Category: Lavender “From the Editor” Columns

I don’t usually go to the State Fair alone.  I can find something entertaining anywhere I go, but I enjoy things differently when I’m with people.  Especially true at the Fair, I like to sample and taste and judge my way through with friends or family.  I experience it differently based on whom I’m with; the niece and nephew like the Midway, my dad likes Machinery Hill, my foodie friends dissect the new cuisine.

This year, I went solo. On the schedule for the day, I knew I’d meet up with folks at Carnes and Liggett for the Sixth Annual Gay Day at the State Fair…and I planned to run into other friends later.  But, for the first few hours, I ambled around on my own terms.  Looking, observing, SWEATING.  Goodness, that was a hot day with a relentless sun.  I know—it was a summer Sunday.  A perfect one, really.

As I wandered, I thought about all the people who were there for the unofficial Gay Day at the Fair.  The dress code was hopeful—people were directed to get Vote NO shirts from Minnesotans United for All Families.  Great idea.  I scanned the crowds and saw one here and there.  Wander, wander, wander—there’s one.  Wander.  Wander.  Okay…there weren’t many.  I was disheartened.  There I was, taking a survey of a cross-section of our state.  People as far as the eye could see and nary a Vote NO shirt on one of them.  Was I looking at a representative sample of our state?  God, I hope not.

With crumbs and cream of Ole’s Cannolis still on my lips, I checked the State Fair App for where the Minnesotans United for All Families stand was located so I could go get my own Vote NO shirt.  Searching in “Merchandise,” I found out the stand was on Cooper, over by Dan Patch.  These names make sense when looking at a State Fair map…or when being a really good pointer, as I found out.

Making my way to the little orange Vote NO booth was easier planned than done.  Turns out, it had the longest line that I would stand in at the entire Fair.  What a great problem to have!  Here were my people!  They were walking away with t-shirts and fans and buttons and stickers. When it was my turn to get my goods, I confirmed that what I’d heard was true—they didn’t have a t-shirt in my size.  (I’ve told you before how I’m a large Nordic woman; it makes sense that I shop for dress shoes with the drag queens and could probably tussle over t-shirts with the bears.)  I’m hopeful that they’ll order some larger shirts for the larger people—there are still two months left for us to wear them (and we make for more impressive walking billboards…I’m just saying). So, I dejectedly left with a Vote NO fan and went on my merry way.

Because of my Vote NO fan, I wasn’t really alone the rest of my time at the Fair.  In the blazing sun, that fan was used and abused.  No fewer than ten times, I was stopped and asked where I got the it. Each time, the person asking surprised me.  An older woman, a younger couple, a punky kid who didn’t look like he should care.  I got schooled just by letting myself notice who was noticing the Vote NO fans.  I did a lot of pointing, a bit of showing on the map, and a whole lot of hand gesturing to show where Cooper is in relation to other landmarks.

As I was walking to the parking lot where I’d abandoned my Jeep earlier in the day, I was stopped one last time.  This time, it wasn’t just surprise that halted me—I had to actually stop and understand what was going on.  A woman in a scooter was signing to me.  It took me a beat or two to realize it, but once I started watching her motions and reading her lips, it was clear that she was asking me where I got my Vote NO fan, though I don’t really know American Sign Language.  I paused and tried to mouth the word clearly as I pointed yet again in the direction of “Cooper.”  From her expression, it didn’t look like I’d conveyed it clearly.  I tried again, “COOOOOPER.”  Not louder, just more pronounced.  Nope.  Then it dawned on me.  I sign-spelled “C-O-O-P-E-R.”  She smiled and nodded.  I don’t know how I remembered the alphabet that I learned in elementary school, but we did it.  We had a conversation about Voting NO in a matter of a minute of time on a sweaty afternoon in August.

She signed “thank you.”  I returned the gesture, and we both went on our ways, smiling.

Looking around as she went the direction of the Vote NO booth and I went the direction of my Jeep, I felt a new sense of hope for November.  Though I still couldn’t see many Vote NO t-shirts in the crowd, I know knew that there were plenty of people feeling that sentiment…plenty of people wanting to show their signs of support for Voting NO.

And I remain hopeful.

With thanks,

Andy

Working with someone who’s just out of college is hilarious.  Okay, I’ll focus that to say that working with Kathleen Watson is hilarious.  She’s right out of Augsburg College with a mind as sharp as her wit.  She pretty much makes my head spin at times with an analysis here or an incredibly astute conclusion there.  I can hear a 22-year-old me in her statements, though I never got to work my gender analysis into my job (until now) since my first job was working for Twin Cities Public Television’s corporate subsidiary.  Her areas of study were theatre and English, but she lives the gender and sexuality aspect.  It’s part of theatre and English more now than ever.  One of her projects was about the “genderqueerness” of Orlando. She was steeping in cultural critique and now she’s working at Lavender.

I give Kathleen a look when she says words like “genderqueer.”  The look can be summed up succinctly in the language of her generation:

WTF. OMG. LOL.

Genderqueer?  No, I’m not laughing at it as a word or a concept…I’m laughing that I have no idea what she’s talking about.  I’m laughing because I’m out of the loop.  I’m trying to find humor in being left behind by academia.

Back in my day, we were still trying to spell “woman” as “womyn.”  I don’t think that ever took hold, transculturally. It was a landslide win to see the schoolwide shift from “freshman” to “first year” students.  That Introduction to Gay & Lesbian Studies existed and Women’s Studies was becoming an actual major (then to evolve to add the “Gender” and, finally, “Sexuality”) were huge. Now, with genderqueer, cisgender, and new pronouns like “ze” and “hir” (see page 28), I am left with my jaw hanging open at the new and unknown puzzle pieces in my lexicon.

Often, the only way I know how to handle being so far out of my element is to laugh…and scamper off to Google.  Thankfully, Kathleen has no problem teaching me what these words mean.  She doesn’t scoff or make an ageist comment—she’s a pro.  She tells me about them.  She teaches me.

Simply by being in an academic climate recently, she knows more.  And, being that I left the academic climate in 1999, I know less.

Sort of.

It’s not that I know less, it’s that my knowledge is outdated.

And, by never going to college, it doesn’t mean that someone knows less in terms of experience, but it does in terms of theory.

What does theory have to do with life?

Arguably, not a whole lot.  It’s good to know what has happened and why, but we’re still going to live life how we live it, whether or not we know the theoretical basis behind what we’re doing.  Some of it’s history, some of it’s theory, and some of it is trivia.  The world goes on turning while students have the privilege of attending classes and pontificating about the problems of the world, perhaps detachedly.  But, because they may not be experiencing what they’re studying, does it mean that they know less, too?  Yes.

And that’s where we come in.  It’s up to us to fill in the blanks that theory left.  They have a whole lot of knowledge, but they don’t have as much context or experience.  Their perspective is both wide open and pigeon-holed.

This issue contains a Survival Guide for students, which also applies to the rest of us who aren’t in school.  We can all take those tips and accept or reject them as applicable to our lives.  But, what’s more, our columnists offer survival tips in every issue.  Yes, whether attending school or not, we can all learn from what our writers put out there for us to read.  Ms. Behavior gives advice; that’s a pretty easy one in which we can find guidance.  Justin Jones examines love using the metaphor of a waltz lesson; his words resonate with our romantic hearts.  Jennifer Parello lets us learn from her (or her girlfriend’s) mistakes.  Ellie Krug pretty much broke my heart in her piece about the Envy of not becoming the person she is now…earlier.

We teach the students.  The students teach us. We never really graduate.

The theoretical leaves the books and gets tested.  The conversations leave the classrooms and happen organically.  Everywhere.

We learn.

And laugh.

And for that, I’m grateful.

With thanks,
Andy

I may have to ask forgiveness instead of permission for this quick letter; Brent Fourre (right, pictured with his sister) doesn’t know I’m writing this. This time last year, I’d been to a couple of Lavender events but was barely beginning to recognize the usual suspects. Then, I went to the Renaissance Festival and saw a guy who I was certain I’d seen and asked to take a picture of him and his friends—and he recognized me back. Such was the start of our mutual recognition society, which I bolstered by stalking him on Facebook just to surprise him by knowing his last name when I saw him at the next event. Relationship building.  Or just being creepy. You decide.

At last night’s First Thursday at Loring Kitchen & Bar, Brent good-naturedly stepped out of a picture with his friends, and we laughed about how often his picture is in the magazine and on the website. I made the point that the odds are good—he’s at so many events and is very involved in the community. Then, I told him privately how I thought of him and his job as an American Sign Language Interpreter when I was watching the interpreter at Dan Savage’s show (signing about sex is almost more funny than talking about it). He laughed, too, but then told me about a recent challenge he faced in his interpreting.

As pictured in the Lavender Lens on page 14, the Red Ribbon Ride that raises money and awareness for the various AIDS organizations in Minnesota held its closing ceremony on the steps of the State Capitol.  Brent was there as a rider and also as an American Sign Language Interpreter.  Just as we had been giggling a moment before, we turned solemn as he recounted how he’d ended up interpreting a video at the Closing Ceremony that included his own story. He powered through interpreting the story of his own partner of 16 years dying of complications of AIDS. He marveled at how the story he told to a camera when registering for the ride was broadcast in its entire two minutes for everyone to see and hear. I marveled that he made it through the telling—twice—in two languages and in front of an audience.

We spoke of how carefully he crafted his words and thoughts to be respectful to the audience and how, in speaking to other members of the media, he cautioned that AIDS is still a force to contend with.

I had no idea. This was all new to me. But, I am grateful to have had the chance to learn more about Brent, not in a video at a Closing Ceremony, but at a happy hour. Someone who was already a familiar and friendly person showed more of his facets and I—along with the people at the Red Ribbon Ride—are fortunate to know more about him.

The point I’m making is that even though I curate stories for people to read and see in these pages and online, sometimes the stories just need to be gotten from each other, in person.

And I’m grateful for each and every one that I get to hear.

With thanks,

Andy

This is my 27th issue. This means that I’ve got a full year’s rotation of 26 issues behind me as the Managing Editor of Lavender.  Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to be able to say that?  Just how I’ve yearned to have at least one year behind me so that not everything is brand-stinking-new?  Oh, it’s a good feeling.

I’m not one who wants time to pass too quickly, but knowing that a full year of issues had to happen before I would fully know my ear from my elbow with regard to the editorial calendar, I was antsy.  And, now that it has passed, I can reflect on a year of great successes and challenges.  Many of the successes are fairly easy to identify:
1.) The 26 issues exist in their entirety, and nobody perished during the production of them. Sure, there were late nights and a steep learning curve, but producing a magazine is something that is learnable.

2.) Between 26 issues lies a revamped and reinvigorated website that has more content for you, accessible all the time and to a greater extent than anything we can do in print.  It’s growing, it will become even more robust, and I can’t wait to see what will happen this next year at www.LavenderMagazine.com.  The stats show us that more of you are coming to the website and you’re staying longer, which means that we’re doing something right.

3.) The iPad and iPhone apps are booming.  People are seeing that they can get the latest issue of Lavender delivered right to their devices and that we actually add more content to it, including clickable web links and embedded videos.  And, that same Online Magazine with its links and videos is viewable at any computer and on any smartphone.  You can get Lavender wherever you can get internet connection.

4.) Our online interactions are growing.  Facebook and Twitter followers increased by 44% this last year.  Excellent.  We’re getting messages to you in a more timely and relevant manner, trying to match the message with the medium.  That means more content in different ways to more people.

5.) We see more of you.  You’re appearing at events and commenting on Facebook posts.  You’re sharing our links, retweeting our tweets, and showing up in our online photo galleries.  You’re sending in critiques and you’re passing along props.  This means we’re becoming the interactive community that we’ve wanted—and needed—to be.  You’re hopefully feeling our credibility increase as we’ve embraced transparency and discussion. We’re nothing without our community and your feedback is crucial.

6.) The ads tell a story, too.  When you look at our publication, know that it is possible because of the advertising.  The growth in diversity of advertisers both online and in print this year means that more businesses are seeing worth in this audience, whether it be as a financial power or as market influencers or any other reason.  And, more people are seeing our publication as a vehicle for reaching this audience.  Look to them as resources that believe in you and this community.

The challenges are fairly easy to identify, too, but I’ve had a revolving list of those going since Day 1. The most basic challenge is to provide an attractive and relevant lifestyle publication for the GLBT community (and its allies) of the Twin Cities, Minnesota, the region, and the whole World Wide Web.  No big thing.

So, looking at the next 26 issues, I challenge us all to continue to grow as an interactive community.  Seek out conversations.  Defeat harmful political campaigns.  Remember that there is a whole online world of content at your fingertips that doesn’t rely on a press and that allows you more of a voice.

And, when you get down and out, look at the kitty on this cover and sit in a moment of “Awww.”  It’ll do you good.

With thanks,
Andy

I was able to attend the 2012 General Mills Pride Reception with a great many GLBTA members.  Can we call that historic?  I attended the Historic 2012 General Mills Pride Reception?  Let’s go with it.  What happened at that event was important.  The attendees filed into the auditorium, listened to the welcoming remarks, watched a performance by the Project 515 Players, and then heard the CEO of a Fortune 500 family institution oppose the anti-marriage amendment.  I don’t know about the rest of the folks there, but it kind of happened in slow-motion.  You know when you’re watching a show and you can tell that something’s going to happen as it’s happening? It was like that. Ken Powell was speaking and suddenly it was said: General Mills opposes this proposed amendment that would define marriage as being between a man and a woman.

We applauded.  It hit us.  We applauded harder.  It hit us harder.  We stood–together–as a wave of professional people who were just validated as mattering and gave him a standing ovation.  It lasted.  So did the goosebumps.  Phones came out–we tweeted, we posted to Facebook, we shared the news.  We shared that moment.

What is interesting to me is what came out of that event and the morning after.  I’m guessing that the press release from the event focused on the business nature of the announcement; that General Mills supports a diverse, inclusive culture for a better workforce.  That it’s good for business.

I heard more than that, as the only member of the press who was present.  I heard Mr. Powell say that it’s about business, yes, but that General Mills is in the business of nourishing lives; not just some of them, all of them.

That’s different.

That’s worth lauding more than a wise business decision.  Yes, it’s important that this community be seen as a credible force in the market–GLBT community members are valuable workers and buyers.  But, more than that, GLBT community members are valuable people.  GLBT community members’ lives are worth a Fortune 500 company standing up against discrimination.  This Fortune 500 company has fed us.  It’s made many other decisions in its history to make lives better, from going multi-grain to removing high fructose corn syrup from its yogurt.  For heaven’s sake, couldn’t “Americana” be just as easily be defined “Mom and Cheerios” as “Mom and apple pie?”

Cheerios believes in this community.

I know that we all joke about corporations and how they’re not people.  Sometimes, it seems like they are.  No, I can’t be “friends” with General Mills on Facebook.  I won’t invite General Mills to my birthday party. General Mills and I might share some recipes, but we won’t meet up for Happy Hour because General Mills is not a person.  But, General Mills is something we’re all in a relationship with…and it just got less complicated.  For us.  The brunt of the backlash that General Mills will face by proponents of the anti-marriage amendment is complicated and can’t be underestimated, which makes me want to be friends with it even more.

No, it’s not the first corporation to oppose the anti-marriage amendment and it won’t be the last.  We can be grateful for each and every one that stands up and says out loud that this community deserves to not be discriminated against.

What I can’t wait for is when corporations and politicians stand up and say that the Defense of Marriage Act should be repealed and same-sex marriage should be legalized.

That’s different.

When it is voiced that this group should not be discriminated against by an amendment, that’s one thing.  When it is voiced that this group should be allowed the same rights and freedoms as heterosexual citizens…that is historic.

Each and every time.

With thanks,

Andy

My first task at this new job was self-appointed. I photographed (double-fisting my iPhone and my SONY camera) the entire Pride Parade, live-tweeting it as it passed us by on Hennepin outside of Lavender’s brunch.  As all of the floats and cars and marchers and walkers went by, I marveled.  The colors, the anime, the excitement…well, the pride…was exciting. It was both a blur and in stop-motion with each photo I snapped.  I’ve thought of those photos often in this past year as I’ve met new people and been introduced to organizations in the community.  Working on the Local Music Issue last year, I could recall seeing and hearing both the Women’s Drum Center and the Minnesota Freedom Band in the parade last year.  I could visually recall their photos.  Attending OutFront’s 25th Anniversary, I could mentally pull up photos of their brightly colored superheroes zooming along Hennepin in the parade.  It’s as if my life flashed before my eyes during the Pride Parade of 2011 but I didn’t realize that until just now.

As the editor, my email inbox runneth over.  Recently, an email message came in via the “[email protected]” address that was short, but to the point. The writer expressed disappointment that we never covered the Pride Committee who works so hard to put on these events for us.

I’ve become accustomed in this last year to what I think of as neglect critique (statements like “I don’t know how that wasn’t in Lavender,” or “Lavender never covers this or that group,” or “Lavender doesn’t cover anything that applies to me”).  Every criticism has merit.  Every person who critiques us has a valid point of view.  Every critique gets investigated by me. Some don’t quite shake out exactly as stated, some do.

This one? I usually replace any “nevers” with a big grain of salt.  But, thinking about the last year, no. Starting at Pride and now coming full circle, I have not given a proper shout-out to the group that throws our biggest party of the year.  I certainly can’t recall their float or appearance in the Pride Parade like I can with most of the other organizations because THEY COORDINATED THE PARADE.  They’re the ones who are volunteering their time and talents to celebrate this community, and they do a smash-bang job.  They do great work and I can’t wait to enjoy the hell out of it again this year.  This list doesn’t include countless folks who aren’t mentioned on the TCPride.org website, but I’d like to give a big hand and cheer of encouragement to the Pride Staff (paid and volunteer): Dot Belstler, Andi Otto, April Maye, Dana Karpinske, Darcie Baumann-Fern, David Judd, Dillon Gherna, Eric Zimmerman, Eric Zucker, Jo-Ellyn Pilarski, John Bigger, Karen Broman, Matt Shaw, Michael Olson, Nicholas Wicklund, Rochelle James, Ron Lischeid, Roxanne Anderson, Steve Haussy, Tasha Villette, and Zach Kingen, as well as the Board of Directors: Scott Feldman, Brian Harper, Jason Ledeboer, Lisa Anderson-Gaber, LaToya Scott, Rob Anderson, and Daniel Zillmann.

Even last night at Solera, I had a lovely exchange with a Pride volunteer and ended up leaving the event with a temporary tattoo of the Pride logo between my shoulder blades.  Now that’s dedication.

So, as I said last night to many, many people, I’ll see you soon.  We’ve got a great many opportunities to encounter each other during the multitude of events this June and I couldn’t be more excited.  Please look for me during the Parade and smile when I take your picture to tweet to the masses.

With thanks,

Andy

Housekeeping:

In terms of content, don’t forget that we’ve got loads of space online where I put what can’t fit into the magazine. You want more pictures of you?  We now put all the photos from each event in the Photo Gallery section of our website–more than has ever fit on our pages. For each magazine we print, we also use the same layout to publish the Online Magazine as well as the iPad and iPhone app…but we add more pages to the Online Magazine.  In this issue alone, we’ve added more fashion pages, more articles (read about Marriage Equality from the stance of the MN ACLU), more photos of Corey and Jason’s Lavender Love, more gratuitous pictures of Channing Tatum and the guys from Magic Mike,  and videos (including just HOW Ross Sveback stacks and frost and sprinkles that six-layer rainbow cake).  You can hear Justin Jones read his “Through These Eyes” column with his soft North Carolina drawl.  And, in particular, this issue’s Pride Planner will come in handy (what a pun) when you pull it up on your smartphone to check what’s going on where during Pride.  We do this for you, our audience.

Finally, a shout-out to John, who asked my permission to use the restroom last night at Solera:  A clear nod to my last “From the Editor” in which I mentioned that I used to do the same at my first job,  such a subtle joke has never gotten me to laugh as long as that one.  Please, John, be my guest.

I’m sitting at my desk in the corner of Lavender’s office building, thinking of my first job out of college.  I worked for Twin Cities Public Television’s now-defunct corporate subsidiary, Point2Point Communication Solutions, in Lowertown St. Paul.  Our office was on the top floor of the building that now houses The Bulldog Lowertown; it’s exponentially cooler now than then.  Back at the turn of Y2K, it only housed a dingy convenience store and an Insty Prints.  Overlooking Mears Park and connected to our parent company by skyways, it was a fantastic setting for working; there was plenty to look at, it had access to other business people and lunch destinations, and there was a little hubbub, but not too much.

After the first time I lost my car in the parking ramp at TPT, I vowed to always park in the same place forever and ever, amen.  After the boss took me to lunch in the skyway system and then made me find my own way back, I decided to pack my pockets with bread crumbs for any future forays.  After a member of the board tossed his keys across my desk telling me to park his car as they slid to a stop, I learned that I was the lowest on the totem pole and some people will always slide their keys to whomever is paid to catch them.

I lived in a combination of earnestness, fear, humility, and righteousness.  Being a fresh graduate of Macalester College, I truly believed that I could change the world.  It was mine to dissect and deconstruct as a Social Scientist—my degree said so.  Though I started my first job asking to use the restroom every time I had to go, I had this odd flipside of confidence that made me feel like I was made of steel.  I sat at the front desk, answered the phones, and was the administrative assistant to a handful of creative, hilarious, personable people.  It was a job that I didn’t know was as fantastic as it was…until after I went to the next ones that weren’t so fantastic.  At age 22, I sorted the mail and answered the phones.  I did the bank deposits.  I took graphic design courses.  I had three weeks vacation from the get-go…and sick days were on the Honor System.  I loved it.  I had important work to do, a great place to do it, and I was paid money.  Yes, money.

As far as work and employment were concerned, I was particularly engrossed in the topic of Bentham’s Panopticon as a spatial model for my work space.  As the administrative assistant and receptionist, I was plunked smack dab in the middle of an open office area, surrounded by private offices.  I was the center of a wheel; invisible spokes radiated out from me and separated the offices of the company’s leaders.  If you Google Bentham’s Panopticon, you’ll find neat images illustrating a prison system that was similar to an Honor System.  Envision a wheel—in the center are the prison guards, radiating out from the center are prison cells; the walls between them are the spokes of the wheel.  Beyond the cells are windows letting in light and effectively backlighting the inhabitants of each cell for the prison guards to be able to monitor them at whatever time they wanted to.  Here’s where the Honor System similarity comes in; because of the lighting and positioning of the guards and the prisoners, the prisoners couldn’t see the guards and never knew when they were being monitored.  So, they never knew when to behave and, arguably, had to behave all the time in order to be in compliance with their incarceration.

What’s my point?  When I was 22 years old and working in the center of an office as the lowest on the totem pole, I was convinced that I was in a Reverse Panopticon.  It was a reverse model because I was the prisoner in the middle.  The people with power were all around me and able to monitor me at any time.  Not only did they have legitimate power over me, being my superiors, but they also had visual control over me as I never knew when they were watching or listening.  My Nonverbal Communications course reminded me how my desk, being accessible and visible from 360 degrees, left me without privacy. They could overhear my conversations and see what I was working on, so I’d best behave.

I usually did behave.  In fact, I was probably the best behaved then…when I was fresh and new and pliable. I realize that I’m comparing it to a prison system, but I think it’s because I was finding my way from a rigid school structure and into the freedom of adulthood. I was testing what I thought was freedom against what I thought was constraint when, really, there is good behavior in freedom, too.  Freedom does not just mean getting to do whatever we want to the point of misbehaving.  Perhaps, unfortunately, we’ve redefined what it means to misbehave, too.  There just aren’t tremendous consequences for getting things wrong, not listening, not handing in assignments on time, or treating others discourteously…at least not like there were back in school.  Perhaps we do need more of a Panopticon, reverse or not.

These past few months, I’ve had the pleasure of working with students volunteering from the University of Minnesota and Augsburg College.  What I’ve noticed about them is that they do what they are asked.  They are well-behaved.  They don’t necessarily ask when to use the bathroom, but I’d rather they didn’t…so that works out well.  They show up.  They call when they’re late.  They are smart and inquisitive and on the top of their games.  They still know good grammar and punctuation, not quite having slipped into what some of us might refer to as “business colloquialisms.”

Now that I’m no longer the lowest on the totem pole in the middle of an office (my position of power is located in the rear windowless corner of a former Kingdom Hall for Jehovah’s Witnesses), I can say that I really like working with these future and current additions to the work force.  It’s a shame that so many of the new graduates are not finding work—are you kidding me?  What they lack in experience, they have in work ethic.  They’re prepared to get the jobs done.  But, what they don’t know is that they’re not in a Panopticon.  I’m not watching their every move—because I know they’re behaving.  I trust that if I mentor them well enough, they might not backslide into lax adulthood like the rest of us have.

At least when no one’s looking.

With thanks,

Andy

I’ve fallen in love with the photography of the newly discovered Vivian Maier. She snapped as she walked. She caught life. She was an undiscovered genius of The Moment. I stumbled upon a link to her first exhibition ever, taking place at the Chicago Cultural Center until the first weekend in April. First, I posted a link to her exhibit on Facebook.  Then, I posted that I wanted to go to it. Impulsive? A little. Doable? Definitely. Then, Heidi C. said she’d go. That was the tipping point. It was on. Heidi H. and Amanda B. quickly volunteered and suddenly we had a road trip.

We also had parameters. One day, to and from. With vehicle. Before the end of the exhibit’s run in April. On a budget.

We also had a little bit of feedback. From “that’s crazy” to “impressive.” I smiled at the challenge. I love this stuff.

It’s funny; some people got a little uncomfortable at thought of an 800-mile road trip in one day.  For an exhibit.   In Chicago.  From Minneapolis-St. Paul.  That it’s not only illogical and frivolous, but–because of that–it’s not a good idea.  Not true.  No, it made no real sense, but that’s not necessarily a good reason not to do it.  I considered taking offense to it, but no…people who found it uncomfortable probably did so because of their own feelings of being a bit threatened by it; the freedom, the impulsiveness, the lack of purpose…but abundance of whimsy.  I noodled with it.  I smiled at it.  I wanted to do it even more.

I love proving to people that fun is allowed.  The frivolous is still accessible, even in these austere times.  And, with four of us footing the bill, the whirlwind trip wouldn’t be a waste of anything–let alone our time or resources.

So there.

Then, you have the camp of folks who can’t fathom going to Chicago without much of a plan or guide.  I found that aspect terribly appealing.  I think it’s become my life goal to overcome the idea that–though I have no sense of compass direction–I can navigate the heck out of a trip.  That–though I grew up in corn and soybean fields–I’ve got no problem “driving Chicago.”  That–though we live in an era of Tom Tom, LoJack City, Magellan, and dashboard GPS consoles that dull our abilities to read maps (and will probably somehow lead to the downfall of humanity)–I can envision a route and make it all happen without anything that requires a cord that plugs into the cigarette lighter.  That–though I’m a woman–I won’t be overwhelmed by these manly things as I drive my diet SUV around a big city.  Sure, it’s the unknown…but it’s my unknown.

It’s a calculated unknown.

What you’ve got to understand is that the idea becomes much less overwhelming when limits are in place. 3-4 hours in Chicago with an exhibit as the goal gave us a location; a place we needed to park the vehicle. And, a window of time. Then, working out from there, I knew the Bean was close by as were the museums, planetarium, and aquarium (and Soldier Field). A trip in on the “L” wasn’t in the cards; finding our other Chicago go-to destinations weren’t for this trip, and a sit-down restaurant probably wouldn’t do the trick. But, we could improvise here and there and do just fine.

And we did.

The people who responded to my post were strangers to each other.  Add that layer to the mission and stir.  Perch a little paper umbrella on the rim and enjoy.

I daresay, the entire trip came off without a hitch…down to ending it with a final hour of iPod show and tell as we breezed back to St. Paul after 17.5 hours together.  Amanda is a Chicago-phile with great apps on her iPhone and great excitement in her heart. Marrying that with the capital-”P” Plans made for a great combination.

We started at a Polish market, Gene’s Sausage Shop, in Lincoln Square, came down Lake Shore Drive with Heidi H. snapping some great off-kilter shots out the dirty windows, drove through the museum area and back up to Millennium Park where we found ample parking. We abused The Bean for its photo opportunities and waltzed across the street to our destination.

Vivian.

And, the rest of the Cultural Center. My lands. What a treat.  We were viewing art within art.  Tiffany stained glass.  Marble.  Mosaic tiles.  Dramatic sconces.  And we even walked into an architectural exhibit featuring Louis Sullivan, something this lover of architecture positively trilled over.  Payout.

I admit that even I felt a little apprehensive about just what the payout was going to be once we reached our destination.  But, oh.  I was not disappointed.  Considering that many of Maier’s pieces are online (but nowhere near even a fraction of the collection), I figured I’ve probably seen many of the photos that are in this first-exhibition-ever.  I was right.  Many of them were familiar…and I loved seeing them again.  It’s art.  But, the fact that there was a small section of color prints was an unforeseen delight.  I don’t know about you, but black and white photographs default into an artistic category to me and my sensibilities.  Color photos have to work a little harder.  And the subtlety in photos that were heavy in dated colors like marigold, gold, and cyan were brilliant.  You had to let the eye see the art beyond the color.  It’s not like photos by David LaChappelle in which the artistry jumps off the page by way of great contrast and a techno beat…these took the viewer into them and showed them around a bit.  Oh, Vivian.  Thank you.

Our last goal involved taking in some Chicago Dogs. While Heidi C. snapped shots of the city through the sky slider roof of the Jeep as we blasted the heat, Amanda found a drive-thru dog dealer within blocks using her apps. Portillos. This was lucky.  Throw four people together who don’t know each other and you can expect the best…but, if left unfed in a large metropolis, things could run amok.  I wish I could’ve gotten photos of the bounty that was delivered through the Jeep window that dusky evening…like Santa handing over a bag of presents.  We were in the same four-block area as Hard Rock Cafe, Rainforest Cafe, and the retro McDonald’s, but we were bent on getting Chicago Dogs.  We’d already suffered the on-foot failure of finding another place for hotdogs by way of iPhone app, but upon walking to it, it was attached to a Popeyes.  No.  We know the difference between a dog that you get in Chicago and a Chicago Dog.  So, the five tube foods that graced the Jeep with raw onions, pickles, peppers, relish, mustard, and tomato halves, were God-sent.  The rings, cheese fries, and shakes were also entirely delectable.  Then, to munch from the Portillos cornucopia as we drove up Wacker Drive along the river as we wended our way to the freeway in the setting sun (beyond the skyscrapers) was like the ending of an epic film.  An epic of epic-ness.

Yes, a long drive…both there and back. But, for $34 a piece for gas and parking, we each had a pocketful of memories and experiences. And the novel claim to fame of doing a Chicago Daytrip on a day in March in 2011.

Illogical, artful, and utterly worthwhile.

And never to be replicated.  It just wouldn’t be possible.

See the fast-paced photography of Chicago in a Day here:

Nonprofits.  My second job out of college was as a fundraiser for orphans in Latin America and the Caribbean.  Orphans.  It doesn’t get much more fundraisey than that.  Great work, great mission, good feelings.  Then, as I got older, I tried to stay involved with nonprofits even when I no longer worked for one—I volunteered, I promoted, and I donated.  Then, I lost my job.

Back in the summer of 2009, I had been working for a luxury architect and homebuilder. Talented and ethical bosses, they kept us employed longer than they should have as the industry tanked.  When the lay-off finally happened, it was the other shoe dropping.  We’d been waiting.  It wasn’t personal, it was business.

Plenty of folks run through the scenarios in their heads, “What would I do if I lost my job tomorrow?”  Many think, “Oh, I’d cut my cell phone.”  Cable TV, a vacation, eating out—those tend to be on the chopping block.  What I found was that I couldn’t live without many of those things; cell phones, internet connection, and eating out had become more integral to networking and business than ever before—especially when I had no physical presence in an office, only the green chair in my apartment in St. Paul.  I had to be present somewhere.  I had to keep myself out there and available.  People had to know what I was up to and that I was very employable.

This lasted two years.  Call it what you want; depending on the day, I’d say I was unemployed, underemployed, consulting, freelancing, and jobless.  The euphemisms were for when they mattered; they could be integral to interviews or when the ego was suffering just too much.  Sometimes, I referred to myself as jobless, simply to get the point across that it was a state of employment rather than a personality flaw. It was a big head game but I was usually winning.

Unfortunately, I’m certain that there is a multitude of people out there who can relate when I refer to just how psychologically taxing it is to apply for jobs that we’re both over- and under-qualified to perform.  Not getting interviews, not getting offers, not getting call-backs—it all chips away at the sense of self I had when I was “Director of” in my last few positions.  The arbitrary nature of the employment game became a subject of study for me.  There was no pattern to discern. There were no ploys or strategies that were useful as general application tactics.  All bets were off.  There were simply too many of us for too few jobs.

I didn’t lapse into a malaise.  Not really.  I had my moments, I guess, but I was fairly grounded in the reality that I just had to take things as they came.  I started as a statistic.  According to some people, I was a drain on society.  I was leeching from the government while popping bon-bons and watching daytime television (despite cutting the cable). I was balancing negative perceptions of the unemployed—as a group—while just trying to survive—as a single person.  I didn’t have to move home, thankfully, though it was always a welcome option (thanks to having awesome parents).  But, as I fell off unemployment insurance, exhausted COBRA, and became a more nebulous statistic that didn’t even count as unemployed, I was able to maintain a hold on my purpose and my hope.

How?

I volunteered.

One of the most eye-opening moments of my adult life was when I really saw how much better I had it than so many other people, even when my chips were down.  My unemployment check was more than most made working 40 hours a week, though it was a fraction of what I was used to making.  I didn’t do anything terribly special to deserve this status, I simply put one foot in front of the other and followed the path laid out for me: High school, college, job with benefits and a nice salary.  It was humbling, this privileged path.  And, it was hard to figure out what I could do about it.

As I was downsizing my life, I upsized my involvement.  I found communities that had no money and I helped.  I designed websites.  I developed campaigns for start-ups. I served on committees and groups.  I was the busiest unemployed person by virtue of my volunteering.  It kept me sane and it made me feel good.  And crazy.

I never lost my edge because of this volunteering way of life.  No wondering if I could still type 80wpm, no wondering if I could still handle the Adobe Design software, no wondering if I could develop WordPress websites with plugins and integration galore.  I had it.  And it prepared me for this job.  My portfolio grew.  I was still writing. Reunions happened and I co-chaired the committees.  I was open about needing a job at every post I accepted and every function I attended.

I had purpose.  A presence.  A place to be.  And I was needed.

As good as it felt to give of my talents while I felt like I had less than I’ve ever had, it still felt that much better to finally donate my first $5 to a nonprofit again after I got this job.  I’m only ten months into being employed again and the headgames are long over—I can do this job and I’m doing it well.  But the lasting impact of joblessness will be with me for a long time as will the lessons I learned.

What I found during my years of joblessness is that nobody can really give advice that would apply broadly to all—you can only pick and choose from what other people have learned.  Follow your instincts.  My instincts told me to get involved and help others.

And to keep heart.

With thanks,

Andy

Every once in a while, I’ve got to talk business.  The business of getting you the goods, the business of what we’re up to, and the business of enriching our community both here in Minnesota and on the World Wide Web.  At this point in time, Lavender is available via five platforms: print magazine, online magazine (on the web), online magazine (on the iPad), online magazine (on smartphones like DROID or iPhone), and the www.LavenderMagazine.com website.

As always, Lavender is free.

What may be confusing is what the differences are between the different platforms.  Do you want or need to go to multiple places? Do you need to check out the various platforms to get all the information?  Is there more than what’s in the magazine that you can pick up on stands?  The answer is yes.

Being a free publication, our print page count relies solely on advertising dollars.  It’s a business model that works–it’s one of the reasons Lavender’s been around since 1995.  But, because of technology, we can expand the page count of our online magazine to accommodate more material.  For instance, the last issue–The Wedding Issue–was bulked up to 92 pages in print…but exceeded 120 pages in the online magazine.  We use that platform to show additional photos, videos, recipes, and all sorts of pieces that don’t fit in the print issue.  The same advertisers are in both, but the ads are enhanced and clickable in the online magazine to be able to get to the websites of the companies that want you to know that they’re there for you.  Even better, the online magazine is viewable on any computer by simply going to the top of our website at www.LavenderMagazine.com and clicking on ONLINE MAGAZINE.

Voila.

More Lavender.

The online magazine is also now viewable not only as an iPad Newsstand delivery but also on smartphones like iPhone and DROID.  You can set up your iPad in Newsstand to automatically deliver the latest Lavender when it hits the internet–slick.  And, if you’re sitting around with time to browse on your smartphone, consider going to our website and clicking the ONLINE MAGAZINE button to scroll through the current issue at your leisure.  New and completely for you.

Lastly, the www.LavenderMagazine.com website is where it all aggregates–everything from the print issue, the expanded online magazine, and anything we report and post whenever it strikes our fancy.  Reviews and recipes and news and videos and everything that is relevant to the community both here and across the globe.  It’s split up into sections for sorting ease, but also it’s clear to see what’s been added to the website most recently by looking at the RECENT POSTS area at the top of the content.  The photos in the home page slideshow illustrate new stories as they publish and the fresh content is readily apparent.

We’ve seen great traffic in the recent months.  Since we revamped and started using our new website after the New Year, our stats are looking good and people are really starting to engage with Lavender as an online community platform.  People are showing ownership of the online calendar by adding events to it and we couldn’t be more pleased.  But, keep watching. More will be happening in the upcoming weeks and months to make our free content even more relevant and plentiful.

We can’t wait.

With thanks,

Andy