I confess I was more than a bit skeptical when the soap opera “All My Children” announced they were adding a trans character. Rather than letting it gradually emerge out one of the existing characters, the show imported a new character, the Bowie-esque Zarf with great fanfare.
But even though it was clearly done get publicity — and to try to get some viewers — I’ve been favorably impressed by the actual treatment of Zarf, who’s now cross-living as “Zöe” (pretentious umlat and all). Turns out one of the writers is a friend of Helen and Betty, which is a good sign, and last week’s episodes did a good job of educating some of the challenges trans people face.
Zoe is attacked and left for dead by the Satin Slayer, the local serial killer (hey it is a soap opera) and when she’s found by J.R. he proceeds to insult her and leave her lying in the dirt. Eventually she’s found by another character and taken to the hospital, where one of the nurse mentioned that trans people are even more likely to be victims of hate crimes than gays and lesbians. When the local chief of police, who’s African-American, hears the Zoe’s attack is probably a hate crime rather than Satin Slayer, he promptly loses interest in investigating until he’s shamed into doing so by some of other characters, who point out that had Zoe been a racial minority he wouldn’t be blowing off her case. Given the folks I know who watch soaps, I suspect it’s those sorts of visceral experiences (what if you were attacked and no one would help you…) that will be more useful gaining their sympathy.
Anyway, all this is a long way of saying that in the near future Zoe will be visiting a trans support group — and what a support group it is. Betty will be there along with author Jenny Boylan, Andy Marra of the National Center for Transgender Equality, Kate Bornstein’s ex David Harrison (who had a small part in “Transamerica”) and several other transwomen and transmen. AMC did a taping yesterday where folks shared their stories, which will be edited into the program.
This in from Eve, who’s helping organize this year’s Trans March:
The next Gender Pirates show will be a benefit for the march. It’s Wednesday night, February 28th at El Rio,3158 Mission @ Precita. Doors open at 7:00 pm, show begin 8:00-11:00 p.m. $5-15 sliding scale, no one turned away for lack of funds.
Meanwhile Jimmy Kimmel took Wednesday’s appearance of Rebecca Romijn (who is currently portraying a transsexual woman on “Ugly Betty”) as excuse to engage in some Neanderthalish mocking of transsexuals.
Kudos to an obviously put-on-the-spot Romijn, who mentions that she had a friend who’s transsexual, and tries to do a little educating. Not that any of it seems to sink in with Kimmel, who jokes about someone learning a transgendered person has a penis and reacting by hitting them with an ax. Hysterical, huh. Perhaps they might try booking Gwen Araujuo’s mother to talk about that….
Helen and Betty showed what a class act they are during yesterday’s Dr. Keith show. Here’s part one:
and part two
of their appearance. With only about 11 minutes to work with, things were obviously rushed (Helen and Betty were preceeded by a FTM who was more than a bit of a jerk — earth to Rene, being loud-mouthed and arrogant doesn’t make you a man, it makes you a prick — and followed by an intersexed individual with a rather fascinating life story.) But Dr. Keith handled things well, with respect and a minimum of sensationalism. Helen and Betty were charming, straightforward, open and honest, and I thought Betty was great about explaining the difference between body disphoria and “social disphoria,” which is her own motivation for wanting to live life as a woman.
The one annoying thing is that the show made no mention that Helen’s written two excellent books on trans issues (and issues of being the partner of a trans person). So let me promote them here: the Lambda Literary Award Finalist “My Husband Betty” and her latest, “She’s Not the Man I Married.”
So went out for my usual Sunday brunch again and while I was waiting, Maria came up, gave me a big hug and said, “You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” I told her that I was sorry for putting her on the spot. “But you’ll promise, you’ll forgive me, won’t you?” she replied. I told her yes, I did forgive her.
The restaurant was unusually busy, so afterwards we had only brief bits of conversation. Eventually she left me a note with her phone number, which said she was ashamed of herself and asked me to give her a call. I thanked her again and by the time I’d finished brunch, we both seemed to be putting it behind us.
Unfortunately I didn’t get a chance to call her this evening since I went up to San Francisco and got caught in massive traffic jam. (Seemingly there was some big event at Pier 39 and Embarcadero was shut down, not a pretty combination.), So I didn’t get home until too late. (It was too important to do on the cell while I sat in traffic.) I’ll try to catch her tomorrow.
One my guilty pleasures is the TV show, “How It’s Made,” where “we discover how products in our everyday lives are made, such as: toothpicks, compact discs, cereal, fibre optics, potato chips, airplanes, etc.”
There is a beauty to the whole robotic ballet of the assembly lines (of course it helps to have a perky musical score rather than the actual factory noise) that makes me understand the rhapsody of the Futurists.
So this morning, I went back to my favorite restaurant for my usual Sunday brunch determined to follow Tink’s advice and just act completely normal. The manager greeted me with his usual over-exuberance. Maria was working another section, but I caught her eye as she passed and let her know that I had the coupons for her as per usual. She took them with her usual abundant thank you’s.
Chalk one up to “commerical courtesy” I thought. But then….
I was head-down in the newspaper when, as she was passing by, Maria gave my hand a tap and gave me a big smile when I looked up. Then as was leaving, she gave me a friendly pat/rub on the back in the same sort of way she’s done previously.
What’s it all mean? I’m not really sure…
Obviously she wasn’t avoiding me. It seems like she was treating me with the same familiarity as before. Maybe she’s realized that even though she now knows something about me that freaked her out, I’m still me. Maybe realizing that I probably overheard her comments about me caused her to do some self-reflection. I dunno. At this point, I’ll leave it at “don’t ask, don’t tell.”
Sure enough, thanks to the closed-toe shoes I wore, I ended up with a nasty smudge to last week’s pedicure, so I went back to the salon to get it fixed. As I was going in, I ran into one of the hair stylists who wanted to know how come I wasn’t en femme again. I said I was just in for a touch-up and besides I felt like being a boy today. “Well I think you look hot either way,” she said. Cue blushing and mumbled thanks.
‘Course she probably assumes I’m gay — she’s seen me en femme and seen my pictures, but haven’t been there when I’ve talked to the nail techs about my dressing. But it was nice all the same. Especially because feeling not as attractive en homme is probably one of the reasons I started crossdressing as a boy.
I now have a greater appreciation why “I Will Survive” is the gay national anthem. Actually, I’m only half-joking. After an emotional beat-down — which I’m sure many gays experienced coming out in the 1970s — I can appreciate the affirmation of saying: You think I’d crumble / You think I’d lay down and die / Oh no, not I / I will survive. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, but I’m still here.
Jude pointed out that we get so used to this being everyday, no big deal, that we forget that for much of the world, it’s not, and that we are perhaps the first trans person this person has ever met, up close and personal.
What hurt the most was hearing that sort of reaction from someone I thought would be OK with it. It’s one thing to get stares and giggles while out, or to get a hostile reaction while doing outreach — I hate to say it, but I’m used to experiencing bigotry in that context. But in this case, part of me was kicking myself for misjudging someone so badly. In this case, I think I was a bit over-confident based on the the nail salon experience the day before.
Sometimes you just never can tell how folks will react. Maria had seen my Halloween pictures of me as Little Red Riding Hood and seeming had gotten a kick out of them, and likewise seemed to enjoy the fact that I had painted nails that morning. So each coming out really is a bit of a leap of faith.
While this incident went badly, I’m not going to let it outweigh all the positive ones I’ve had. Usually coming out is a liberating and positive experience. So I’d like to think I won’t be overly fearful of confiding in people in the future (although I admit I’m feeling a little gun-shy at the moment).
While I’ve felt it’s important to show folks photos of me en femme to try to give people a sense that I’m not what they’re probably picturing — Klinger or Dr. Frank N. Furter – I need to be sure to ask if people are interested in seeing them, since it could be perceived as TMI and being exhibitionist in the wrong way. (Normally, I do but I mistakenly skipped based on Maria having seen past pictures, her enthusiasm for my nails, and me having told her that I’d share a secret with her if she was interested.) That’s one misstep I feel bad about. The other is putting Maria in a position where she felt cornered. It would’ve been one thing if I’d showed up en femme, in which case I would’ve expected to be treated like any other customers. But this was tangential to business but in a setting where she felt constrained by “commercial courtesy.”
I’m not quite as fully self-accepting as I thought. Initially I did feel bad for making Maria so uncomfortable — and yeah, it was more than just for the reasons mentioned. There was a part of me that felt bad that I’d physically sickened someone. (When I posted about it at the Betty boards, I named the thread “chastened” (definition: to correct using punishment or suffering.)
But Tink points out that if we reframe the situation we see it for what it truly was. Imagine that I’d been talking with her and when the topic comes up naturally, I pulled out a picture of my girlfriend, who’s another race. Or if I were gay, I pulled out a picture and said, “That’s my boyfriend.” Neither photo is a graphic tongue-down throat picture, but maybe we’ve got an arm around each other. Had I overheard Maria express similar feelings about race or sexuality, I would’ve had no problem saying to myself, “What a bigot!” I’m sorry that she can’t look past her prejudices to see me as a person, but that’s her problem.
As far as what to do Sunday, when I go in again for brunch, I’m planning to take Tink’s advice to go and act completely normal, offer Maria the coupons as usual — and only if she seems distant, will I apologize for the manner in which I came out (but I won’t apologize for being who I am). We’ll see what happens.
Thursday I finally got a chance to attend one of the Transgender San Francisco’s mid-month get-togethers. While I’ve been interested for a while, it’s tough to go home, get changed and get up to San Francisco on a week night.
But I’m interested in volunteering to do outreach as part of TGSF’s speakers bureau, so it was a chance to meet with TGSF’s officers for some mutual sizing-each-other up.
Unfortunately, after a nicely dry weather, we got the first big storm in weeks, so needless to say traffic was a mess. Nor did I realize that the restaurant was across the street from BART (which meant I could’ve parked in Daly City and ridden in, rather than having the ever-so-lovely task of trying to find parking in San Francisco).
But, while late, I finally made it. There were close to a dozen people there, about half who I’d met before, and we chatted over tapas. It seemingly went well, and they seemed pleased to have a crossdresser who was willing to step forward and help out.
(For better or worse, most “transgender” organizations seem to be dominated by transsexuals — since so few crossdressers are willing to step out into such a scarily public role. And any organization, from the PTA to the Girl Scouts, tends to reflect the concerns of those willing to devote the most time and energy, even despite their best intentions. Not that I have any problems with TGSF per se, but I’ve heard bitching by crossdressers that the “transgender” organizations overlook CD-specific concerns. I do think there are things such organizations can do to be more CD-friendly, but bottom line it’s time to put up or shut up.)
Anyway, hopefully I’ll get a chance to do some speaking in the near future.