Dedicated to the acceptance, medical treatment, & legal protection of individuals in the process of correcting the misalignment of their anatomical sex, & supporting their transition into society.
Springfield, VA, USA. In an earlier column, I discussed the uproar among the District of Columbia’s transgender community over proposed revisions of the rules and regulations governing gender identity and expr...
Washington, DC, USA. The Manual for Diagnosis of Mental Disorders (DSM-V) has long outlived its intended purpose, the legitimization of psychiatry as a medical discipline. Even if we forgive the suspect o...
Springfield, VA, USA. It has already been a week since 11 July 2008 — a date that shall live in infamy — the District of Columbia Office of Human Rights and the Commission on Human Rights suddenly and del...
Washington, DC, USA. The sky was overcast, then partially cloudy; the temperature down from the day before, the humidity up; a mild breeze that sporadically grew to wind and then not.
0730:
The car is loaded, with room for two riders and little else, filled with brochures, hand-outs, and giveaways: Mardi-Gras beads in metallic red, white, and blue; orange translucent pens with the TS-Si logo printed on them.
Have no idea about the fascination with brightly colored beads, only know that everyone comes running if the beads are free.
The giveaways will bring people to the table who might otherwise walk past the orange banner hanging above the booth, although we will be the only one with “Transsexual” largely announcing the presence of our (their) symposium.
O830:
Check-in in Downtown D.C.
The festival grounds run from 7th Street near the Navy Memorial down Pennsylvania Avenue to 3rd Street near the reflecting pond at the base of the Capitol. Four long blocks on Pennsylvania blocked off for the festival.
A few exhibitors have arrived before us, but for the most part, the blocked off streets are empty, the tables and chairs lay on the ground, waiting to be set up under the hundreds of tents that stretch to the main stage, silhouetted by the U. S. Capitol, at the far end of the festival.
More than two hundred thousand will attend today’s celebration. At the moment there are only a few dozen and the morning is still quiet.
0900:
We have a double booth intentionally. One for TS-Si, the other for HIPS (Helping Individual Prostitutes Survive) who have never had access to a public gathering before, certainly not one the size of Capital Pride. This will be their first time in the public light encountering the gay community and straight middle America.
When we told Brett and the D. C. Gay and Lesbian Liaison Unit we were bringing the working girls to Pride, he could only smile and shake his head. We promised no money would exchange hands.
We set up the table and chairs, a U shape for us, a single table for HIPS.
1000:
The set-up of our display is finished, the banner is hung. My daughters, Emily and Felicia, arrive to help with the booth for the next eight hours.
[None of my adult children left when I came out, although one did join the marines (but he keeps in touch) – the Sicilian genes for family must run true.]
One hour until start time and HIPS is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the girls are still working. We have no idea what they plan to do.
We run to the Starbucks a few blocks away for coffee. We need caffeine to make it through the day (I prefer cappuccino, if you need to know).
1100:
The crowds have been wandering in for the last thirty -minutes. We’ve already had a few religious types stop by to gather information for outreach programs. The anti-gay religions don’t even bother, having already decided that a transsexual sinner is no better than a gay one.
HIPS shows up thirty minutes to the hour with a whole lot of condoms, a thirteen inch long, three inch wide chocolate colored, detailed phallic dildo, and a couple boxes of multi-flavored Blow Pops.
They will spend the day demonstrating that a normal condom is big enough to fit any penis by blindfolding volunteers and having them put a condom on the dildo. It always fits and we quickly go to the bottom line:
If your lover tells you that he is too big to fit inside a condom,
He’s a liar or delusional. Either way, kick him out of your bed before he infects you with something.
1200 to 1600:
(I apologize for the 24 hour clock, but it’s easier to depict time clearly. Noon is noon, 1600 is 4 PM).
Prime time.
The crowd swells to capacity as people come, spend two or three hours, passing by booths, eating food, buying Pride items and souvenirs, and being assaulted by Corporate America trying to make a buck off queers.
It is a perfect marriage, wedding capitalistic intentions and queer dollars into a single political entity that is slowly changing U. S. politics. Everyone wants our money; the gay community needs to spend it. The best way to accomplish that is equality. This is the reason major corporations support us (and incidentally set their carny booths up at Pride Celebrations).
Money talks and homophobia walks.
Someone goes by with barbeque, pork, southern style, from the smell.
HIPS is going great guns (so to speak). You would be surprised how many lesbian are really, really good at putting condoms on a dildo. Straight girls too, obviously and gay guys. The straight boys seem to be less practiced.
Serena, dressed in four inch platforms, tight leather shorts, and pasties is joyfully working the booth. She is a show all by herself and is having a grand time cajoling the crowd into pinning the condom on the dildo. Works every time, even if some participants obviously need more practice.
One man, on a dare, takes the big one into his mouth a good five or six inches, much to the astonishment of all concerned. He seems to enjoy deep throating it, earning gasps, applause, and a Blow Pop, flavor of his choice.
I suggest that at least he always has a profession he can fall back on should he lose his day job.
The dildo is supposedly a life cast. The women, straight and lesbian, all agree that if we see anyone with a thirteen inch dick come in one door, we will rapidly exit the other. There are limits, even to love.
I figure anyone with a penis that big must be still be a virgin or have a very tired right hand.
Serena takes everything in stride and continues to work the marks.
The DC Area Transmen Society (DCATS) is a couple booths down as is Transgender Health Empowerment (THE), who run queer shelters, so that the sequence as you walk into the festival is
Transmen
Transgenders
Hookers
Transsexuals
all in row. We are a questionable crew – cute, streetwise, sexy, and transitioning.
The transmen like to show-off their newly hormoned beards and muscles. They are nicely pleasant to look at and smell like young men.
The transgenders are rather quiet, the hookers out front.
We have a constant flow of visitors to our booth:
More religious types gathering information. There seems to be a movement afoot spanning various religions. Transsexuality and Transgenders are finally on the map, although no one appears to know exactly what a transgender is.
Therapists, who apparently read TS-Si. A couple shrinks come by, happy to notice they are on the TS-Si recommended therapist list; a couple others wonder why they are not on the list. We start searching the crowd for anyone who looks like an angry, unrecommended therapist who might want to administer his or her personal treatment to our booth (or us).
The curious, almost all open minded, straight and queer.
All flavors of transsexuality (those with just a glimmer, those still searching for easy answers, those in transition, and a lot of post-ops who appear to be everywhere).
A true believer who appeared to want to recruit us for a twelve step program to cure our transsexuality. My daughter Felicia is the first to encounter him and quickly backs away when she sees the glint in his eye. Sharon takes over, suggesting that the Log Cabin Republican tent might be a better target for his ministry, and deflects him away.
Those who are happy to see transsexuality out in the open and discussed. Some of them have never seen the word “transsexual” displayed in public before.
Transsexual folk from small towns in Florida and the Carolinas, Pennsylvania and Delaware, West Virginia and places further west. Some of them were on the verge of happy tears when they talked to us.
Transgender advocates spreading the great nonsensical umbrella that we are all the same, surgery isn’t necessary, and women and men are one and identical. They get quite angry when we respond to their desperate proselytizing declarations with one of our own:
Transsexuality ain’t transgendered.
A man in a dress is still a man.
Transsexuality is a medical condition requiring surgery to correct,
not cosmetics, not a pretty frock,
not someone yelling at us to get onboard their p. c. train.
We tell them we support their lifestyles, whatever they may be, encourage them to come out (and accept the consequences of their actions as those born transsexual do), and send them off back into the crowd to spread their gospel.
A twinkish young male walks by dressed in tight white jockey briefs, packing something extra to enhance his manhood. Nothing more. He seemed out of place in what has become a family festival. He looks like a lonely throwback to earlier time when most queers were still in the closet and tighty whiteys were a radical political statement. Sun Trust Bank must have been thrilled that he was carrying one of their corporate bags.
A Drag Queen, dressed as Marie Antoinette if she wore white face, poses for photos.
We learn that Serena’s day job (night job) is as a professional drag king, leader of a group of other performers.
Friends stop by, hugs and kisses are exchanged but no communicable diseases.
Serena, showing responsibility and knowing how to stay within the fringes of decorum, quickly hides the dildos as a young boy races ahead of his mother and approaches the HIPS booth. The boy catches a fleeting glimpse as they vanish and is all wide-eyed while his mother rolls hers. He will have questions later.
Families are walking everywhere. Straight, Gay, Lesbian, and the unlabelled masses.
Rock and dance music plays continuously from the various stages.
Behind their fences, the beer gardens are full of sweaty bodies.
Boy walks by in minimal leathers and tattoos.
Children run to our booth, ask if they can have some Mardi Gras beads. They usually take just one (the teens and early twenties each take two or three). We smile at the parents, talk middle class nicely, and give them a TS-Si pamphlet and some handouts. They take a pen and leave money in the donation box.
Food is everywhere. All nationalities, all ethnic groups. If you can cook it on a grill and carry it away, it is available. the Italian Sausage is very good, but spicy, consuming a lot of bottled water.
The porta-johns are what you expect. Some one has very bad aim (on the walls!?), forcing me to hoversquat.
1700:
The crowd starts to thin, but stops at TS-Si searching for free beads and pens.
The air is muggy, the litter is beginning to overflow the receptacles.
HIPS, having finally run out of condoms, packs up and goes home but not before Sharon takes a group photo of Serena and her cute male helper for our site
The photos turn out great but might not be ready to publish because of the presence of the thirteen inch dildo in all the shots. (Sharon is playing with the dildo as I write this, trying to find a way to snip it out of the shots).
18:00
No one has cursed us out this year. Somewhat disappointing. Have we become mainstream this quickly?
We’re down about 500 pens and multiple grosses of red, white, and blue beads.
Breaking down the table and chairs, we return them to the guy whose whole job appears to make sure we don’t make off with any. He’s good natured about it and pretends not to notice that we are tired and sweaty.
We carry our stuff back to car. Much less remains than when we arrived.
Stragglers wander down to far bandstand where the band will play on until seven or later.
The temperature has dropped a little, but the humidity remains.
We start our return to Northern Virginia, air conditioning, and leftover pizza.
2100 to 2200:
Tony Soprano survives and we fade to black at the end of still another Pride Sunday in our Nation’s Capital.
Ms. Lisa Jain Thompson is the Co-Founder & President of TS-Si, Inc. She also serves as a Contributing Editor and columnist for the TS-Si website. Ms. Thompson's signed articles contain her own opinions and do not necessarily convey an official position of TS-Si, its partners, or affiliates.
Lisa welcomes your comments. You can use the public form below or send private correspondence via her TS-Si Contact Page. We will not divulge any personal details or place you on a mailing list without your permission.
Robot Violinist. A robot plays Pomp and Circumstance on the violin. The robot used its mechanical fingers to push the strings and bowed with its other arm.
The 152 cm (five foot) performer can perform a variety of tasks with its hands and arms, each of which has 17 joints.
Using precise control and coordination to achieve human-like agility, the robot could also be used to assist with domestic duties or nursing and medical care.
We have a double booth intentionally. One for TS-Si, the other for HIPS (Helping Individual Prostitutes Survive) who have never had access to a public gathering before, certainly not one the size of Capital Pride. This will be their first time in the public light encountering the gay community and straight middle America. 
The crowds have been wandering in for the last thirty -minutes. We’ve already had a few religious types stop by to gather information for outreach programs. The anti-gay religions don’t even bother, having already decided that a transsexual sinner is no better than a gay one. 
Prime time. 
We carry our stuff back to car. Much less remains than when we arrived. 
Ms. Lisa Jain Thompson
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