Tourist With a Typewriter

Oh, Uncle Adrian, I’m in the reservation of my mind.

Month: July, 2012

The Night Drags On

Crowning the 2008 Miss Gay Charlottesville.

You look fabulous, bitches!

But oh, what must be done to get there. A lot of male flesh squeeeeezed into one, two, maybe even three pairs of pantyhose creating a smooth, shiny, Barbie Doll-like lower half, while the top is padded into existence and cleavage painted on. Some serious face time with the mirror, cigarettes between rhinestoned fingers.

“Honey, that’s the best I’ve ever seen you look!”


Read the rest here.

The Devil Went Down to FloydFest

Published in C-VILLE, 7/28/2009.

Photo by Ashley Twiggs

It’s so much easier being a hippy these days. Case in point: FloydFest, a four-day summer music festival held just off the Blue Ridge Parkway, near Floyd, VA.  Instead of Woodstock’s food shortages of 40 years ago, FloydFesters face a stupefying abundance of choices: local, grass-fed burgers, tempeh reubens, Thai coconut curry and, yes, sushi. Some of the food tents at FloydFest have kitchens larger than entire New York restaurants. Indeed, in the list of modern miracles that our hi-tech world has wrought, the ability to create a small, yet fully functioning and relatively comfortable city in the middle of nowhere, hold a four-day party, and then pack it up and leave, has got to rank pretty high. Read the rest of the story.


I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again. – Oscar Wilde

Living With War

A visit to a Civil War reenactment near Barboursville, VA. Published in C-VILLE 9/29/2009.

Photo by Ashley Twiggs

“It’s not about slavery. It’s not about racism. For a lot of us it’s about ancestors.” Amanda Kutch is a United Daughter of the Confederacy and on Saturday morning, September 19, she’s dressed like one. Blonde, fair, and outfitted in a blue, flowered dress with a white blouse and a crocheted hairnet, Kutch is getting ready to re-enact the Battle of Rio Hill and the Battle of Stanardsville. A genealogist by hobby and an office manager and academic services coordinator for UVA’s School of Continuing Education by day, Kutch has traced her family in Albemarle County to 1760, and to the Civil War, where they fought in the 19th Virginia, Company E, “The Piedmont Guard.” Recently, she has been campaigning to preserve confederate graves on the UVA campus. “The past is the past,” she says. “There’s nothing that I can do to change it.”

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Blood on the Page

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein. – Red Smith, sportswriter.

If I could stick my pen in my heart
And spill it all over the stage
Would it satisfy ya, would it slide on by ya
Would you think the boy is strange?
– Mick Jagger, Rolling Stone

To Serve With Love

Trying to rise in the ranks of worldwide tennis, dozens of professional athletes, including Carly Gullickson, descend on Boar’s Head

My coverage of the 2009 Boyd Tinsley Clay Court Classic tennis tournament, where I spent a week shadowing one player.

Out on the clay courts of the Boar’s Head Inn, a smoky-eyed Indian woman built like a model grunts loudly and slams the ball over the net. Boom! WaaUNGH! Boom! The 90-degree air is thick with pollen, and this player, one of 58 athletes that arrived in town last week for Boyd Tinsley’s invitational tennis tournament, stops between shots and doubles over. She pulls in great, shrieking breaths and lets long ropes of spit drop from her mouth. Then she straightens up, bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet before letting loose with another monster serve. Boom! WaaaUNGH! On another court, a player is stretched out on the ground under an umbrella. Ice packs on her head, she’s being force-fed liquids. After a while she gets up and goes through the motions of finishing her match. She walks off looking like she just survived an eight-car pile-up. Read the rest of the story.


This may be the year when we finally come face to face with ourselves; finally just lay back and say it – that we are really just a nation of 220 million used car salesmen with all the money we need to buy guns, and no qualms at all about killing anyone else in the world who tries to make us uncomfortable. – Hunter S. Thompson, written on the eve of the 1972 election

France was a land, England was a people, but America, having about it still that quality of the idea, was harder to utter — it was the graves at Shiloh and the tired, drawn, nervous faces of its great men, and the country boys dying in the Argonne for a phrase that was empty before their bodies withered. It was a willingness of the heart. – F. Scott Fitzgerald

What Has YouTube Done for Me Lately?

In 2006, Time Magazine’s Person of the Year was “You.” The issue was a celebration of the new interactive internet, Web 2.0. This was my response. 

Hey you. Yes, YOU. Congratulations. Time Magazine has just named YOU their Person of the Year for 2006. There you are, smiling back at yourself from the mirror on the cover. You should really rethink that piercing. Read the rest of this entry »

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