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About Just out. (Portland, OR) 1983-2013 | View Entire Issue (June 16, 2000)
lune 16 . 2000 » Just Miti27 Continued from Page 25 people. You can see this in her friendliness, her ease with customers both straight and gay, and in the way she speaks of her goals and plans. Cabot is not a Portland native; she’s been here a little over a year— a year of bittersweet memories and events. She came to Portland to tend to her brother, who was dying of AIDS. During those first months her brother yearned to see her happy and settled in, and he encour aged her to take steps to set rex its in Portland. His urging her to answer a Just Out personal ad resulted in what is now a happy and committed relationship. Now a year later, she has a part ner, a new business and loving memories of a brother who simply wanted his sister to he happy. Look for the flag, buy a cup of coffee, make a new friend. You’ll he proud you did. — Marty Davis B ryce E dwards B right-eyed towhead Bryce Edwards is Portland’s official prophet of boy crazi ness. Backed up by a darling entourage of harmo nious pop freaks, he regularly professes his word from the stages of Rip City’s rock clubs. Simply put, Edwards is the singer, songwriter, guitarist and tambourine shaker for the pop hand Boy Crazy. Edwards grew up all over the country, hut he tells people he’s from Oklahoma because he went to high school there and his parents still call the Midwest home. After graduating from the University of Colorado in Boulder, he moved to Portland in 1994 and began writing songs. Three years later, he began Boy Crazy with drummer Rachel Blumberg. Now he lives in North Port land with his boyfriend of three years, works for the studio that makes Eddie Murphy’s show The PJs, and pens pop songs in his spare time. “I’m very into melodies,’’ he says. “It’s what comes out naturally.” Though it would he a stretch to duh Boy Crazy a “political hand,” Edwards recently wrote a song about downtown Portland’s gay district. “We have a song called ‘Stark Street’ and it’s about all the bars down there,” he says. “It’s about all the partyers and how they’re lost and somewhat depressed. To me, it’s kind of tragic. You can just tell, they’re not happy.” The pride parade, on the other hand, gives Edwards more of a feeling of optimism for the community. “It’s fun. I always go down and watch,” he says. “You see that there actually is diversity. It’s good to feel like you’re part of a larger com munity, even if you don’t hang out with people in the community.” — Katy Davidson K ara K raft O h, to be young again! Within four months of logging on to her favorite Internet chat room and meeting Melissa, Kara Kraft picked up and moved. Her new “friend” lived in Eugene. Kara wanted to he there too. But per haps she wasn’t leaving too much behind— mostly cow boys and tumbleweeds. “It’s hard to be in Weed,” Kraft says about the northern California town she left beind. “It’s diffi cult to have only cowboys for friends.” After communicat ing daily with Melissa Becker, 28, for almost three months, the two women decided to meet face- to-face in Weed. Kraft says she was so nervous she couldn’t speak. To remedy the situation, the women sat at a restaurant table and passed a paper back and forth and wrote what they could not say. They were used to that. “It was funny!” she laughs. While a small crush was the deciding factor for Kraft to leave Weed, she clearly was ready to live in a place where she could be herself. She hoped Eugene would be very different. "My hope is being able to be comfortable with being really open— being myself,” Kraft says, adding, “In a lot of ways, I’m really closet ed.” Kraft says she d<x;sn’t like that aspect of herself. The 22-year-old already is feeling more relaxed in her new town and is more comfort able with herself. In Eugene it is OK to hold hands in public, Kraft says. “Which was a shock for me,” she exclaims. The young woman has moved around a lot lately. But she wants this to be the last move for a while. She likes Eugene. After gaining Oregon residency, Kraft hopes to continue her college education in pursuit of her dream to he a forest ranger. Talking to Kraft is like stepping into a time machine for anyone over 35-years-old. Every thing is new, a little scary and incredibly excit ing. Remember feeling like that? The future wtxxlswoman plans to attend Eugene’s pride celebration this month. It will he her first real pride event. Does she realize she’ll be surrounded by more than 1,000 lesbians? Her mouth drops open and her eyes brighten. “It sounds like a dream come true,” she laughs. Kara, you ain’t in Weed anymore. —Jonathan Kipp R eno D urham ortunately for 24-year-old Reno Durham, coming out as queer didn’t make too many waves. “My experience coming out was pretty easy,” he says. “I have a supportive community of friends.” Unfortunately, coming out as trans rocked the boat a little bit. Durham says he received support from his group of friends, but, to an extent, he felt a sense of disconnectedness with the rest of the community. Durham says he thinks of pride as having two prongs: personal pride and community pride. “Pride to me is being proud of myself and my accomplishments, having a supportive environment, and being proud of other peo ple," he says. He thinks the pride parade is a good way to be recognized in the community, but “it’s harder to be excited about it because I’m trans and I’m not really represented. People add a ‘T ’ to things, but it doesn’t mean anything.” Durham recently moved to Portland after attending Evergreen College and living in Olympia, Wash., for six years. This Janu ary, Durham and a group of acquaintances founded Gender Machineworks, an organi zation dedicated to the support and visibili ty of trans people, namely female-to-male. The group, which meets weekly, is cur rently working on a resource guide for female-to-male people, and workshops and trainings involving doctors’ treatment of trans people. Several group members will speak onstage at Pride 2000, as well. Gender Machineworks is currently mn by about 20 people, between the ages of 15 and 35. “It’s growing,” Durham says. — KD r 1 j il J l _ In The Class ol 2000 Ilm Vit/ wins ihr i m fairs anil nan if lifr il mir pmvf 1 luuiaumlt M ary B eth B rindley w: hen Mary Beth Brindley, a very youthful and vibrant 60, attend ed her first gay pride celebration last year in Portland, she was, to say the least, amazed. “Hold my hand and prop me up— there’s the mayor and the chief of police in the parade," she pauses retelling it, still dumtound- ed at the contrast to the place where she spent almost all her adult life as a teacher, Fort Worth, Texas. “And it was in my contract that I could be fired for being a homosexual.” The memories are still vivid a year later. “It was intense, coming from a closeted life. I had never been around young lesbians— I was in an openness and mixxJ of acceptance I never knew existed,” she says with delight that she has finally found it. But don’t think Brindley is a late bloomer in other ways. No way. She and her partner, Evelyn Hall, 61, have been together 41 years! Yes, all their adult lives. And in the closet until Continued on Page 29 "Pride to me is being proud o f m yself and m y accomplishments, having a supportive environment, and being proud o f other people." — Reno Durham
