Episode 3, Chapter 2 "Mylove"

Historic Television Show ~
First Series hosted solely by a Trans Woman Debuts
"Royal T with Queen Victoria Ortega"

“Royal T with Queen Victoria Ortega” is a 30 minute news and public affairs series that will premiere Oct. 24th on LATV, with new episodes dropping weekly. The show is broadcast over the air in the Los Angeles market, distributed via cable thru spectrum, freevee, tubi, hulu & crackle. It’s also widely seen throughout the Latin American & Hispanic markets (we have great support from the tourism board of Spain) on both streaming on the LATV.com website and the LATV app.

Zuzubean Press' Co-Founder, Scottie Jeanette Madden, the series Showrunner explains, "In each episode, Her Majesty recognizes, honors and celebrates the excellence of the Trans & Non-Binary Community. Joining the Queen each time is a co-host who will help explore a theme or subject of importance to Her subjects, be it Hot topics affecting Her community, or celebrating the stars, scholars and leaders that inspire the world with their brilliance. We're especially proud of our crew from The Queen as host Showrunner, Director, Writer Camera Operators, Glam & Camera Ops, we are 70% Trans & NonBinary & our Allies, the Staff Technical Crew, and Owners of LATV have embraced us and supported us in making history. "

Queen Victoria has 25 years as one of the city’s first and certainly effective advocates for the community and the LGBTQIA+ community at large. She served as one the first co-creators and managers of LA LGBT Transgender Initiatives, (LA LGBT Center/organization is largest in the world.) She has been the founding member of several organizations in the Southern California region including the co-founder and chief visionary officer for the first of its kind, Connie Norman Transgender Empowerment Center located in Hollywood California.

The show is the first of its kind, blending the Queen’s brand of “get it done” service/community activism with her trademark spicy wit, broad knowledge and intel of the Trans & NB community through her global network of Trans & NB thought leaders and courageous wisdom. The show is fast-paced, inspiring, and fierce.

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TDOR Honored 2023 with performance by TCLA

Zuzubean Press's co-founder Scottie Jeanette Madden & Queen Victoria Ortega created this memorial for TDOR 2023, during the production of "Royal T with Queen Victoria Ortega." Says Madden, "we were looking for way to honor TDOR in a way that would be elevated to Queen Victoria's quote that 'TDOR should stand for Transgender day of Resilience.' The Trans Chorus of Los Angeles' Artistic Director, Abdullah Hall, was interviewed for Royal T, and explained the origin of the song Courage to be how we are" written by Ruth Huber, dedicated to the memory of Gwen Araujo.

Here at Zuzubean Press, we've tried over the years to deal with the waterfall of feels that this day brings each year. Rage, despair, outrage, sadness, more rage, and a whole host of words that should never follow the word Transgender & Nonbinary, ever. The TDOR vigils and ceremonies and services for the murder of our siblings is both triggering for the living and too late for the lives lost by the mostly Black & brown women, who were, many times, disrespected even in their deaths.

We are intrigued by some leaders in our community referring to today as TDORR with the second are standing for Resilience. This may be the better way of referring to this day, as it maintains the respect for us all, connected as we are to our siblings, and most certainly for the chosen family of the lost while at the same time seeing the resilience we have and are; but the better solution is for our allies to join us in removing the need for having this day at all. This day was always marked to call for a complete and utter stop to this violence. It was hoped to be a wake-up call to action and never a yearly memorial. Say. Their Names. They are remembered and we all are Resilience in human form.

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Another taste of "Getting Back To Me" - The Introduction

I knew being who I really am wasn’t in the cards for me. So I came up with a noble plan. I would earn my womanhood next lifetime by being everyone’s best man this go-around.
Which almost worked.
It all started with a simple question – How could my life be so wrong? I was known for being not only happy but “too god damned exuberant!” Well, if that was true, then how could those thoughts and feelings that stalked the “happy” – constantly hanging over it, like bats in a cave – be so consumed with “it?”
If I closed my eyes “it” was there.
When I opened them, “it” was still there.
When I was happy, “it” was there to dim the light.
When I was sad, “it” would seize the moment and blow up my depression to epic proportions.
Nothing could ever dispel the darkness when “it” descended. Despite all I did to hide “it,” run from “it,” and keep “it” behind fortress walls, “it” became stronger. “It” was the terminal denial I learned to use to imprison myself, a choking black smoke so thick it drowned out the pounding of fists pleading for release from the dungeon:
I am, and always have been, a woman.
But the above statement means nothing, certainly not worthy of the crushing weight described, unless you know that my body had been born a boy, forced to live a boy’s life, destined to die a false and ultimately lonely death. This crime was perfect in its undeniable plausibility: I was the firstborn, my father’s only son, my mother’s “baby,” and my three little sisters’ “big bro.” I cherished my position, loving the responsibility of caring, watching over and protecting them more than oxygen.
Life kept trying to affirm the mirror’s male reflection. I was all boy: good at sports, a leader, captain and coach. As I grew older, I found true love and heavenly marriage.
As a filmmaker/television producer in the adventure-documentary world, “success” was my armor of choice and I hid myself behind a carefully constructed “dude” who was at home in the gritty outdoor arena of remote mountaintops and dense jungles. I developed a hard-won reputation for leading my crews into some of the most dangerous places in the world and then home again safely, and military alpha-wolves to places not even they dreamed of conquering. And they all trusted me as the one who has been there, done that, with heavier equipment.
I had built a great guy named Scott.
He was a good man, damnit, and I was killing myself to insure that.
He wasn’t a lie, a fake or an imposter, but steward and stand-in for the me locked away by my own hand.
It took until this past year to really accept that. But it’s one thing to accept the cause of the suffocating veil that hung over my life, sticking to every thought, prayer and feeling. . .
And quite another to do something about it.

When “it” didn’t go away, never got outgrown, became harder and harder to ignore, and I still didn’t do anything about it, Grace had to take over for me. And for once, I was smart enough and strong enough to get out of its way.

But I’m getting ahead of myself…
Scottie Jeanette Christine Madden, Summer 2015

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WHAT A NIGHT!
WORLD PREMIERE "PROUD In a Pandemic" WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 8th, 2023

Proud In A Pandemic premiers before a sold out crowd!

DTLA Proud presented the world premiere of an unflinching and inspiring feature documentary, "PROUD in a Pandemic." The film examined the experiences of 22 Los Angeles LGBTQ+ community members and leaders, through the early days of COVID and the events tied to the “Summer of Social Uprising.” The documentary showed the similarities between the HIV/AIDS epidemic of the 1980’s and the "Novel Corona Virus." Moreover, how the “Expanded Access” Program, that was championed by the ACT UP Organization, was instrumental in providing a framework that allowed the distribution of COVID-19 vaccines to be fast-tracked throughout major parts of the world.
"PROUD in a Pandemic" captured a moment in time, when despite these struggles, the breadth and diversity of the LGBTQ+ community demonstrated its strength and resourcefulness by becoming more connected and united than ever before.
PROUD in a Pandemic is a time capsule film that shares stories about innovation, survival, and the tenacity of the LGBTQ+ community.
The amazing subjects walked the Pink Carpet and then watched the film. Afterwards Christian Galeno form Spectrum 1 News moderated a Q&A with Director Scottie Jeanette, Co-Executive Producer Oliver Alpuche, Producer Dennis Caasi, Editor, Nicole McClure, Co-Writer Aubrey Rice, and Producer Charles Ochoa,
The night wrapped up with everyone dancing the night away under the stars at post-screening reception and party on the rooftop.

Scottie Jeanette says of the film,

"When the lockdown upended life, and events were canceling left & right, the board of directors voted to create a documentary in lieu of the annual festival.
CUT TO:
It's two years later, the pandemic is still ranging, but the movie is done!
"It was both a labor of love and a lifeline for the entire volunteer crew," said Ms. Madden, "We were inventing our CoVID protocols before the rest of Hollywood had figured it out." Scottie Jeanette goes on to describe the film, "If you are a member of the Queer community and are alive today, your
life either directly or through the people you love has been touched by
4 pandemics -- Racism, Homophobia, HIV/AIDS and now COVID-19. We as a community have the scars to show, but more importantly we have developed muscles to help us survive and thrive -- we have something to offer the world through our experiences. “PROUD in a Pandemic” captures a moment in time when despite these struggles, the breadth and diversity of the LGBTQ+ community is becoming more connected and united than ever before. The PROUD in a Pandemic film is a time capsule of stories about the innovation, survival, and resilience of the
LGBTQ+ community."

We couldn't be more... wait for it... Proud to be associated with this amazing film.

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Another Taste of "Just Because My Husband's A Woman" - Chapter 1 Snapshot

I am not new to the marriage game. For a while, I started to believe that I got married a few times just because I liked a party thrown in my honor! That's not really true. I was looking for love (OK, you can finish the lyric, if you know it!). But where did that searching come from? Why was finding love so important to me? I think it started very early from experiences in my childhood. Here's a snapshot of my early years.

I grew up in a storybook setting in the '50s. We lived in a large, Century-old colonial house on a hill in Fitchburg, Massachusetts. We had 3.5 acres of land surrounded by woods and other large homes which were occupied with friends to match all the generations in our family. We were safe and free to be out all day until dusk during the summer. We could take off on endless bike rides or swim in a neighbor's pool. I can completely call on all my senses to take me back there again.

My friend, Barbie, lived just up the hill. I could cut through her grandparents' property, past that swimming pool where the whole neighborhood was welcome, and then cross the country street to Barbie's house. We'd play for hours, acting out scenes from our girlhood fantasies with her giant doll house, or in the woods behind their home where we would kiss trees pretending they were our boyfriends. Troy Donahue for Barb, Tab Hunter or Richard Chamberlain for me. A punchline on that comes later.

I can hear Mrs. Kemp's voice as clear as it was then when she would call to us and say, "Barb, Dear, it's time for Marce to run along home."
When we weren't playing house or off on a bike adventure, Barbie, and our assorted siblings and neighbors, would be at the pool for hours on end during the summer.
Another regular was our splash-happy Welsh Terrier, Rusty, who had to join in every game we played.

We'd be in the water until our parents called us out because we were shivering and our lips were blue. Barbie and I would lie side-by-side on our towels that we'd spread out on the grass. The sun was warm, and we'd drink it in because we were shivering so hard. Then there was that feeling of just starting to warm up, the shivers getting more intermittent, right when a cloud would pass over. Torture!
I'd watch the cloud as it took its time to drift across the sun and steal my warmth. Any time now that I can go outside, lie on my back and look at the sky, I am instantly transported to those sweet, long days of summer when life was so carefree. I smell the grass and the subtle scent of chlorine from the pool mixed with the cigarette smoke of the adults. I hated that they smoked, but there was something about that mixture of odors that was pleasing to me then.

My parents had a very loving relationship. They looked happy, talked to each other all the time, and my father always gave my mother a movie dip kiss when he came home from work at the end of the day. Then they would sit and have cocktails while he downloaded his various work challenges. He wasn't just venting, he was looking for her wisdom to help him with whatever the situation was. And she did. She was bright and an accomplished student of human nature.

So, with my parents' obvious love and my Richard Chamberlain tree kisses, I did have a storybook picture of what my Prince Charming would be like, and how we would be so in love, so loving, forever.

Lest my description of my early years in Fitchburg sounds too idyllic, it wasn't always peace and love. And, as I look back on that time, I have become more clear about how many conflicting, or at least confusing, messages I got.
In fact, delving into what went into making me me for this memoir has brought up some memories I'd completely forgotten, and that turns out to be quite poignant. I'll point them out as we go along, but the end result is that I can see the patterns that kept recurring in my life better-the weaving of events and my experiences of them, and how that shaped my understanding of life, love and relationships.

I was the third kid of four in my family. Brother one, then two years later, brother two, then four years later, me, then four years later, brother three.
When people would ask my mother how many kids she had, she'd say, "I have four boys and one's a girl." Conflicting message number one!

In light of where this story is going, I think we can all agree that little tidbit is somewhat ironic. Right?

From the time I was one year old, my grandparents lived with us until their deaths. My grandfather had been a very successful businessman in Cleveland, Ohio, and even played baseball in the minor leagues. It was a blow to him as well as my grandmother and my mother when he lost everything in the stock market crash. My dad, generous beyond belief, took in his in-laws to live with us just about the time I was born.

We called my grandfather "Doden." I think that we had adopted the name my mother had always called him. He was not well by the time he was living with us, so he wasn't very visible. He kept to his room and was off limits to us for the most part. If baseball was on TV, that's where he was. I just have two memories of Doden that stand out to me. One is of the day he fixed my roller skates.

I had the old-fashioned kind that had a special key to unlock the frame so they could be shortened or lengthened depending on your shoe size. They then attached to the bottom of your shoes. Even though he was in the middle of watching a baseball game on IV, Doden turned to me when I came into his room with my skates and took to adjusting them so they would fit on my shoes and I could go skating. That time stands out to me, I guess because it was one of the few instances when he paid attention to me. He was focused on helping me out, and I loved that expression of caring. In fact, I remember his smile when he handed me back my skates. It has stayed with me since.

The other memory is of one of our family dinners: We always gathered in the dining room for a formal dinner at night. My dad would put on a sport coat for the occasion and my mother would have cooked a full, delicious meal, healthy by the standards of the day. I would set the table with placemats, candles, silverware and napkins. We would have some form of meat—steak, roast, leg of lamb-that my dad would carve at the sideboard. He would hand me plates after serving the meat, and I would take them to the assigned places at the table. Vegetables and potatoes or salad would be in silver dishes on the table where we would serve ourselves and then pass them on. When we were all home, there would be eight of us at the table for a sit-down dinner-my parents, we four children and my two grandparents. We would often spend hours there in the candlelight talking about our day or playing some form of word game.
There were also ample table manner lessons! Though that felt tedious and overbearing at the time, I've since become grateful for knowing to sit up straight, what forks to use for what, how to serve from the left; take from the right, etc. It means I can go anywhere and be appropriate, even at the most formal of dinner occasions.
But it's not as if these nights were stiff and somber! We laughed and joked and punned all through the meal. And the household was relaxed enough that our parakeet, Friday, was free to fly around wherever he pleased. One night, he joined us in the dining room during dinner. He stomped around on the table surface, sometimes land on the nose of dad's (bird!) hunting dog who was trying to remember that this bird was different and he must not touch it. After a couple such excursions, Friday proceeded to fly back to the table and land squarely in the mashed potatoes on my grandfather's plate. That was cause enough for us to giggle, but when he proceeded to fly up onto Doden's mostly bald head, we lost it! He walked around leaving dollops of potato all across Doden's scalp, some of it getting tangled in what hair he had left. Doden was equally amused at the bird's antics, but then my mother signaled to my brother, Morgan, to remove the bird and put him in his cage for the rest of our meal. I love remembering those events fondly because, as I said, Doden was away in his room most of the time and I didn't see him much.

On the other hand, my grandmother was very visible and involved in our everyday life. Our nickname for her was "Ava," don't ask me why. She helped out with the housework wherever she could, and she also became our self-appointed babysitter/nanny whenever my parents weren't home. And she was very ... strict! She definitely believed in dishing out punishment when we disobeyed her or did something wrong in her book. Spilling and breaking things was at least a misdemeanor.

Then there were capitol offenses. For example, some of those long bike rides I took royally pissed off my grandmother. She did not appreciate that I was gone so long without anyone knowing where 1 was. Time for a lesson!

We had a large forsythia bush out at the end of the driveway. Beautiful, delicate, yellow blossoms, and the best, flexible branches for making switches to whip our legs with. How stupid was I that I obeyed my grandmother when she sent me out to cut a switch—for me! I'd bring back a branch and watch her break off the flowers, and then came the stinging pain on my calves and the sharp words in her piercing voice.

Of course, this is regarded as abuse now. Luckily (smartly?), I didn't succumb to the switch much; I was a good girl! It was my brothers who drew the fire. I learned the power of honesty. I don't think they have yet!

You may ask if my parents knew about these disciplinary actions. I'm sure this would horrify them. They never laid a hand on us. But I think we kids were afraid enough of my grandmother that we didn't tell on her.
My mother told stories about how she had grown up with Ava's abusiveness herself. She was a wild, independent spirit that could not be tamed by harsh words of being yanked around by her hair. I know that she was determined...

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"Getting Back To Me"
Both Sides of the Story