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Lake Forest College Alumni Boat Cruise, originally uploaded by Timothy State.

Check out this weekend’s posts...

• Tunney Introduces Domestic Partnership Amendment - A technical change to the City’s domestic partnership ordinance to accommodate for the California Supreme Court decision on gay marriage.
  
• Mobster Movie Set Scene of Mobster Action - Life imitates art.
  
• Extra Extra - In Saturday’s wrap-up, the Cubs beat the Sox in the second cross-town challenge, and more.
  
• Rabid Bats in Waukegan and Deerfield - Avoid touching bats behaving badly.
  
• Hybrid Bus Confuses the Masses While Winning Fans - A hybrid is on the loose along the #8 Halsted line and it’s causing confusing and excitement that maybe, just maybe, the future has arrived.

It Takes A Long Time

        Ira Glass has some great thoughts on the creative process. Take a look:

Dog Gone Good Time

Jesse on the Brink has been blogging his experience at IML. He’s got a great sense of humor, and this story about a run-in with security is a hoot. Or I should say, a woof.

Summer is Near

        Sunday had temperatures in the 60s. The day was beautiful, which had me thinking of all the summer festivals in the city. I put together a list of neighborhood festivals by date. Check it out.
        We also headed to the Dog Park. Long John loved it. Buster, not so much. If he would just calm down and not freak out every time a dog walks towards him, he’d be okay. We might have to get him some medication for hyperactivity. Check out the photos.

Chicagoist Posts for the Day

        Check out my Chicagoist posts for the day:

• “Angel of Death” and Boss Charged for Alleged Overdoses
• Skybus Shuts Down Operations
• CTA Bus Tracker System Adds Bus Lines

Balancing Boyfriends Featured in Japanese English Book

        Balancing Boyfriends.com has been included in the Japanese English book, Try Reading Blogs in English, published by Kosaido Publishing Company, Tokyo. The book features blog posts from “26 ordinary Americans” written in “living English.” Blog posts appear on one page in Japanese, with the English translation on the opposite page. Footnotes help to explain euphemisms and slang. The publisher of the book has found that blog reading is one of the best ways for Japanese to learn English because of the conversational nature of blogs, which allow the reader to begin to understand English in the context of real situations.
        Sandwiched between “The Tale of Two Hookers” and the story of a triage nurse in an emergency room is Timothy State’s post, “Everything Goes. The Move is Complete,” a post highlighting the final negotiation involved in moving from Lake Forest to Chicago.
        The book even includes Japanese translations of LMAO, LOL, ROFL, TTYL, How R U?, and BRB.
        The publishers expressed gratitude to all the bloggers they featured: “We expect your contribution will have a positive impact on the English language skills of our Japanese readers. We hope that, together, we can help foster a higher degree of international communication and understanding.”

"Abs On Demand" and "Go-Go Guy in a Bye-Bye World" Published

        Two stories by Timothy State, “Abs on Demand” and “Go-Go Guy in a Bye-Bye World” have been published in the winter issue of the e-zine, Swell.
        “One of our writers finds himself in front of the mirror, admiring his progress after a hilarious and sadistic exercise program,” says Swell Editor Kevin Standifer of “Abs on Demand.”
        “Go-Go Guy” tells the story of an empowered stripper in New Orleans French Quarter.
        This is the third time Timothy State has been featured in Swell. This issue also features writer Jason Hendrix, poets Ann Tweedy and Ed Madden, blogger Ryan Smith, and cover art by Umayyah Cable.

Waiting for the Cat

        “Hi Honey, it’s me.” The woman sitting next to me at the neighborhood bar spoke into her cell phone. She sucked on her Marlboro Light.
        “I just wanted to call and make sure you had my new phone number.”
        Smoke spewed from her mouth as she spoke. I sipped my Coke as I glanced over at her. She pursed her lips around the end of her cigarette, her bright red lipstick leaving a ring.
        “Things are going really, really well. I’ve got two job interviews scheduled for tomorrow, and later tonight I move into my new apartment.”
        She picked up her Cape Cod cocktail and sucked through the straw, swallowing once and setting it back down.
        “In fact, I’m just sitting in a restaurant getting something to eat. That’s all the background noise you’re hearing.”
        The bartender pointed to her empty drink. She nodded. The bartender grabbed the empty glass and began mixing another cocktail.
        “I’m waiting for the United flight to land so I can get my cat. Everything’s been delayed, so I’ll be going to O’hare a little later. There are really bad storms here.”
        She glanced up to the TV over my head. A tornado watch and thunderstorm warning scrolled across the TV, covering Vanna White’s head as she turned letters on Wheel of Fortune.
        “No, it’s not cold. It’s been, like, ninety degrees. The weather has been really nice so far.”
        The bartender placed a fresh cocktail in front of her, then gave her a fresh ash tray. She flicked the ashes off the tip of her cigarette.
        “Well, I was staying at a youth hostel, and I was doing some work for the guy who owns it, and he asked me where I was going to live. I told him I had to find a place, and he said he has this condo that’s just sitting there empty not doing anything and he asked me if I wanted to rent it.”
        She tossed her long dark, greying hair over her shoulder.
        “Yeah, it’s really nice. It’s by the lake. And there’s a lot in my neighborhood I can walk to. In fact, I’m in a restaurant just down the street from my new place.”
        She pulled out another cigarette from the big vinyl purse she had sitting on the counter.
        “I don’t think I’m going to miss it that much. The lake is like the ocean. You can’t even see the other side.”
        She lit the new cigarette.
        “And the people have all been really super nice. Just nice, Midwest people. Very friendly.”
        Reaching for a nut in a bowl that, she grabbed a few with her fingers.
        “And getting around is, like, super easy. It’s like DC. The public transportation system is really good. It goes everywhere.”
        She rolled the nuts around in her finger, slowly eating one by one.
        “I think it’s going to work just fine, because the housing is so much cheaper than in L.A., and see, the thing is, the pay is much better, too. So I think it will all work out.”
        She pushed the bowl of nuts away, out of her easy reach.
        “Yeah, I’m just relaxing right now, waiting for the cat to come in.”
        Tilting her head back, she blew smoke straight up into the air.
        “I just feel so much better, knowing he’s in a good place where people will take care of him.”
        She put her cigarette down and ran her hand through her hair.
        “Yes, it’s not as stressful.”
        She took another drag of her cigarette.
        “Well, I’ll let you go. I just wanted to call and check in and let you know my new number.”
        She flicked the ashes off her cigarette again.
        “Okay. Now I love you.”
        Sh inhaled one deep breath of her cigarette.
        “Stay in touch.”
        She snapped her cell phone closed and set it on the counter. She snuffed our her cigarette and then sucked the straw of her cocktail.

Post Circles the Ist-a-Verse

        My Chicagoist post on the Macy’s protest has made its way around the Ist-a-Verse, highlighted in their weekly round-up. Three photos I took were also posted. Check it out on Gothamist, Londonist, LAist, Bostonist, and SFist.

Weenie Scallopini Accepted for Anthology

        Timothy State’s story, “Weenie Scallopini,” has been accepted for the anthology, Nine Hundred & Sixty Nine: West Hollywood Stories, edited by Stephen Soucy. The anthology is a collection of stories that bring to life the unique character of West Hollywood. Originally an unincorporated a rail yard town, West Hollywood played an integral role in the development of the film industry, attracting the services needed to support nearby Beverly Hills. After the Stonewall Riots, gay men and lesbian women flocked to West Hollywood, still unincorporated, to escape the homophobic harassment of the LAPD. Today, an island for refugees and creatives, West Hollywood is a town of only 37,000 residents. The evening and weekend population swells as the entertainment establishments dotting Santa Monica Boulevard all try to be the hippest, most happening place in town.
        It’s against this backdrop of high expectations and a whirlwind social scene that Des Moines transplants Frank and Joe try to establish a new circle of friends. Joe invites his gym buddies over for dinner one night, only to be humiliated when Frank serves a healthy dose of anti-California attitude as a side dish to his signature casserole, Weenie Scallopini.
        A publication date has not yet been set for Nine Hundred & Sixty Nine: West Hollywood Stories.

Kiss My Frango Mints, Macy's!

Kiss My Frango Mints, Macy's!
Originally uploaded by Timothy State.

We headed to Macy's last weekend to watch the protest from Fields Fans Chicago unfold. Check out my post on Chicagoist.

Just Imagine

        A friend recently e-mailed me to indicate he couldn’t go to a movie during the coming weekend. “I am in a seminar Friday, Saturday, and Sunday with ‘The Forum’ about changing an individuals life, moving forward, goal setting, etc.”
        “After I signed up and told people, they said this was a cult, and I should not have done it,” he pointed out out.
        “Umm.  That is a cult,” I concurred. I suggested if he needed saving, he text us and we’d be there in fifteen.
        I once attended one of those seminars with a former boyfriend, who was convinced the session would help me.  Help me how, I'm not sure.  Fresh out of college, I was working two jobs at the time just to scrape by, and attending would mean not only did I have to pay the seminar fee, but I’d loose out on making $150 over the course of the weekend. I pointed out that I felt it wasn't worth the fee, and the seminar would do more financial damage than good.
        “It doesn’t even include lunch!” I underscored.
        He was relentless, suggesting I had no clue as to the powerful ways it would help me.
        “How does it help you?” I asked.
        “Well, it just does. You meet these great people and you form really great relationships. These people will end up being your best friends. You just never know where it’s going to take you. It could lead to a better job.”
        “I don’t need any more best friends, and I can meet people at a networking lunch that is one-eighth the price, includes the lunch, and there is a much greater chance collecting eight business cards is going to lead to something significantly more substantial.”
        “But this is better.”
        “Okay, so tell me how it’s better. Tell me how these seminars have made your life better.”
        “Well, it’s changed my outlook.”
        “How has it changed your outlook?”
        “For the better.”
        “How for the better?”
        “My outlook is so much more, I don’t know, positive?”
        “Might I suggest that if you can’t articulate how this session has changed your life, it actually hasn’t changed your life.”

* * *

        We got closer to the seminar weekend, and the power of change hyperbole beat me into submission. I finally signed up, just to get him to shut up.
        Woo! Change! Bring it on! I was ready to be enlightened and delivered.
        We arrived to a hotel conference room set up theatre style, and were welcomed by a round lesbian woman, with an intimidating buzz cut, and named Honey Ward. She appeared as if she’d just rode in on a Harley to deliver compassion to her groupies, consisting of half the room, who had returned to the hive of meditation for more of Honey.
        We began the day with Honey declaring that we were in a safe space, and requesting that we close our eyes and get comfortable in a hotel conference room. The air conditioning hummed, the chairs propped us up in poor posture. And Honey began to lead us through a visualization.
        She took us to our happy spot in childhood. And we recalled the times of joy, and the hopes and dreams we had. And the power of those dreams, that would take us to where we wanted to go in our life. But what stood in the way of those dreams? Was it your mother? How about your father? That’s it. Now think about that moment when you realized you couldn’t have those dreams. Think about the impact of that moment, and the rules that were made. Now, I want you to visualize what your life is today. Are those same rules in place? How has that moment had an impact on you today? Now let’s go back to that happy spot, and let’s recall those dreams. And when you’re ready, open your eyes.
        I opened my eyes right away, realizing any rules my parents made, I quickly defied them. And those I couldn’t defy, I put on hold until I left for college. What was standing in the way of fulfilling my dreams was a lack of connections who could get me a job that paid a wage I could live on. That, and a round lesbian named Honey holding me hostage in a safe space.
        I looked around the room, discovering I was the only one with my eyes open. I looked at my watch; an hour had passed. My head spun in the direction of sniffles, only to see people were crying. Some weeping. A few even sobbing. It took about ten minutes for the balance of the conference room to come out of their weepy visualization.
        “Does anyone want to share?” Honey, an apparent emotional terrorist, asked.
        The room was silent. She stood there, her face void of expression like a blank canvas.
        This clearly is not working, I thought.
        The silence droned on, and I began to hope that someone would want to share, fearing that Honey would resort to calling names. If she called on me, I’d have to say the hour was a waste of my time.
        The air conditioning clicked off, and the fan shut down.
        Honey’s intertwined fingers balanced on her belly, her beady eyes scanning the crowd.
        “I realized as I was visualizing,” the room spun around to the voice in the back coming from a leather daddy pierced with several hoop earrings, “that the rules of my childhood--those imposed by my parents--are still the rules that I live by today.”
        “Good,” Honey said. “Anyone else?”
        “As I was visualizing my dreams,” a woman sitting in front of us suggested, “it occurred to me that I don’t see myself accomplishing those dreams.”
        “Good. Anyone else?”
        For two hours, Honey said, “Good. Anyone else,” leading us through a conversation of communal revelation.
        Honey, in the last five minutes before breaking for lunch, did us all a favor and summarized the previous two hours in one line: “Visualize you’re a looser -- you’re a looser.  Visualize you’re a winner -- you’re a winner.”
        Collective gasp of common understanding.

* * *

        By the time we get seated at a table in a Thai restaurant around the corner, I was fuming. I was over this day. This session. Honey. I was over the weeping people around me.  I was over the air of enlightenment and false friendships taking form by sharing personal damage with complete strangers in a Marriott Courtyard conference room.
        The bonding over personal damage continued into our lunch conversation, and I could say nothing.
        “I sense a great deal of resistance--animosity--from you,” said the woman with no dreams. She folder her arms and placed them on the table, leaning toward me.
        “No. This is not resistance. Animosity, maybe,” I said. “This is a waste of my time.  I took a day off of work for this?  Not only is this costing me the registration fee, but I’m out $150 bucks because I’m not working.”
        “But dear,” the false sense of friendship forming all around made her feel she could address me as ‘dear,’ “you can’t look at it that way. This is an investment in your future.”
        “And so is going to work, which appears to have been a better investment, allowing me to pay off my student loans.”
        “You’re just not open to receiving Honey’s message.  Aren’t you getting something out of this?”
        “Getting something out of this?” I set my chop sticks down.  “I’m not learning anything I haven’t know since kindergarten!”
        She received the words like the slap of a mother’s bare palm, robbing her of life’s ambitions. “What do you mean?”
        “Visualize you’re a looser -- you’re a looser. Visualize you’re a winner -- you’re a winner.” I sipped my tea.
        “See, you’re not getting it. What Honey is saying is that if you want to achieve your dreams, you have to first visualize them.”
        “Duh. What you’re not getting is that I’ve know that since kindergarten.” Their faces contorted with confusion as I spoke, as if I had a secret Clif Notes version of the session. “I have been visualizing since I was in kindergarten.  I’d visualize in art lessons what I wanted to draw before drawing it.  I’d visualize before swimming.  In fact -- I’d hold a stop watch in my hand and I’d visualize myself swimming a race over and over again until I could clock my goal time!  I’m so far beyond visualize you’re a looser, you’re a looser, and visualize you’re a winner, you’re a winner, that I don’t know the difference between reality and a visualization.  That’s my problem.  I visualize on the bus.  At work.  Everywhere.  I have no problem seeing my dreams. Now I just need to roll up my sleeves and get them done. There is no revelation in this for me.”
        Their mouths gaped open.  The idea that someone could have been taught these secrets of life while growing up was so profound -- as if Honey isn't the only spiritual channel in the world.
        I told my friend he was about to be sucked up into a cult. I told him, Jim Jones had a vision. I advised him to get out if he could, and suggested I’d help help him set goals--with no charge, in less time, and over dinner.  And if he wanted, I'd throw in a visualization for free.
        But only if he could imagine.

I have an issue...

Why does the presence of "gay" make my blog NC-17? Granted, there are two instances of the word "cock", but a friend had the pressence of "cock" twice, and her raiting was only "R". Who's running this blog-rating system?

Love, Bourbon Street Wins Lammy

        Love, Bourbon Street, the New Orleans-focused anthology with two of my stories, "The Palm Reader" and "No Chance," received the Lambda Literary Award for Best Anthology at last week's 19th-annual awards celebration. The award, commonly referred to as the "Lammy," is presented by the Lambda Literary Foundation, the country's leading organization for gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender literature.
        The awards are presented in 25 categories, and are selected by a jury of judges consisting of journalists, authors, booksellers, librarians, playwrights, and illustrators. This years award-winners were selected from a pool of 381 nominations.
        Previous Lammy award winners include E. Lynn Harris, David Rakoff, Edmund White, Alex Sanchez, David Sedaris, Michael Thomas Ford, Minnie Bruce Pratt, Christopher Rice, and Dan Savage, to name just a handful.

Reading at Printers Row Book Fair

        I will be joining the New Town Writers Group when they read at the Printers Row Book Fair. Contributors to the group's print journal, Off the Rocks and Swell e-zine will be featured.

        Sunday, June 10
        1:45 p.m.
        The G. Brooks Poetry Stage

        I'm going to use poetic license to read from the poetry stage as I will not be reading poetry, but will read from a story that is sure to entertain. Or at least I hope it will entertain.
        You can also visit me in the New Town Writers' Booth, which will be #225. So clear your calendars and be there.
        The Printers Row Book Fair has 200 author programs, 150 booksellers and exhibitors, and I know you'll be going for the Chicago Tribune Kids Alley filled with family activities and entertainment. The festival is located at Dearborn & Polk in Chicago's South Loop.

It's Official

        I’ve been added as a weekend contributor to the staff of Chicagoist. Chicagoist was launched in May 2004 and was the second Web site by Gothamist LLC. It is authored by a growing group of bloggers. The bloggers at Chicagoist are dedicated to documenting Chicago and all its quirks, one small detail at a time. The site averages 10,000 visitors daily.
        There are now fourteen sites in the Gothamist network, which was named a "Forbes Favorite" noting the sites are a collection of "sophisticated, deliciously urbane city blogs."
        Check out this weekend’s posts:
        Meet Vegans, we attended VegChicago’s Meetup.
        Gospel Rocks the Lakefront highlights the Chicago Gospel Festival.
        Where the Boys Are ‘07 ponders the boy/girl ratio at a popular Chicago beach.
        Even Naked Butts May Be Risky shares the details of the World Naked Bike Ride scheduled for next weekend.
        And, my post last weekend about Bike the Drive is number 7 today on the list of posts with most comments.

Chicagoist Debut

        Chicagoist, one of my favorite sites about all things Chicago, has just published my first post, which is about IML. I’m writing posts throughout the weekend, in hopes of being a regular weekend contributor. Hoo-ray!
        UPDATE: 5/28
        I’ve had several other posts published. Check them out...
        Compassion Flows on Lake Shore Drive -- a report on Bike the Drive.
        Give Us Some Summer Lovin’ -- Sing-Along Grease at the Music Box.
        Folks the Cicada Pins are... our find of the day at the Chicago Antique Market.

Catch-Up

        I find myself gravitating towards the more Playful Twin. The other is just too serious all the time. Besides the Playful Twin just got his hair cut, and it draws attention to his amazing blue eyes. Or maybe they’re just colored contacts. Either way, my heart skipped when we made eye contact this morning.
        Last night I sat next to him on the way home. Having not rained in days, the pollen was getting something fierce and I found myself in a bit of a sneezing fit.
        “Bless you,” he said, his smooth masculine voice wrapping around me.
        This morning, he was reaching for the Chicago Sun-Times scraps left behind by the suburban commuters. We made eye contact as I stored my backpack.
        “Good morning,” I said. I smiled. He smiled back, grabbed the paper, and turned away.
        He really is the most compassionate person on the train.
        It’s been a while since I’ve been able to post, but a lot has happened in the past two weeks. If found myself in New Orleans at the Saints & Sinners Festival. It’s the fourth time I’ve been to this convention, and it keeps getting better. I was able to hang out with some old friends while getting to know new. Like my morning commute, I’m no longer feeling like such and outsider.
        Maybe it’s a mindset.
        Then three days later, it was off to Atlanta for Dan’s 30th Birthday celebration. We chose to drive, so it was a brief visit – not much more than 24 hours – but we were able to connect with a few old friends and take in a fabulous Annie Liebowitz exhibit at the High Museum.


Atlanta Skyline
Originally uploaded by Timothy State.


Dan's Birthday
Originally uploaded by Timothy State.

        I’ve had three short weeks in a row now, and next week will be four. I’ve spent most of my commute trying to follow-up with all the business cards I picked up in New Orleans—nineteen in three days. Does that make me a conference whore?

Upgrade

        Last Sunday, I picked up my new replacement laptop. One of the latest innovations that apple has come up with is a seamless transfer from once computer to the next. The geniuses at Apple took care of all the data transfers for me, so when I started up my new computer for the first time, everything was where I would normally find it.
        While this has saved me a great deal of time tweaking the settings to mirror my preferences, it also has one down side effect. One of the outcomes of poking around the settings is that you get to see what's different and what's new. So, a week later, I'm still discovering things I wasn't completely aware of.
        This computer comes with a built-in camera, and with it a software called "Photo Booth." It's more fun than functional, unless you're a sixteen-year-old girl. Which means I'll probably be finding all sorts of uses for it. Here's a photo I snapped while on the train yesterday morning headed to the office.

Commute
Originally uploaded by Timothy State.

Remembering an Autumn Sunrise

        In November, my friend Charlotte passed away. Today is her birthday. I was asked to say a few remarks at her memorial service last January. I think it’s appropriate to share what I said back then today, on her birthday.

        Charlotte Ellis started out in my life as a client. One of those clients who don’t just demand, but expect a high level of service and excellence. It was an expectation she had, but never articulated. At least directly. Shortly after I was introduced to her I think she made her standards clear to me while consulting over the phone on the status of a project. She adeptly pointed out that the success of the agency I worked for, and my personal success were closely connected to her professional success. And if she looked good to her bosses, she would make sure I looked good to mine. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, really, where she taught me that I was never to present a problem without a solution, and if I had a solution, then why bother presenting the problem. Just provide an update on the solution, and then let’s get down to the real business of the day – What is David Sedaris’ next book, and is he going on tour? If you had a dinner party with any authors you could get to the table, would you go the NPR supers-star status route, or more of the Nuevo-Southern writer direction? If you have a name that forms a picture, like Misty Dawn Clymer, or forms alliteration, as in Rebecca Revels, don’t you think you’re destined to rise to the top of the beauty pageant circuit?
        Pondering these important questions, Charlotte became more than a client, she became my friend. Charlotte new the value of friendship, and I treasured that in her, well after she was no longer my client. To her, friendship was the ultimate wealth. After sharing with her a story I had written about celebrating a close friendship of mine, she wrote to me, “Okay, this made me cry. I don’t take friendships for granted – friends aren’t that easy to come by.”
        For Charlotte, though, friends were easy to come by. She had many friends. Many old, dear friends. Every time I would meet up with her at convention, she was always introducing me to “an old friend.” She had no new friends. When her friends would finally meet, it would thrill her to simply sit back and watch the dynamics unfold. She’d say, “See, I just knew you would love each other. Isn’t this the best?” I often felt nothing would thrill her more than to assemble all of her old friends together in one room. Now, we are all finally here today, without Charlotte in her physical form. I can feel Charlotte here with us in my heart. She is here, and I’m certain she is whispering, “This is the best time.”
        It’s ironically dramatic that we’re here, many of us meeting for the first time. But then Charlotte loved irony, and she loved a touch of juicy drama.

* * * * *

        Irony and juicy drama fill the American Beauty Pageant scene. Back in 2002, when Misty Dawn and Rebecca Revels were stealing the headlines, Charlotte would forward me links to breaking news stories. Often two or three times a day. Sometimes, she would even call, telling me to tune in to WNCU over the internet RIGHT NOW! “You’re gonna love this,” she said. “This is the best. Rebecca Revels resigned as Miss North Carolina because her former boyfriend informed pageant officials he had inappropriate (read topless) photos of her, which he took. Apparently without her knowing. As a result, the crown goes to Misty Dawn, first runner-up. And if you think it can’t get juicier than this, after resigning, Rebecca decided she didn’t want to resign, and is now claiming she was intimidated into her resignation by the folks at the Miss North Carolina pageant. But they’ve told her the crown has already gone to Misty Dawn. Well, Rebecca is Lumbee Indian, and she is the first Native American to get the Miss North Carolina crown. Her platform was tribal rights, which I’m sure wasn’t very popular on the pageant circuit, and now the entire Lumbee Indian tribe is crying foul. Anyway, she has decided to sue for the crown, and the court order just came down stating that until this is all sorted out, they will both be recognized as Miss North Carolina. We have two Miss North Carolinas! How does this happen?”
        “I’m googling right now,” I said to Charlotte, as I listened to her on the phone.
        “By the way,” she said. “I love the fact that Google is now a verb. How a startup corporation can turn their name into a verb astounds me, but that’s a topic for another time. Right now, we need to figure out will Rebecca and Misty Dawn go on appearances together? Or will they have two separate schedules? Will they literally share the crown, or will they make two? And can you imagine the scheduling nightmare taking place in the Miss North Carolina office right now. All of this is uncharted territory, and with the Miss America Pageant only weeks away, how will they introduce them – the Misses North Carolina or the Miss North Carolinas? But what I really want to know through all this is how can someone with a name like Rebecca Revels get the crown in the first place? What is the world coming to?”
        Charlotte was practically leaping through the phone. “I know I should be focused on my work, but this is a historic moment. North Carolina will now be known as the state with two Miss North Carolinas. The first state in the union!”
        So many of Charlottes interests came crashing together in this intersection of American culture. It had all the rush of a fluffy crisis communications exercise, with interesting characters in dramatic situations where things happen to them. Unfortunate, unexpected things. And while contemplating whether the situation was a flaw, or a beauty mark on the underbelly of feminism, Charlotte’s Southern pride managed to ring true, as it often did in every situation she encountered.

* * * * *

        We talked often during pageant season. Sometimes several times a week. One year, she sighed into the phone, “Why couldn’t I have been born Autumn Sunrise? I mean, I would at least sound articulate in the interview, and I could have a real platform.”
        “Charlotte,” I said. “What would you do after you got the crown?”
        “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “It is, sort of, all downhill from there. You don’t see many Misty Dawns at the corporate executive level.”

* * * * *

        In April 2004, I was watching the Miss USA pageant with a group of friends. During an interview with Miss South Carolina, who claimed to be a healing species advocate, the host asked what it means to be a healing species advocate.
        “It actually takes stray animals,” said Miss South Carolina on live National TV, “actually stray dogs, and stray children, and brings them together and teaches them love and compassion, so, it's just a wonderful thing.”
        Eleven o’clock at night, I reached for the phone and dialed Charlotte.
        “I’m so glad you called,” This was how she started any phone conversation. “I’ve been wondering when you would call.”
        “Stray children?” I asked.
        “So you heard it, too. Thank God you caught that,” she said. “I truly had thought I made the stray children part up. Do you think she is advocating that we spay and neuter children?”
        “If not,” I replied, “that seems like a plan to control the stray children population.”
        “And why,” she asked without missing a beat, “is Miss South Carolina always putting her hands on her hips. She looks like a hunchback whose hunch has fallen. (I would say ‘hump’, but that seems impolite.)”
        Through the years, Charlotte and I had an ongoing commentary on beauty launchings today’s young women on every path to nowhere, much faster than intelligence or creativity. We could have easily transcribed our conversations and titled them “Fate of the American Beauty Queen.”

* * * * *

        I think Fate of the American Beauty Queen had all the elements that were worthy of wrapping one’s self in. Drama, romance, glamour, mystery, a revealing theme, intrigue, insight into the human condition, and of course, irony.
        All these elements, she loved. All the elements found in a really good book. She loved her books, and the stories contained within. She urged me to write more, at times my number one fan, pumping me up when I myself saw only a blank sheet of paper. When I’d tell her about what was going on in my life, she’d say, “Don’t tell me. Write about it. I want to read it.” She was convinced one day I’d be hosting that dinner party of NPR superstars, and to her, it was enough to read the story of how the evening would unfold. She really had no desire to be there – she wanted to read about it and imagine for herself.
        Over the years, and always at the constant prodding of Charlotte, I’ve invested a lot of time and energy into my writing, and I’ve learned there are writers, wanna-be writers, and writer readers. Writers write like alcoholics drink. Writer wanna-bes think if they have the right fancy pen and the right journal, they will become a writer. And then there are writer readers, who could be writers, but are completely content just reading, absorbing, analyzing, and enjoying. These are the people writers write for. With her dreams of one day creating a non-profit organization to help struggling, emerging writers—particularly southern writers, many might have thought Charlotte was a wanna-be writer, but she really was a writer reader. I once sent her an essay asking if she would copy edit it. She was ecstatic. She sent it back, marked up with so much red ink, the only thing missing was the tape outlining the body. It was flagged with a note, “Wonderful. Simply wonderful.”
        While she possessed all the skills and talents needed to be a writer, for whatever reason, she was content just sitting on the sidelines, watching the process unfold. Much like what would happen when she gathered her friends together.
        While Charlotte loved her books and the stories within, she loved even more sitting in her spot at Quail Ridge Bookstore, listening to her favorite writers read their own words, making them come to life. Ultimately, though, what thrilled her to no end was when she actually got to meet her favorite writers and interact with them. To her, a great writer was a Hollywood heavyweight, and the fact that an author with as much talent as Haven Kimmel actually took the time to have dinner with her and a group of friends made Charlotte feel as if she was sitting back stage of the creative process, enjoying a perspective no one else could get. It was a highlight in her life.
        To Charlotte, every character in every book grew to be an old friend. And when she would read the words on a page, she would relate to the writer as if they were an old friend. She scrutinized the pages of every book she opened, admiring the craft it took to bring it together. And then she would introduce all of us to her friends in a story.
        Charlotte deeply admired creativity. When creativity was combined with intelligence and insight, it made her jealous. After sending her a few vacation photos, she wrote back, and I can hear her saying these words in her slow, gentle, thoughtful voice: “I’m starting to get annoyed with all this talent in one person. I love your photography as much as I love your writing, and it’s irritating the hell out of me. With great admiration, Charlotte.”
        Spoken like a true Southern Lady.
        Of all the writers she knew and interacted with, the one she admired the most was her brother, Andy. I always got the sense that while she claimed to love everything I sent her to read, it was not David Sadaris, or Haven Kimmel she would hold me up against. Rather it was her brother. She was very proud of Andy’s accomplishments in his life, and if you knew Charlotte, then you knew Andy Ellis was the most talented and creative person in the world.

* * * * *

        Charlotte was creative in the most magical of ways. Certainly, professionally, she has been celebrated for her contributions to an entire industry. But it’s on the personal level where her creativity was spellbinding. If you were Charlotte’s friend, then you honestly felt she didn’t have any other friends in the world, and you were, by far, her best friend. A friend of Charlotte’s received books that she found inspiring. Copies of articles she knew would amuse you. It was as if Charlotte went through her day, looking for ways to remind friends she was thinking of them. Sometimes I think that was her full-time job.
        While I won’t pretend to claim that I was Charlotte’s best friend even for a minute, I can say that she grew in my heart to be one of the major characters of my life, as she did with so many others.
        If we were to stitch together all the stories where Charlotte made a profound difference in the lives of others, we would have an epic novel revolving around a great heroine. Probably named, Autumn Sunrise. She would touch the lives of many people on very deep levels, no matter how she knew them. She would be a muse, an educator, a motivator, and an innovator. Thoughtful and articulate, she would be accomplished in her field—celebrated, even. And, she would have a heart of gold bigger than any other.
        Filled with many old friends, I’m sure it’s a book Charlotte would have loved, and one she would have convinced each of us we all had to read—that we would get something out of it. This character, Autumn Sunrise, she’d say, is amazing. And we all would think, “If it’s good enough for Charlotte, then it’s good enough for me.” We’d read the book, we’d fall in love with Autumn, and then in the final chapter when Autumn’s sun has finally set, we’d all be sad there are no more pages to turn.
        Charlotte would sit there, giggling to herself. She’d say, “Isn’t it the best?”

New Three-Column Format

        Hey kids! I’m rolling out a new three-column format. The very long sidebar had been driving me batty. Now it’s two sidebars. Still might make a few tweaks to what appears where. I also listed a few sound-bytes on the far right under “What Readers Say...” That addition was prompted by two very funny e-mails yesterday.
        Hopefully the new format fits on everyone’s screen. Might not for older monitors, though. Would love to know what you think.

"I Can't Even Shoot Straight" Published

        The Lake Forest Public Library cancelled their literary competition shortly after I sent them my story, "I Can't Even Shoot Straight." Contest judges claim they didn't receive enough entries. Coincidence? You decide.
        Thankfully, the good (looking) people at Swell decided this story was just swell, and they have published it for all the world to see. So you can read my story of shooting a handgun at the Lake Forest Citizen