Our VA is RVA

Read all about it

2011-02-28T15:48:00.005-05:00

Follow the link above to populate a list of some of the work I've published in the Richmond Times-Dispatch.

RVA Mag airs documentary

2010-09-09T09:35:00.003-04:00

I am pleased to announce that RVA Mag is airing the documentary 'Get up.' on its website. The doc. will run as a three-part series, and the first installment is available now.

Many thanks to the RVA Mag and RVA TV teams for their support.

Company biography: Death Metal Sundays clothing

2010-08-09T14:26:00.007-04:00

I was flattered when my friends asked me to write the bio for their merchandise company.

Check out Death Metal Sundays, read the bio, buy something!

VCU president, Va. Gov. respond

2010-03-11T13:55:00.008-05:00

Just hours after more than 1,000 people protested Attorney General Ken Cuccinelli's suggestion that state university's cannot protect gays under anti-discrimination policies, Gov. Bob McDonnell issued an executive directive warning against discrimination of any kind in the work place.

The directive states that "Discrimination in state employment will not be tolerated," and "state supported colleges and universities should likewise adopt a similar standard of conduct.”

An executive directive does not serve as law, but essentially supports institutions that protect gay rights under their respective codes of conduct and anti-discrimination acts.

Dr. Michael Rao, Virginia Commonwealth University president, sent a letter to the university community shortly after Gov. McDonnell announced his directive.

“Today, Governor McDonnell released an executive directive that effectively confirms the validity of VCU’s long-standing nondiscrimination statement,” the letter said. “This commitment to nondiscrimination that exists at VCU was approved by the University’s governing board and remains in effect.”

It is yet to be seen if the governor’s directive will curb the outrage created by the attorney general’s request. Many state universities this week were on spring break, and speakers at Wednesday’s rally at VCU suggest that, once those students return, more protests will follow.

Students, community rally for equality

2010-03-10T14:29:00.004-05:00

More than 1,000 people gathered outside the Virginia Commonwealth University Student Commons Wednesday afternoon to protest Attorney General Ken Cuccinelli’s request that state colleges rescind guidelines that protect gays under anti-discrimination policies.

The student-led rally, which began shortly after noon and ended at about 1:30, featured several speakers from VCU student organizations as well as members of the university’s faculty, all of whom denounced Cuccinelli’s request.

“We decided we needed to do something,” said Kanwar Anand, a member of the Students for Possibilities Party, which organized the event. “Quite honestly, we were not expecting or anticipating such a large crowd. It’s pretty humbling.

“We are staunch supporters of keeping existing policies in place,” Anand added, “and we will not tolerate any sort of injustice against VCU students, or even schools across the state.”

When the rally concluded, a group of people left headed on foot toward the Capitol, where they promised to express their opposition of Cuccinelli’s request.
Anand said the rally was the first of its kind, but he expects similar rallies at other state universities once those campuses return from their respective spring breaks.

The rally proceeded less than 24 hours after several forums throughout the campuses at Monroe Park and MCV were held to discuss Cuccinelli’s request. The demonstration also occurred at the same location where, last Tuesday, more than 300 people gathered in unity to oppose a tour of Virginia by the controversial Westboro Baptist Church.

Communities speak out against discrimination

2010-03-09T17:01:00.005-05:00

A letter sent March 5 by Virginia Attorney General Ken Cuccinelli suggesting that colleges rescind guidelines that protect sexual-preference under anti-discrimination policies has been met with great resistance.

Virginia Tech responded almost immediately to Cuccinelli’s comments, releasing a statement that reaffirmed the university’s intent to continue protecting homosexuals from discrimination.

Virginia Commonwealth University Provost, Stephen Gottfredson, said Tuesday at one of several forums discussing Cuccinelli’s letter that VCU’s failure to take a similar stance “was simply an oversight,” and does not suggest the request will be met.

When asked why he didn’t reject the letter outright, Gottfredson said, “I wasn’t smart enough to say that.”

More than 300 people attended the afternoon forum at VCU’s Student Commons Theater, and hundreds of others were turned away because seating ran out. Another forum was scheduled to immediately follow in order to accommodate those who were turned away. Hundreds were also in attendance at earlier forums.

Gottfredson assured those attending the forum that diversity remains a “fundamental, core value at VCU,” and any changes to current policy will be executed by the university’s board of visitors.

Cameron Hunt is a religious study major at VCU and a practicing Episcopalian. He said Cuccinelli’s request was a subject of great contention at his church on Sunday.
Hunt urged the forum to stand up to government when it infringes on what should be inalienable rights.

“If we get involved,” he said, “[Government] won’t be able to do this to us anymore.”
Another person asked if the General Assembly was in a position to punish colleges that don’t adopt the policy.

“How can they hurt us anymore,” Gottfredson said, which elicited a roar of laughter.

A rally opposing Cuccinelli’s request is scheduled for tomorrow at noon at the courtyard of the VCU commons, the same site where more than 300 people gathered last Tuesday to celebrate diversity in the face of statewide protests by members of Kansas’ controversial Westboro Baptist Church.

On the Rocks (creative fiction)

2010-03-01T11:00:00.002-05:00

A bitter man in red gave me advice on a Tuesday afternoon in late August. On Thursday of that same hazy week, under the same sweltering sky, I talked politics with a wino who was wearing dark trousers and blue socks. Saturday—stumbling a bit—I listened as Neil Young sang of North Ontario, when a sour gentleman, dressed neatly in black, offered counsel to my heavy heart. My new shadowy friend soon introduced his companions, all of whom I found too frigid. Sunday, I met not a soul for the seventh is the day of rest. On Monday, still saturated from the previous week’s ramblings, I hid my long neck behind closed doors. The next Tuesday afternoon, the first of September, a familiar friend draped in crimson offered me guidance. And on Friday eve I swallowed the words of the gentleman wearing blue socks. Two days later, while sitting alone for a meal, a man cloaked like midnight again appeared, but I needed no guidance that day, rather, I sought the south and its comforts.
- Lefty Oswald Wise

For Lefty Oswald Wise, days filled with consumption sustained at great length. I cannot offer a specific measure for his inebriated endeavors, but suffice it to say the pattern maintained for much too long. Many before him had danced such a waltz, but with far greater rhythm. Charles Bukowski, a predecessor well-versed in the discipline, offered an answer as to what compelled Lefty’s desire.
“I have the feeling,” Bukowski said, “that drinking is a form of suicide where you're allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day.”
What a blessing! All the hobos and drunkards may howl like fools tonight and be re-born as men tomorrow. But Lefty was not a stray, although he could have passed for one’s kindred spirit. Lefty never wandered aimlessly among heathens and vagrants, traversing the city’s grid in search of bottle or bite; he resigned to himself to spaces lesser known, where clocks didn’t prompt fermentation to tap out, and the barley had a tendency to bite back.
Lefty was known to waste evenings at the lounge of a cheap hotel about a mile from his home. He preferred sitting alone in its deep, dark corners, watching as people sauntered in and later stumbled out. I, Andy Stills, had the good fortune of watching over that desolate bar.
I observed with great interest as Lefty one evening straddled a barstool near the kitchen.
“A change of pace, eh Lefty?” I asked.
“Against my better judgment,” he coughed, folding his hands atop the bar.
No sooner had I placed a scotch and water in front of Lefty than a man wearing a charcoal vest and matching slacks entered the bar through the dimly lit lobby. The man perched atop the chair next to Lefty and ordered a red wine. I ignored the request, and the man grew impatient.
“How about a glass of red for the gentleman, Andy?” Lefty piped up.
“Same time every night, eh Lefty,” I said smiling, flattening a newspaper. “Who you looking to save tonight, a pretty one I hope?”
Lefty shook his head. I poured a merlot.
“Don’t get cheap on me,” the man in the grey vest said, motioning for me to fill his glass generously.
Lefty furrowed his brow upon hearing the demand and reached toward his shirt pocket for a smoke. Then the man turned to Lefty and said, “Got a light, friend?” He was clenching a cigarillo between his yellow teeth. What an asshole.
Lefty paused a moment and stared into his drink before slapping down a half-empty box of matches.
“Keep ‘em,” Lefty said.
“Kind of you,” Asshole said to Lefty, striking a flame. The smell of sulfur crept through the air and I watched as Lefty inhaled deeply.
“Fancy matchbox,” Asshole said. “Where’d you get it?”
“Can’t recall,” Lefty admitted as he slid a Zippo from his left pants pocket, sparked a Pall Mall and placed the lighter neatly atop his cigarette box, which he had situated directly in front of him. Lefty told me long ago that keeping your smokes in front, rather than off to your side, reduced the chances of someone sauntering past and bumming one.
Lefty pursed his lips around the filter, pushed together his shoulder blades and rolled his neck from right to left.
“Proof,” the asshole asked him, flashing a grin.
I stared at the man coldly. Smoke crept from the corners of Lefty’s mouth.
“God is dead,” Asshole continued, tapping a crooked finger next to Lefty’s lighter. “That’s what’s inscribed on your Zippo.”
Asshole took a drag of his slender cigar while I tried to process how a complete stranger had the audacity to insert his hand into someone’s personal space. Seemed Lefty wondered the same, and he slid his cigarettes and lighter to his left, farther away from Asshole’s reach.
“Proof of what,” Lefty grumbled as he turned slightly toward the man. I unfolded the newspaper and pretended to read the funny pages.
“‘Deus mortuus est,’ that’s the insignia,” Asshole continued. “It’s Latin for ‘God is dead.’ ”
Asshole’s smile grew wider as he took a long drink. Lefty stared straight ahead.
“Show me all your proof,” Asshole said.
Lefty pushed the cherry of his cigarette into an overflowing glass ashtray, breathed out the last of the nicotine that filled his hollow lungs and took a long pull from the glass of bourbon that, up to that point, he had been nursing.
With his tattered shirt sleeve, Lefty wiped the whiskey that was running down his bristly chin.
“All the proof a man needs is right there,” Lefty growled, pointing to a half-empty, 30-year-old bottle of Seagram’s. I chuckled.
Asshole’s grin straightened. He balanced the cigarillo between his thin lips and extended his right arm. Lefty stared for a moment at the man’s giant mitt. A familiar pain shot through my skull and the room tilted a bit. The smell of cheap wine hung thick on Asshole’s breath, and the cigar danced wildly when he spoke. Lefty rolled the cuff of his sleeve before reluctantly raising his hand. Asshole’s long, slender fingers encompassed Lefty’s. I pretended to look away.
“The name’s Charlie,” the man said.
Lefty straightened up.
“Bold statement to have scratched into a lighter, don’t you think?” Asshole continued.
Lefty’s eyes roamed the hazy lounge; a one-legged man sat alone nursing a beer at the opposite end of the bar and a rough, leathery looking woman with a black eye was in a back booth chain-smoking and working a crossword. Outside, a passing police car was sounding its sirens.
“It’s not far from the truth,” Lefty said, eyeing the large newspaper headline that was facing him. It read, “Dozens killed, countless injured in fire.”
Lefty slid his glass toward the back edge of the bar. I tossed down the paper, promptly dropped a pair of ice cubes into Lefty’s glass and refilled the bourbon.
“What do you do?” Charlie asked Lefty.
“I doubt you’d believe me if I said.”
“Try me,” Charlie said, unbuttoning his vest.
“Same thing we all do, Charlie,” Lefty said before again emptying his glass. “I die.”
The heavy shadows in the softly lit bar room couldn’t hide the shades of red that crept across Charlie’s face.
“A ray of sunshine,” he joked, flicking his cigarillo, “that’s what you are.”
“None shine brighter,” Lefty scoffed.
Charlie ran his giant paws through his thick black hair.
“Wife kicked me out, changed the locks,” Charlie announced. “Guess you could say I’m outdoors.”
“You don’t say,” Lefty replied sarcastically.
“My marriage, job, health… it’s all on the rocks,” Charlie continued.
For the first time all night, Lefty smiled.
“Everything’s better that way,” he said.
“Better how?” Charlie asked.
Lefty shook his glass gently, the melting cubes clanged.
“Everything’s better on the rocks,” he said. “Besides, better to find your problems there than your body.”
Charlie shook his head and took a sip from his glass. He continued talking, but I wouldn’t call it a conversation because I could see Lefty wasn’t listening. I don’t think Charlie minded, though. Poor bastard just wanted to get things off his chest.
Lefty flicked open his Zippo before interjecting.
“Tell me,” he said. “How’d you find this place, Charlie? I don’t suppose AAA recommended you stop here.”
Charlie forced a smile.
“Pass by here each day on my way home from work,” he said. “Was curious as to what it was like inside. Parking lot’s always a ghost town.”

Charlie nearly had me feeling sorry for him, but not Lefty. No, Lefty had become far more detached than I. Lefty never felt sorry for people, especially the ones who ended up in that bar. Charlie held on to hope and, unlike me and Lefty, he still had a chance to move forward with his life.
“Wish I could say I’d like to stay and chat,” Lefty said. “But I don’t.”
Charlie finished his wine and turned the glass upside down.
“What’s it like,” he asked reluctantly, “to wake up miserable each day feeling as if you’ve died the night before?”
Lefty’s hands were hidden under the bar. He was scraping ravenously at his cuticles, pushing the skin back in bruised folds.
“I do this sometimes,” Lefty said, bringing his swollen hands to rest on the bar, “hoping I will see red. I fool myself into believing, at least for a moment, that blood will rush through my veins.”
“You can’t let go of hope,” Charlie said. “Look at everything I’m dealing with—we all find a way.”
Lefty pulled a scrap of paper from his back pocket and set it in front of Charlie.
“Charlie,” he said. “That obituary was printed three months ago.”
Charlie stared blankly at Lefty, I could tell he wanted to speak, but words would not find him.
“The bartender there, Andy—he’s not ignoring you,” Lefty said. “As long as your heart pumps and air fills your lungs, he won’t acknowledge you.
“Trust me,” Lefty continued, glancing around the room. “You don’t want him to recognize you. You don’t want the rest of them seeing you, either.”
Charlie’s right hand was tracing X’s on the bar. He stood for a moment but sat again.
“My life is … I’m going to get through this,” he mumbled.
Charlie clumsily turned his glass upright. Lefty motioned for me to fill the glass.
“You’re somewhere in between,” Lefty said as he lit a cigarette. “It’s a fine line to walk, just be sure to keep your balance.”
Charlie took a long swig.
“Don’t get too comfortable in this place,” Lefty said. “Even heathens deserve better than this.”
Lefty nodded to me before easing from his chair. He gathered his effects from the bar top and made his way toward the exit. He stopped halfway, just a few steps shy of the narrow red door through which he had entered. Charlie was standing now, though barely, with his head hanging. He was swaying gently and gripping the bar for balance.
“There are some things worse than death, Charlie,” Lefty called out, turning to Charlie. “Get back home, make things right.”
And with that, Lefty glided slowly out the door and slipped weightlessly into the night. I turned my back to the bar, corked the half-empty bottle of merlot and placed it on the shelf next to the other spirits before I drifted from the room. Charlie stayed behind, sobbing quietly in the dark.