lune 16 . 2000 » Just Miti27
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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
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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