Saturday night in Santa Cruz (Long, long...)
Posted: Sun Nov 25, 2007 7:01 pm
Hi All—
In the Bay area, Thanksgiving holiday is a signal for all weekend night life to go dormant. People go to Reno to gamble; they go to Lake Tahoe and Kirkwood to ski; they don’t hang around San Francisco.
It had been a while since my friend John and I had gone out, so I had given him a call and suggested the Saturday night after Thanksgiving. As some of you may remember, John’s mode of femme dressing is to go ‘girl’ from the waist down, and ‘guy’ above the belt. He doesn’t always get out as often as he would like, and it had been a couple of months. So he was ready to go. But go where? It was sparse rations on the club scene. The Fillmore had canceled their act. Slim’s had a Kiss tribute band as a placeholder for the usual national act. We scanned the ‘Net for a few days.
Finally John came up with an act that was happening in Santa Cruz, about 70 miles away from me. I couldn’t access the music for the group, but by that time, I didn’t care who I saw. I liked the idea of going to Santa Cruz.
It’s a resort town, on the ocean. Outside of town are the Santa Cruz mountains, a very beautiful area. Inside the town is the Boardwalk along the beachfront, a popular tourist attraction with lots of old-fashioned rides and vendors. The Giant Dipper is the sixth oldest roller coaster in the world, according to Wikipedia.
It was a beautiful day, although chilly. There was a pale sun shining over and through the cloud cover when I started to get ready. I was running behind, but we had a lot of extra time in our schedule.
I decided to go formal. I had just bought an ankle-length black dress with a slit on one side, and I loved the way it looked on Friday night at my support group. So I was going to over-dress twice in one weekend! I have a silver chain belt, and then I wore a light gold silk jacket, and set it all off with pearl earrings.
It took an hour to get to John’s house in San Jose. Dionne Warwick sang, “LA is a great big freeway,” but then, so is SJ. I guided my truck through miles of Southland expressways, and then hit the big boulevard that would take me to John’s. Early darkness, of course, but it wasn’t too challenging. I came in and said hello to John’s wife, and then we were off into the mountains.
For drinks or food, John wanted to go to what he called the Mall, which intitially puzzled me. “Mall” is American suburban sprawl; Santa Cruz is bohemian California deluxe. What it turned out to be was a delightful shopping district along a few main streets in town. The infamous Loma Prieta earthquake in ’89 had devastated downtown Santa Cruz, and so the city decided to do a phoenix act and re-build it from the ground up.
They did a good job. It was like Main Street Disneyland down there, all lit up for Christmas, and many, many people crowding the streets. John parked a few blocks away, and we begin moving toward the lights.
John had on a custom gray leather miniskirt, nice hose, and black heels. That’s the ‘gal half.’ Topside he had a light-colored shirt with a collar, and his trimmed moustache and male haircut. No forms, makeup, earrings—that’s not John’s style. So there’s no question of ‘passing’ when we’re out. It’s more about dignity, ease in being, and an ability for us to come up with one-liners when needed.
We joined the crowds, moving along in the cold. I used to chop wood in Ohio when it was ten below, but I’ve lost all my cold weather genes since I came to California. I was feeling the cold through my black leather jacket and my silk jacket. John said he didn’t feel it; he was running on adrenaline from the excitement of being out once again.
We seemed to blend in as we strolled along. Early on in my outings, I broke myself of the habit of ‘scanning’ passerbys to see if they were noticing me. Scanning is something that young teenage girls do, or something that provocatively dressed older women do. Most women don’t scan, even though they are alert to their surroundings. Beginning CDs scan, because they’re on hyper-alert and wondering how well they’re doing. It’s a survival tactic the first few times out, but it’s better to break the habit as soon as possible. The less I scan, the longer I can go along unnoticed.
John may have been fueled by adrenaline, but I needed food. We chose an upscale Mexican restaurant that John was familiar with, and it was packed, with at least ten people on the waiting benches. But…we found out we could sit at the bar and order, and that was fine with us.
I didn’t have to scan to know that we were causing quite a stir as we strolled through the high-ceiling dining room! I was having a ball; I did my best Queen Elizabeth imitation—I don’t know how John handled it. We found two seats right away, and soon had some chips and drinks going. The Chili rellano was a little on the mild side, but it was still great—I was hungry.
There was no real debate about which restroom to go for. This wasn’t some truckstop in Wyoming—I wasn’t going to get hassled in the men’s room. I did choose a time when I thought there’d be the least traffic in there, and I was correct. John wasn’t quite so lucky—there was practically a party going on in there after he went in. I could see the door opening and closing, and guys standing in line. But no one said anything, and we paid the bill and went on out. John stands about 6’2” and has broad shoulders—no one’s going to mess with him if they can help it.
We passed one clothing store that I suddenly had to go into. I thought I saw something that appealed to me; whatever it was, I never saw it again. But John found a pleated skirt that he really liked, and I persuaded him to try it on. It worked for him, and so we scored on the shopping hunt.
As we walked along on our way to the car, I turned to John and said, “You know, I still get surprised by how easy this can be.” Both John and I started going out before we had Internet access. We were out there re-inventing the wheel, wondering how people were going to react to us. And of course, John was playing a higher-risk game than I was. Partial femme is a lot harder than full femme.
At the same time that I describe it as ‘easy,’ I also know that there are a LOT of factors that have gone into making it that way for me. How many of them are general, and how many of them are specific? That’s always a question. From what I read, though, it seems like a majority of us on this forum find that it is not a big deal to be out there as TG women.
I know that in my case, I took my performing abilities into account. As I said in another post, I was determined that the general public was going to “buy” my act, and they did. It doesn’t mean that I control the public—after all, people still heckle comedians. It does mean that I control my reactions to them, though, and no one is going to stop me from doing my ‘act.’ I am extremely grateful that I’ve been able to stand behind this vow. In the very beginnning, I had no idea whether I could do it. I also cannot tell anyone else how they’ll fare when they walk out there for the first time. It seems a little like walking on hot coals; it’s a leap of faith, and there’s only so much thinking you can do about it. Thankfully, it appears that we can do this safely, for the most part. There’s no guarantees, but the more of us that do it, the more territory we claim.
We drove over to the club, which was called Moe’s Alley. As much as I’ve gone out, it is still a challenge to make that first entrance sometimes. It’s the unknown—who’s in this bar? What’s going on there, right now? I was gearing up for the intial encounters as we walked across the street in front of the club.
The door guy was a little stiff in his reaction, and the price was very stiff—twenty dollars. It wasn’t a deal-breaker, but it surprised me; fifteen would have been more like it. But as soon as we walked in, I felt OK. Even though we were spotlighted on an empty dance floor, with people sitting all around, I didn’t feel a strong reaction coming back at me. We got our drinks and waited for the band.
The band was great. It was a seven-piece outfit called Mumbo Gumbo, and it had been around for twenty years. ( A dollar per year on the cover charge?) Two women fronted the band, and one played different instruments throughout the night. The other played acoustic guitar. The five guys played sax, keyboard (and accordian), guitar, bass, and drums.
It was rhythm and blues, mainly. John was reminded of Little Feat. I heard some Al Green and Dr. John in there. Sorry that I can’t come up with more modern references—maybe some Dave Matthews? What I enjoyed in the beginning was the band’s show—their ways of moving around, and how they looked and smiled at each other.
That kind of music is not really my style. I can appreciate it on a mental level, but on an emotional level, I need more fire in the guitar and drums. Still, as the night went on, they charmed me with the music, too. Both the musicians and the crowd were having such a good time! People just stayed on the dance floor for song after song. John and I stood on the dance floor near the middle, and watched the first set from there.
I’ll try to move this narrative along at a faster pace, but there was a lot going on at this point! First off, I do like to dance, and liked watching others. But I was a little wistful that no one was going to be asking me, and I didn’t see myself asking others, either. I find that I like male/female ‘balance,’ and that means that I’m not good at being a lesbian—I probably wasn’t going to ask a gal to dance. I knew no guy was going to ask me, either, but that’s who I would have been more comfortable with, dressed as I was. There just has to be a ‘girl’ in the equation. Either I’ll be the girl, or you be the girl, but we need to have one there!
If both of us are being ‘girls,’ then I’ll probably move over into guy mode, in my mind. It just seems like I automatically adjust that way, and I’ve heard other TG gals talk about that. One said it was why she didn’t get attracted to other TGs. She always ended up being the least passable, so she got stuck being the ‘guy,’ even though she was dressed!
I also noticed the men who were there. They were mostly middle-aged, and seemed friendly enough. Most of them were coupled. If I’m around young, macho guys who are flooded with testosterone, I don’t usually see much gender suppression. They look at me with curiosity, and shrug their shoulders. I look at them and smile; I see there's little questioning going on inside them.
But middle-age guys are more vulnerable to suppressed gender feelings in themselves. They may not know exactly what they’re feeling, but they know that something is stirring inside. They don’t necessarily react to me, or look uncomfortable with me being there. But it’s like I've developed an X-ray vision for gender; I can almost sense the degree of gender discomfort or longing in some men, when I see them pass by.
I have to let it go by in my mind, and trust that they’ll find their own way to deal with it, if it really is there. Who knows? I’m certainly not going to go up and ask them! I would hope that seeing us there is a small beacon to them. They may not consciously need it now, but they can remember it in years to come, when the distress is becoming known.
But as the evening wore on, this observation lessened. Drinks were being consumed, the music got livelier, and the dance floor got more crowded. So people were losing themselves in the scene, and forgetting about ongoing concerns. That’s how it should be, and I was happy to do the same.
For the second set, we sat right behind the drummer, on a platform with tables and chairs. That was fun; I could watch all the performers closely, and see them going about the ‘chores’ that one has to do during shows. Once, the drummer reached over to tweak the sound system with his right hand, while keeping everything else going with just his left.
The guitarist had more electronic effects than I’d seen in a long time—it was like a Guitar Center showcase display up there. He danced around on the pedals with his feet, turning this one on, this one off. It was like ballet. The one woman changed instruments with every song; alto sax, acoustic guitar, or washboard being the main ones. There were lots of little moves to watch as she took care of all that.
There was one moment where what they were playing sparked something in me, and I heard my own music playing in my head, very powerfully. Right at the point the guitarist looked straight at me, and we smiled at each other. He might have gotten a little jolt from my glance, because the sound in my head was really affecting me.
As they went into the last song of the evening, the lead vocalist woman said, “C’mon, everybody dance!” and I went out there, too. It felt good to be dancing, and the band begin to pick up on the extra energy we were all putting out. I was moving pretty well for a dancer in a floor-length dress, and the band members smiled at that. They couldn’t quite figure out where I was coming from if they just saw me sitting back in a chair, but dance moves are a language they could understand.
At the end, John and I went up and thanked them, and we shook hands with the four who were still up there—the guitarist, bassist, sax player, and the acoustic guitar woman. Then we headed out for the drive home. It was 3am before I got back to Oakland, and I was one tired club hopper.
In the Bay area, Thanksgiving holiday is a signal for all weekend night life to go dormant. People go to Reno to gamble; they go to Lake Tahoe and Kirkwood to ski; they don’t hang around San Francisco.
It had been a while since my friend John and I had gone out, so I had given him a call and suggested the Saturday night after Thanksgiving. As some of you may remember, John’s mode of femme dressing is to go ‘girl’ from the waist down, and ‘guy’ above the belt. He doesn’t always get out as often as he would like, and it had been a couple of months. So he was ready to go. But go where? It was sparse rations on the club scene. The Fillmore had canceled their act. Slim’s had a Kiss tribute band as a placeholder for the usual national act. We scanned the ‘Net for a few days.
Finally John came up with an act that was happening in Santa Cruz, about 70 miles away from me. I couldn’t access the music for the group, but by that time, I didn’t care who I saw. I liked the idea of going to Santa Cruz.
It’s a resort town, on the ocean. Outside of town are the Santa Cruz mountains, a very beautiful area. Inside the town is the Boardwalk along the beachfront, a popular tourist attraction with lots of old-fashioned rides and vendors. The Giant Dipper is the sixth oldest roller coaster in the world, according to Wikipedia.
It was a beautiful day, although chilly. There was a pale sun shining over and through the cloud cover when I started to get ready. I was running behind, but we had a lot of extra time in our schedule.
I decided to go formal. I had just bought an ankle-length black dress with a slit on one side, and I loved the way it looked on Friday night at my support group. So I was going to over-dress twice in one weekend! I have a silver chain belt, and then I wore a light gold silk jacket, and set it all off with pearl earrings.
It took an hour to get to John’s house in San Jose. Dionne Warwick sang, “LA is a great big freeway,” but then, so is SJ. I guided my truck through miles of Southland expressways, and then hit the big boulevard that would take me to John’s. Early darkness, of course, but it wasn’t too challenging. I came in and said hello to John’s wife, and then we were off into the mountains.
For drinks or food, John wanted to go to what he called the Mall, which intitially puzzled me. “Mall” is American suburban sprawl; Santa Cruz is bohemian California deluxe. What it turned out to be was a delightful shopping district along a few main streets in town. The infamous Loma Prieta earthquake in ’89 had devastated downtown Santa Cruz, and so the city decided to do a phoenix act and re-build it from the ground up.
They did a good job. It was like Main Street Disneyland down there, all lit up for Christmas, and many, many people crowding the streets. John parked a few blocks away, and we begin moving toward the lights.
John had on a custom gray leather miniskirt, nice hose, and black heels. That’s the ‘gal half.’ Topside he had a light-colored shirt with a collar, and his trimmed moustache and male haircut. No forms, makeup, earrings—that’s not John’s style. So there’s no question of ‘passing’ when we’re out. It’s more about dignity, ease in being, and an ability for us to come up with one-liners when needed.
We joined the crowds, moving along in the cold. I used to chop wood in Ohio when it was ten below, but I’ve lost all my cold weather genes since I came to California. I was feeling the cold through my black leather jacket and my silk jacket. John said he didn’t feel it; he was running on adrenaline from the excitement of being out once again.
We seemed to blend in as we strolled along. Early on in my outings, I broke myself of the habit of ‘scanning’ passerbys to see if they were noticing me. Scanning is something that young teenage girls do, or something that provocatively dressed older women do. Most women don’t scan, even though they are alert to their surroundings. Beginning CDs scan, because they’re on hyper-alert and wondering how well they’re doing. It’s a survival tactic the first few times out, but it’s better to break the habit as soon as possible. The less I scan, the longer I can go along unnoticed.
John may have been fueled by adrenaline, but I needed food. We chose an upscale Mexican restaurant that John was familiar with, and it was packed, with at least ten people on the waiting benches. But…we found out we could sit at the bar and order, and that was fine with us.
I didn’t have to scan to know that we were causing quite a stir as we strolled through the high-ceiling dining room! I was having a ball; I did my best Queen Elizabeth imitation—I don’t know how John handled it. We found two seats right away, and soon had some chips and drinks going. The Chili rellano was a little on the mild side, but it was still great—I was hungry.
There was no real debate about which restroom to go for. This wasn’t some truckstop in Wyoming—I wasn’t going to get hassled in the men’s room. I did choose a time when I thought there’d be the least traffic in there, and I was correct. John wasn’t quite so lucky—there was practically a party going on in there after he went in. I could see the door opening and closing, and guys standing in line. But no one said anything, and we paid the bill and went on out. John stands about 6’2” and has broad shoulders—no one’s going to mess with him if they can help it.
We passed one clothing store that I suddenly had to go into. I thought I saw something that appealed to me; whatever it was, I never saw it again. But John found a pleated skirt that he really liked, and I persuaded him to try it on. It worked for him, and so we scored on the shopping hunt.
As we walked along on our way to the car, I turned to John and said, “You know, I still get surprised by how easy this can be.” Both John and I started going out before we had Internet access. We were out there re-inventing the wheel, wondering how people were going to react to us. And of course, John was playing a higher-risk game than I was. Partial femme is a lot harder than full femme.
At the same time that I describe it as ‘easy,’ I also know that there are a LOT of factors that have gone into making it that way for me. How many of them are general, and how many of them are specific? That’s always a question. From what I read, though, it seems like a majority of us on this forum find that it is not a big deal to be out there as TG women.
I know that in my case, I took my performing abilities into account. As I said in another post, I was determined that the general public was going to “buy” my act, and they did. It doesn’t mean that I control the public—after all, people still heckle comedians. It does mean that I control my reactions to them, though, and no one is going to stop me from doing my ‘act.’ I am extremely grateful that I’ve been able to stand behind this vow. In the very beginnning, I had no idea whether I could do it. I also cannot tell anyone else how they’ll fare when they walk out there for the first time. It seems a little like walking on hot coals; it’s a leap of faith, and there’s only so much thinking you can do about it. Thankfully, it appears that we can do this safely, for the most part. There’s no guarantees, but the more of us that do it, the more territory we claim.
We drove over to the club, which was called Moe’s Alley. As much as I’ve gone out, it is still a challenge to make that first entrance sometimes. It’s the unknown—who’s in this bar? What’s going on there, right now? I was gearing up for the intial encounters as we walked across the street in front of the club.
The door guy was a little stiff in his reaction, and the price was very stiff—twenty dollars. It wasn’t a deal-breaker, but it surprised me; fifteen would have been more like it. But as soon as we walked in, I felt OK. Even though we were spotlighted on an empty dance floor, with people sitting all around, I didn’t feel a strong reaction coming back at me. We got our drinks and waited for the band.
The band was great. It was a seven-piece outfit called Mumbo Gumbo, and it had been around for twenty years. ( A dollar per year on the cover charge?) Two women fronted the band, and one played different instruments throughout the night. The other played acoustic guitar. The five guys played sax, keyboard (and accordian), guitar, bass, and drums.
It was rhythm and blues, mainly. John was reminded of Little Feat. I heard some Al Green and Dr. John in there. Sorry that I can’t come up with more modern references—maybe some Dave Matthews? What I enjoyed in the beginning was the band’s show—their ways of moving around, and how they looked and smiled at each other.
That kind of music is not really my style. I can appreciate it on a mental level, but on an emotional level, I need more fire in the guitar and drums. Still, as the night went on, they charmed me with the music, too. Both the musicians and the crowd were having such a good time! People just stayed on the dance floor for song after song. John and I stood on the dance floor near the middle, and watched the first set from there.
I’ll try to move this narrative along at a faster pace, but there was a lot going on at this point! First off, I do like to dance, and liked watching others. But I was a little wistful that no one was going to be asking me, and I didn’t see myself asking others, either. I find that I like male/female ‘balance,’ and that means that I’m not good at being a lesbian—I probably wasn’t going to ask a gal to dance. I knew no guy was going to ask me, either, but that’s who I would have been more comfortable with, dressed as I was. There just has to be a ‘girl’ in the equation. Either I’ll be the girl, or you be the girl, but we need to have one there!
If both of us are being ‘girls,’ then I’ll probably move over into guy mode, in my mind. It just seems like I automatically adjust that way, and I’ve heard other TG gals talk about that. One said it was why she didn’t get attracted to other TGs. She always ended up being the least passable, so she got stuck being the ‘guy,’ even though she was dressed!
I also noticed the men who were there. They were mostly middle-aged, and seemed friendly enough. Most of them were coupled. If I’m around young, macho guys who are flooded with testosterone, I don’t usually see much gender suppression. They look at me with curiosity, and shrug their shoulders. I look at them and smile; I see there's little questioning going on inside them.
But middle-age guys are more vulnerable to suppressed gender feelings in themselves. They may not know exactly what they’re feeling, but they know that something is stirring inside. They don’t necessarily react to me, or look uncomfortable with me being there. But it’s like I've developed an X-ray vision for gender; I can almost sense the degree of gender discomfort or longing in some men, when I see them pass by.
I have to let it go by in my mind, and trust that they’ll find their own way to deal with it, if it really is there. Who knows? I’m certainly not going to go up and ask them! I would hope that seeing us there is a small beacon to them. They may not consciously need it now, but they can remember it in years to come, when the distress is becoming known.
But as the evening wore on, this observation lessened. Drinks were being consumed, the music got livelier, and the dance floor got more crowded. So people were losing themselves in the scene, and forgetting about ongoing concerns. That’s how it should be, and I was happy to do the same.
For the second set, we sat right behind the drummer, on a platform with tables and chairs. That was fun; I could watch all the performers closely, and see them going about the ‘chores’ that one has to do during shows. Once, the drummer reached over to tweak the sound system with his right hand, while keeping everything else going with just his left.
The guitarist had more electronic effects than I’d seen in a long time—it was like a Guitar Center showcase display up there. He danced around on the pedals with his feet, turning this one on, this one off. It was like ballet. The one woman changed instruments with every song; alto sax, acoustic guitar, or washboard being the main ones. There were lots of little moves to watch as she took care of all that.
There was one moment where what they were playing sparked something in me, and I heard my own music playing in my head, very powerfully. Right at the point the guitarist looked straight at me, and we smiled at each other. He might have gotten a little jolt from my glance, because the sound in my head was really affecting me.
As they went into the last song of the evening, the lead vocalist woman said, “C’mon, everybody dance!” and I went out there, too. It felt good to be dancing, and the band begin to pick up on the extra energy we were all putting out. I was moving pretty well for a dancer in a floor-length dress, and the band members smiled at that. They couldn’t quite figure out where I was coming from if they just saw me sitting back in a chair, but dance moves are a language they could understand.
At the end, John and I went up and thanked them, and we shook hands with the four who were still up there—the guitarist, bassist, sax player, and the acoustic guitar woman. Then we headed out for the drive home. It was 3am before I got back to Oakland, and I was one tired club hopper.
Sorry about that, sweetie . . . but, you know how it is when we girls get to talking on the phone . . . and it was a mere 2.5 hours this time!! 
Ah, SL, it wasn't all you. My landlord lives in the upstairs part of the house, and suddenly he wanted help mounting his spare tire/bicycle rack. I said sure, and then realized I was giving away time that I didn't have to give. But we got the task done, and I don't think John was sitting there tapping his fingers (or tapping his heels) for too long.