People actually laughed. On Saturday, the annual Virginia Prince Award, the community's highest honor for service, was given, most deservedly, to Holly Boswell of Asheville, North Carolina. Holly and I tend to approach gender issues from different perspectives-she is more spiritual while I tend to be more political-but I have long been impressed with her work and dedication. It is this diversity of interest and talent that helps our cause. It is also worth noting that three of the weekend's award recipients live in the South. This says something about the work being done in a region of the country that, historically, trailed other regions in progressive attitudes.
Saturday evening, nearly two dozen convention attendees went to the Pride Ball at The Parthenon. It was fascinating watching people's reactions when they looked up at the 12.6 meter statue of Athena. You could tell that many could not believe that Nashville had such a thing.
When I was a kid and I used to bulls-eye Womp Rats in my T-16, I was not one of those who believed I was the only one. I just knew I was not that unique. But I did often wonder where the others were and how to find them. You can imagine the feeling of incredulity at having up to 120 people in one room here in Nashville. It was totally awesome.
All in
all, I hope everyone who attended had a good time. All of the comments I
heard about the convention, Nashville, and the Vals were all glowing, but
now that everyone is back home, the truth will undoubtedly surface. We will
be watching other newsletters for reviews of our efforts.
Now that the convention is over for me, I will have to find something new to do. Maybe I can find a decent movie this month. May the Force Be With You.
A
Blonde, Brunette AND Redhead
byJulie
Phillips FabulBabe@aol.com
Ode to City Living
It's easy to get lost in the city. There's the always popular "where in the hell are we" way. Even after living in Nashville for ten years, I still can't travel in parts of the city without using a map. If you say to me, "It's easy to find. You can't miss it," rest assured I'll be calling a half-hour late and fifteen miles off target.
But it's easy to get lost in the "just another face in the crowd" way. That's actually a major appeal for many people. The city attracts non-traditionalists of all types who love the anonymity and the privacy that a huge crowd affords. Cities have always been a haven for gay and transgendered people who couldn't live their lives in Smalltown, USA under the watchful eye of a nosy neighbor peeking through her blinds. Having grown up in a Hooterville kind of town, I welcomed the privacy and freedom of a city, along with the entertainment options not available at Sam Drucker's General Store.
So Mr. Wonderful and I were headed back home after a night on the town. We were driving down Broadway, which if you're unfamiliar with Nashville, is the main downtown street. One of those huge house-sized SUV's packed full of people pulls beside us on our left. The right rear window rolls down and a 20-ish woman sticks her head out and yells to get our attention.
"Hey," she says. "Are you a performer?" My immediate thought is, "Oh, hell, I wore too much makeup again! And I tried to dress down tonight!"
"Yes," I said back. "I do some shows here in town at the Cabaret."
"Is your name Regine Phillips?" she asked. Regine Phillips is a performer at The Connection here in town, so at least she had the right last name.
"Close. I'm Julie Phillips."
The traffic's moving again, so here we are yelling back and forth between vehicles, me trying to stay in my lane. Then she recognized Mr. Wonderful sitting beside me.
She yelled, "Aren't you the couple who got married?" She was referring to our commitment ceremony we had last summer. As far as I know, I've never seen her before in my life---but she sure knew us.
"Yeah. That's us!" I responded.
"Very cool! I'm happy for you two. I just wanted to say hi." Then the SUV forked left, we waved, they all waved, and then they were gone.
What an odd, though wonderful, experience that was. We didn't recognize these people, but at night, in downtown traffic, they recognized us and said hello. Little experiences like that make me feel like I belong.
But there goes my theory about the anonymity of the city. Maybe going brunette will throw people off.
My Closet by Leslie Louise DuPaix lldupaix@hotmail.com
Healing
Healing, being well, and being cured are not necessarily the same thing. Being "cured" suggests that whatever was bothering you, has gone away and now you can forget about it. Being "well" suggests that one is doing OK and functioning in a healthy manner. "Healing" implies having been something other than well and moving towards wellness. Both healing and wellness should suggest some responsibility to keep the new healthy condition continuing.
My therapist was moving out of the area, and had told me that we needed to wrap things up. If I wanted, she would try to connect me with another therapist. I told her if she could find a good match, I might be interested, but that basically I thought we had pretty well accomplished what we had set out to do. I told her that I wanted a status report of how she saw me. She laughed.
"Well," she said, "you are better than most of the people I am seeing." She paused, smiled and added, "you are better than most of the people I am not seeing." We both laughed. So a lot of healing has taken place, and I am "well," or certainly healing, in the eyes of a trusted professional. Scary, when I think about it too much.
In 1999 I finally realized that I was not well at all. In fact, I had been becoming less well for at least 10 years, but the decline was so subtle I easily denied it. Near the end of 1999 enough things went wrong that I went over the edge and sought help. Without going into all of the details there were at least three workplace situations developing that stressed me out along with another 2 or 3 things at home that were not healthy at all. For the record, the T-thing was not a major thread in all of this unraveling.
I was able to hide all of this from the general public, and although it was plain that something was wrong, enough folks knew of the work problems, so few questions were asked and "work problems" provided an adequate explanation if anyone cared. Internally I had pretty well hit emotional and spiritual bottom. So much so, that the diagnosis of the therapist was very revealing. She could have quite easily satisfied the insurance folks with any of a number of things, but chose PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, something usually applied to observing or being close to death or near-death situations. It is also applicable to major threats to emotional and mental "life." I thought it was a very insightful diagnosis.
Barbara Brennan, a wonderful healer/practicing in New York says: "Anywhere in your personal experience where you are separated from your true self, it will show in the human energy field, and will eventually, as a result of distortion in the energy field, cause a disease in the body. Either it will weaken the body so an infection can come in or it will cause a disease." (Quoted in "Idiot's Guide to being Psychic" page 144). The separation from my true selves was taking place at home, at work and at play. My T-self was only one of my "true selves" being threatened by others.
I only mention all of the above as sort of a set-up piece, as they say on the 5 O'clock news, to establish some credibility and background for what follows.
Some 3 years later I have removed myself from the toxic relationship at home and at work. Having got a handle on my reaction to all of the stress in my life, I have continued to take a close look at the T-thing, and as I have said, that was not an especially significant part of the unraveling. So when my therapist said I was better than most, it represented a lot of work and healing.
In my trip out west, one of the people I am close to has a chiropractor that does more than just crack bones and joints. He can read what is going on in a patient by how the body reacts to substances held in the patient's hand and how the body reacts to questions. My friend has had such wonderful results from him, that she makes sure that anyone open to healing has an appointment with him. So I found myself in the good doctor's office with a filled out questionnaire. As I have said, he goes beyond aches and pains, so I mentioned my T-ness. His first reaction was to assure himself that I was not a very successful FTM. I assured him I was not, and added that I had done a lot of work on this issue and felt that it was no longer really an issue at all, but brought it up only because the questionnaire seemed to be interested.
He discovered I was allergic to corn and sugar (not a big surprise). He started asking and reading the physical responses to questions related to the T-thing. Several times he exclaimed, "You have really done a lot of work." Finally he said that he had seen more than a few folks with issues similar to mine, and they usually had a lot of problems that showed up in sessions like the one we were having, and that I indeed had done a lot of work and it had been effective. He cured me of my sugar allergy and invited me back for another session to get rid of the corn allergy, but I did not have the time. A point I think significant was that he did not feel that working on the T-thing was something that needed to be done. So I am inclined to suspect he really did know what he was doing, and did not find any T issues needing work.
Conventional medicine looks at all problems as being physical. Psychiatry sees there being an inter-play between the mind and the body (although sometimes it gets carried away with chemical manipulation of the physical and does little with the mind). Shamanism sees all things reflecting the state of the soul that in turn affect the mind and the body. In short order I encountered references to this in two different books I was reading and an audio book I listened to going through New Mexico. So when my broker, of all people, mentioned there was a Medicine Woman in a very small town deep in the hills doing healings, I was very interested. That was not coincidental but Jungian synchronicity.
The weekend after talking portfolios and shamanism with my broker found me laying on a quilt in a beautiful house in a valley in the Ozarks with a Lakota drumming tape on the player, and smoldering sage in an abalone shell at my head. Part of the healing involves the Shaman going to the other world in your place to see what soul parts are missing and recovering them. S/he also comes back and reports on the state of your soul. In my case she confirmed that I had left part of my soul out west and that I had recovered most of it on my own and added she had brought back the rest and reattached it to me. She correctly mentioned some other things she "saw" that I had not even thought about for years, but that were relevant. But her counsel to me was not, "Come back for another healing," but "Have fun. Follow your intuition!"
So an extremely ancient healing tradition, a very modern one, and an intermediate one have all pronounced me "well." One thing about being well is that life can hurt a lot more than when you are sick and feel nothing. Another is that staying balanced is easier. It does not mean that life cuts you any more slack, and that your problems decrease or go away. Only that you have a better chance of making better choices in your reactions to the problems.
Left
of Center by Pamela DeGroff
I'm a voracious reader. I always seem to have at least one book I'm half way through at the moment. Sometimes, I've even gotten bored with one book, laid it down to start another, only to go back and finish the first one because of the amount of time I've invested. I also subscribe to a couple of magazines, read the local paper, and do a lot of research on the Net.
A while back, I read RuPaul's "Lettin' It All Hang Out" as part of my research for the Perpetual Change music column I write for TGForum.com. In one of the first chapters, she describes her beauty regime in detail. Part of her "getting ready" process involves what she refers to as a "fierce tuck." That phrase-"fierce tuck"-caught my attention. I don't know about you, but just the concept of tucking is a pretty "fierce" thing in itself.
Tucking is one of those little secrets of crossdressing most of us learn the hard way. My first introduction to the phenomenon involved the use of duct tape. If you're going for a nice smooth look in that little black evening dress, compliments of the copious use of duct tape, your "fierce tuck" had better start with a very "fierce shave". If you miss even the most microscopic, minuscule follicle, guess what...? Duct tape don't take no prisoners, honey.
The way Ru describes her process, she takes what she calls a pair of tucking panties, smaller than her regular size, and crams the entire package aft. (That's a shipboard term meaning toward the back.) Then she makes sure everything's properly in place and goes about finishing dressing. Okay, that's her method. So, having had a very negative experience the one time I tried duct tape (that one, lone follicle, remember...?), I decided to try it. A super fierce shave wasn't needed, just the dexterity of a professional side show contortionist in order to get everything aligned correctly. I did manage a nice tight fit which enabled me to wear my slinkiest little black number with no embarrassment. Nevermind that my voice went up an octave and I was constantly aware of the fact I was born male. One wrong move, and I'd be able to fill out an application for the Vienna Boys Choir. The down side is that after an evening of partying at my favorite watering hole, I was sloshed enough not to notice the discomfort after a while. Inebriation and high heels don't make a good combination when one wishes to make a landing one can walk away from.
Also, I discovered that there are two kinds of bar stools in the world -- padded and otherwise. All it took was once for me to realize I didn't need to fill out the application for the choir -- I had just passed the audition. Now, back to my original thought (which was..? Oh yeah, my reading habits...)
Another book I finished reading around the same time was Tim Allen's "Don't Stand Too Close To A Naked Man". I have no idea why he chose that title, and he doesn't either, as he explains in the book itself. Granted, he's a professional comedian who's written a funny book, as you would expect, but there is one odd little quirk throughout: he writes a lot about penises. Okay, he's a straight, heterosexual male and there's absolutely nothing about trans issues or anything even remotely relating to GLBT life in the book. (As you would also expect.) The only reason I bring this up is because Mr. Allen seems to have what amounts to near reverence towards his maleness. He'd probably faint at the concept of tucking. When you're a transgendered male, but not transsexual, you too start to develop a real reverence towards your...uh, equipment. Since you're planning on keeping it, it's always a good thing not to damage it.
But here's the dilemma: all those tight fitting little mini-dresses that are all the rage. When you're young, or still pretending to be, then you probably have a couple in the closet. You know exactly the dress I'm talking about, too. The "you better have a fierce shave, fierce tuck; be taped, strapped, even bolted down, and don't drop anything important" kind. It has less material than a standard dinner napkin and cost about a week's salary. But hey, this is the quintessential, sooooo sexy, ultimate, gotta have item. You're not ready to dress like grandma just yet. (Even though grandma's undergarments look more comfortable with each passing year.) I'm not ready to stop being even a part-time slave to fashion. However, there are ways to compromise. Blousey little skirts that aren't tight work well-just don't get too interested in anything that might awaken the old libido.
And of course, there is also the other "must have" garment I finally realized existed: the panty girdle. No muss, no fuss, no shaving, no tape, straps, bolts or c-clamps required. They're available through many different catalogs, and really are quite comfortable. They're a lot easier and user-friendly than other previously mentioned methods. Word of caution, though -- you still have to be mindful of how you sit. Well, thanks for staying with us this month, girlfriends.
Time for me to run...besides, I want to look over this travel guide to Vienna, just in case.
The French Riviera a
little adventure
by Chrysis Monaco
Marlon Ramsey joined the Navy to see the world. After boot camp in San Diego, Marlon attended "A" school in Norfolk to become a Quartermaster. Marlon moved up the Enlisted ranks quickly and made Third Class Petty Officer before the end of his first year of service. He was assigned to the U.S.S. Enterprise, which had just been ordered to a seven month cruise in the Mediterranean. Marlon had sort of a Brad Pitt look. He was assigned a billet in the office of the Assistant Executive Officer.
The Assistant XO was Lieutenant Commander Douglas Stone. He was born to be a Naval Officer. Commander Stone graduated in the top of his class at the Naval Academy. After earning his wings, he became an F-14 pilot. At the age of 32, Stone was the youngest Assistant XO in the history of the Enterprise. Commander Stone had the good looks and demeanor of Denzel Washington in the submarine film Crimson Tide. This was to be Stone's third Med cruise. At sea, Stone was all business. He adhered to the rule of not fraternizing with Enlisted sailors.
Marlon grew up in Oak Glenn, Tennessee, a small town near Nashville. He had a proclivity to feminine feelings. His hands and facial features were almost too delicate to be a boy. After high school, Marlon moved to Nashville. He experimented with crossdressing, and later joined a transgendered social and support group called the Tennessee Vals. Marlon took the femme name of Tiffany. Over the next three years, Tiffany developed a circle of friends through the Vals and worked on a feminine voice. But it was time for a change in life.
After a four week patrol in the Mediterranean, the U.S.S. Enterprise made a port call in Cannes, France for a three day liberty. Marlon's buddies pressured him to join them in a wild weekend of bar hopping. Marlon begged off, "I joined the Navy to see the world, so I'm going sightseeing." Actually, Marlon was aching to put on a dress. He was not able to bring his transie things on the cruise, so Marlon went shopping in Cannes. He bought a few outfits for the weekend, a wig, cosmetics, jewelry, lingerie, shoes, and most importantly, some French perfume. Marlon checked into a hotel to begin the transformation.
Alone in the hotel room, the feel of the girl's clothes was exhilarating. Tiffany selected a little black dress for the evening. After a final touch of lipstick, Tiffany looked at the final product in the mirror. She smiled and thought to herself, "If only my friends from the Vals could be here to share this night." Tiffany went for dinner at a quaint restaurant to get in the mood for a girl's night on the town. Afterwards, she went to a disco on the Rue Milange in the entertainment district of Cannes. Tiffany was sipping a cocktail when an American Naval Officer approached her table. Tiffany was frozen in place. The officer was Lieutenant Commander Stone. He spoke to her in the little French he knew, "Bonjour, Madamoiselle! My name is Doug. Would you like to dance?" Tiffany had taken French in high school. She answered, "Oui, Miseur!" In English with a pretended French accent, she added, "My name is Mylene. I speak a little English." Doug took her hand to dance.
Tiffany's heart was pounding after the dance…not from the dance, but for the shock of Commander Stone's presence and the good luck that he had not "made her" as a sailor. Doug came to Mylene's table and offered to buy her a drink. Mylene accepted the offer with a smile, "Merci beaucoup…Doug." Then Doug asked, "Say, we're having an open house on my ship tomorrow. How about coming and I'll show you around an aircraft carrier."
Mylene had two more days of liberty before reporting back to the ship. She was beginning to feel her oats. Mylene smiled, "Sure! That sounds like fun! I've never even been on a boat…much less an aircraft carrier!" She thought, "I may as well make the most of this. I can hardly believe I got to dress, but got a date too... and with my boss no less!"
Saturday morning, Mylene dressed in a pair of black slacks and white blouse. The Enterprise was anchored in the harbor. Mylene went to the dock and joined other visitors that were taking liberty boats to the ship. When Mylene reached the top of the ladder at the hangar deck, Doug was waiting for her. He smiled and took Mylene's hand to help her on to the deck. "I'm so pleased to see you! Come with me and I'll show you around." Doug took Mylene up to the flight deck so show her the planes. Even in slacks, the sailors with ship duty stared at the cute French girl with the Assistant XO. Mylene whispered to Doug, "I feel like their eyes are visually stripping me naked." Doug laughed, "Don't fret…they just finished a month at sea. After all, you are a beautiful woman." Mylene wrapped her arm under Doug's arm and smiled up at him.
Doug walked Mylene back to the hangar deck so that she could catch a liberty boat back to Cannes. Doug said, "I have one more day of liberty before we sail. Will you have Sunday brunch with me tomorrow?" Mylene blushed, "Yes, Doug, I would very much like to see you again. I will meet you on the dock at 11 am."
The Fleur de Lis was a crowded sidewalk café in downtown Cannes. Mylene wore a red slip dress. Doug and Mylene enjoyed brunch and bloody marys and lingered to talk and savor their last day together. Mylene decided that she should reveal the fact that she was a transie. To her relief, Doug simply replied, "I know." Mylene then replaced the truth with yet another fib by adding that her real name was Pierre. Finally, after they remained the last couple at the café, Doug reluctantly explained that he must return to the ship. "The Assistant XO has lots of duties to perform before we sail." Mylene asked, "Will you return to Cannes?" Doug answered, "I hope so." He added, "You have made this a wonderful weekend for me." Mylene took Doug's hand, "No, you are the one who has made this a wonderful weekend for me." Doug leaned over the table. Mylene leaned forward with closed eyes and pouted lips to receive his kiss. After the brief kiss, Doug spoke softly, "I will miss you." Mylene could only say "au revoir."
Doug stood and turned to walk away from the table. Perhaps it was the guilt of deception or the sadness of a goodbye. Tears welled in Mylene's eyes. Perhaps it was something more. A few steps from the table, Doug turned to look back at Mylene and said, "Petty Officer Ramsey, I will expect to see you at your station in uniform tomorrow morning at 0700." Mylene was too stunned to speak. Groping for words, she could only come up with a feeble "Yes Sir."
Commander Stone began to walk away. Once again, he stopped and turned to say, "And one more thing…the Enterprise will make a port call in Naples next month. Practice your Italian. I'm kind of partial to the name Sophia." Doug winked and left the Fleur de Lis. That Sunday night, a single reading lamp glowed over one of the bunks in Marlon's sleeping quarters on the ship. While his shipmates slept, Marlon began a letter, "Dear Tennessee Vals, Let me tell you about the French Riviera…"