In 2018, Video Out, a Manhattan-based queer documentary project, came to Norfolk to document our local queer community’s stories. I was fortunate to be one of them, and here it ’tis.
PS: If you look very closely, you can see the Aries horns on my forehead.
Our 2019 Fall Pride Guide, in collaboration with VA Pride, is out now! In this article from the magazine, Outwire 757 co-founder Eric Hause gives us a guide to planning your all-day, all-gay getaway with Virginia Tourism’s LGBT Travel Program!
Fifty years ago, a $100-a-week advertising copywriter named Robin McLaughlin at Richmond’s Martin & Woltz Inc. came up with a new travel advertising concept for a client. The client was the Commonwealth of Virginia, and the concept became the slogan “Virginia is for Lovers.” That slogan is now so iconic that it was voted one of the top ten tourism marketing campaigns of all time by Forbes Magazine.
That sort of heady success, however, hasn’t diminished the power of its message of love over those 50 years, and in 2016, our purple-ish state stepped into the modern age by adding a new component to that message: “Virginia is for LGBT Lovers.”
That year, Virginia Governor Terry McAuliffe’s LGBT Tourism Task Force and the Virginia Tourism Corporation publicly acknowledged the economic impact of LGBTQ travelers, and welcomed us to experience the Commonwealth.
There was some kind of kismet at work here. After all, in 1969 — the same year that Robin Mclaughlin came up with the Virginia slogan — the Stonewall Riots launched the Gay Rights movement. Back in those days, the LGBTQ community was still on the fringes of society. While Virginia’s queer population could gather safely at a smattering of bars and other gay-owned businesses, the Commonwealth, to say the least, was not known as a welcoming destination.
That’s all changed. Today’s queer road warriors can find hundreds of self-designated LGBTQ-friendly travel businesses and events in all corners of the Commonwealth. Virginia Tourism Corporation’s Director of Business Development, Wirt Confroy, is the man tasked with putting all the pieces together. He’s worked tirelessly with Tourism’s IT department, businesses, destinations, and event planners to catalogue and present them on the State’s tourism website.
When asked about what the program means to him, Confroy said, “It’s simple. LGBT visitors to Virginia now have access to queer-friendly places and experiences. They have a resource that helps them find the destinations, events, tractions and services that welcome them the most.”
So it is with the progressive efforts of many in mind that we present you with our Fall Queer Travel Guide to the Commonwealth. With Virginia Tourism’s help, we’ve carefully curated travel itineraries built around special events this autumn in three destinations: the Shenandoah Valley, the Eastern Shore, and Richmond. All you need do is gas up the automobile, get a few friends together, and hit the road for your big queer fall vacation in Virginia!
Head for the Hills: A Mountain Getaway
When you think of autumn travel in Virginia, one of the first destinations that comes to mind is Skyline Drive in the Shenandoah Valley. No doubt, leaf-peeping on a crystal clear brisk Blue Ridge day is a timeless exercise. As an extra bonus for queer folk, the Shenandoah is home to many friendly and exciting attractions, events, restaurants, and lodging.
Plan this year’s mountain getaway around the Page County Heritage Festival, the weekend of October 12- 13 in Luray. This year marks the 50th anniversary of the Festival, and it’s a true slice of small-town farm life with a big-city progressive attitude. Highlights include live entertainment, Shenandoah Valley craftsmen and artisans, a delightful antique farm equipment show, and food. Oh, the food!
After the festival, head into the town of Luray for some exploring. Roadsnacks.com ranked the town as the 8th Gayest Place in Virginia for 2019 based on the percentage of same-sex households, so you’re bound to make some new friends.
The town itself is centered around a beautiful Historic District, but the famous Luray Caverns are the area’s top visitor attraction. This U.S. Natural Landmark holds the largest and most popular caverns in Eastern America. From well-lighted paved walkways, explore cathedral-sized rooms with ceilings 10 stories high, filled with towering stone columns and crystal-clear pools.
If you’re more of a car warrior, take a ride on the nearby Blue Ridge Whiskey Wine Loop, a compact wine-tasting route that winds through the Northern Shenandoah valley. Recommended by Wine Enthusiast Magazine, the Loop features seven wineries, a whiskey distillery, antiques, dining, and the gorgeous natural scenery of the Shenandoah National Park.
You can hop off the Loop and onto Skyline Drive at several spots, and it’s worth the detour. Mid-October is prime leaf season, and the parkway has many overlooks with as many eye-popping photo ops as you can stand along its 105-mile length.
Where to Stay
For LGBTQ-friendly lodging in Luray, check out Piney Hill Bed & Breakfast and Cottages. Comprised of two private cottages and three guest rooms in the main house (a renovated 1800s farm house), the B&B is gay-owned and operated since 2000. It is also consistently ranked as the top inn in Luray each year.
The nearby Shadow Mountain Escape is billed as a romantic couple’s escape, and features modern and authentic European timber cottages adjacent to the Shenandoah National Park. Shadow Mountain is recommended as a Best place To Stay by Wine Enthusiast Magazine, and both properties are located on the Blue Ridge Whiskey Wine Loop.
Where to Eat and Drink
While exploring Skyline Drive, satisfy your appetite at Skyland’s Pollock Dining Room. Located right off Skyline Drive near Luray, Pollock’s specializes in Blue Ridge specialties made with farm-to-fork ingredients and served with incredible views of the Shenandoah Valley.
In the mood for a true special-occasion dining experience? Make a reservation at the Inn at Little Washington. The 2019 Michelin Guide awarded The Inn three stars, the only restaurant in the Northern Virginia region to receive the honor.
Just a few miles away, you’ll find a completely different dining experience at The Edinburg Mill Restaurant. Located in an 1848 Virginia Historical Landmark, the establishment specializes in rustic American style cuisine. And if you’re lucky, you’ll catch them on a day when some kickass local live music is on the calendar.
Take a Shore Break: A Seaside Escape
If autumn by the sea is more your style, turn your attention east to Virginia’s Eastern Shore. It’s probably not the first destination that springs to mind when you think of LGBTQ-friendly travel, but Governor Northam’s home base is a surprisingly progressive place with a thriving queer population, and many LGBTQ-owned and allied businesses. Plus, you can drive the entire length of the Virginia Eastern Shore in about two hours. It’s perfect for a day trip or a weekend getaway with great dining, eclectic antiquing and shopping, and exhilarating activities.
For seafood (and all food) lovers, start your visit at Chincoteague’s 47th Annual Oyster Festival on October 12. Founded to mark the hallowed arrival of oyster season, the event draws visitors from all over the mid-Atlantic. You don’t have to be an oyster lover to find something good to eat! Come enjoy clam fritters, clam chowder, shrimp, hot dogs, hush puppies, Boardwalk fries, and a cold beer.
Get your hands dirty on a boat tour of the waters surrounding Chincoteague with Captain Barry’s Back Bay Cruises Expeditions. But be prepared to get wet. On this cruise, you’ll dig for clams, pull crab pots, and haul in a trawler net to see what delights King Neptune has to offer.
Run with the wild horses and take a tour with Assateague Explorer’s Pony Express nature tours. You’ll be assured at least a glimpse of the famous equestrian population — or choose to be the captain of your own ship, and drift away on one of Southeast Expeditions’ kayak tours.
If the ocean isn’t for you, you can also be the pilot of your own spacecraft with a visit to the NASA facility at Wallops Island. Check their website for a schedule of rocket launches, and time your visit for a truly unforgettable experience.
Shop ‘til you drop at the hundreds of unique retail opportunities on the Shore. You can spend an entire day exploring the small towns and antique stores, flea markets, farmer’s and fish markets, art galleries, and specialty boutiques located on or just off the main highway.
Where to Stay: The charming Garden and Sea Inn is just a few miles from Chincoteague. Transgender-owned and operated, the Inn is actually comprised of one modern home and two historic farmhouses that date back to the 1800s. The Inn is pet-friendly and sits on five gated acres of land, so there’s plenty of room to walk the dog.
If the sound of gentle waves luring you to sleep each night is your groove, Key West Cottages in Chincoteague is your spot. This charming row of modern pastel-hued cottages line the waterfront in the heart of downtown. Each cottage has a full kitchen and waterfront views, and all are within walking distance of the town’s restaurants, shopping, and attractions.
Where to Eat and Drink: When visiting the ocean, you want a taste of the ocean, and the Eastern Shore’s dining scene does not disappoint. The Island House Restaurant in Wachapreague has it all: fresh local seafood, award-winning Eastern Shore crab cakes, and a gorgeous view of Virginia’s barrier islands. Bring your boat! Slips and fuel are available.
Experience dockside dining a la the Keys at Mallards at the Wharf in Onancock. Johnny Mo, the musical chef, serves up his “all crab” crab cakes, famous jalapeño mussels, and mouthwatering filet mignon. You might even catch him strumming his guitar for guests!
Or head south to Cape Charles for a bayfront fine dining experience at Oyster Farm at Kings Creek, a casual oyster/raw bar and cocktail lounge. Flip flops and shorts allowed. Astounding sunsets are always on the menu as well.
Make it a Capital Affair: Fall Fun in Richmond
So the rural thing isn’t your cup of iced tea? Head to the Capital City for a totally urban experience. Richmond sometimes takes it on the chin for lacking in the diversity department, but we disagree. For example, in October 2019, two fantastic events celebrate the city’s distinct rainbow hue.
On October 5, come explore your inner Latin diva at the Viva RVA! Hispanic Music Festival. This exciting celebration of Hispanic Heritage Month honors Virginia’s Latinx LGBTQ community. Viva RVA! is a free family-friendly event at Diversity Richmond, and features authentic Hispanic music, food, dancing, and live music.
The Richmond Folk Festival on downtown Richmond’s waterfront is the following weekend, on October 11-13. The festival presents the very finest traditional musical artists from across the nation, with 25 performances ranging from bluegrass and Cajun to Indian and African music. Don’t forget to head over to the Festival Marketplace, and shop authentic crafts from over 20 international artisans.
Festivals aren’t the only way to taste the Richmond rainbow. The Virginia Museum of History & Culture does a great job of cataloguing America’s diverse past by interpreting the unparalleled story of Virginia. In fact, their signature exhibition The Story of Virginia recently added an LGBTQ chapter to the 16,000 years of Virginia history it covers.
While we’re on the museum tour, a visit to the nearby Virginia Museum of Fine Arts is a must. But be prepared: there’s a lot to see, and you’ll want to see it all. In fact, The Wall Street Journal recently declared the Museum a two-day affair. With over 5,000 years of art from around the world, take your time to explore exhibitions ranging from Fabergé and Russian Decorative Arts to their most recent addition, Edward Hopper and the American Hotel.
If you still have the strength, head over to Carytown for some of the most eclectic shopping and dining in RVA. The heart of Richmond’s gayborhood is only one street long, but you’ll be surprised at the variety of shops, boutiques, restaurants, and food stores in this nine-block shopping area. Don’t forget to check the schedule at the Byrd Theatre. In the past, the Byrd has presented LGBTQ programming with icons such as John Waters and their popular MonGays Movie Festival during Pride month.
Where To Stay: The Quirk Hotel in downtown Richmond lives up to its name. With its original artwork, eclectic design sensibility, and location in the middle of downtown Richmond’s Arts District, it is indeed out of the ordinary. Voted by US News and World Report as one of the country’s top hotels for 2019, Quirk is an experience that will please even the most jaded traveler.
For a more traditional Richmond experience, stay at the Linden Row Inn. This National Register hotel is comprised of seven row houses, built in the mid-1800s and meticulously restored. Guest rooms are furnished with antiques from the middle and late 1800s. Trivia alert: Edgar Allan Poe spent his childhood playing in the hotel’s garden courtyard.
Where To Eat and Drink: We have one word for you, and it’s French: L’Opossum. Chef David Shannon will tell you that his definition is “tongue-in-cheek faux French presented as delightful whimsy on the menu, but seriously delicious cuisine on the plate.” Gay-owned and operated, L’Opossum was named the Southern Living Magazine’s 2018 Best Restaurant. In the whole South.
If Southern home cooking makes your stomach growl, take a seat at Weezie’s Kitchen in Carytown. This is lip-smacking fare at its most fattening and delicious. Whether it’s breakfast, lunch, or dinner, a meal at Weezie’s is a culinary experience of its own.
Scott’s Addition Foodie and Arts District is the newest and hippest food and drink destination in town, and this National Historic District has become the brewing center of Richmond. Within walking distance, you’ll find breweries and cideries interspersed with hip lofts and eclectic restaurants.
If you’re looking for a superb drag brunch, Godfrey’s is the queen. It’s home to Richmond’s most famous drag brunch, with two seatings on Saturday and Sunday. Godfrey’s also doubles as a mixed bar in the evenings and hosts special events most nights.
And if you’re craving a little socializing with your people, Babes of Carytown and Barcode are two of the best queer nightlife spots in town.
Visit Virginia.org/lgbt for a comprehensive list of Virginia’s LGBT-friendly travel destinations, businesses, and events.
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This article originally appeared in the Fall 2019 edition of Gay RVA Magazine.
This article originally appeared in Coastal Virginia Magazine, May/June 2025. Photos by Lois Szymanski.
The Virginia heat and humidity pressed down on me like a heavy blanket as I stood waiting at the edge of the channel. My shirt clung to my back, and I swatted absently at the relentless mosquitoes and biting flies that seemed determined to make a meal of me. Despite the discomfort, I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of anticipation—the same feeling I’d had decades earlier when I had stood in nearly that same spot as a wide-eyed fourteen-year-old.
Back then, my parents had driven our family up Highway 13 from North Carolina, my brothers and I bickering in the backseat until the promise of seeing the wild Chincoteague ponies silenced our squabbles. Now a much older me had made the journey alone, drawn back by memories that had grown hazy but never disappeared completely.
As I waited for the ponies to arrive, I recalled the local lore about these regal animals. Like all tales of mythical beasts, their origins are shrouded in uncertainty. The romantic version—the one I preferred as a teenager—suggested they are descended from Spanish breeds like their Outer Banks cousins, survivors of ancient shipwrecks who found sanctuary on these isolated islands.
The more likely but mundane truth is that they are descendants of horses brought by early European settlers that either escaped or were deliberately released, adapting over generations to the harsh coastal environment.
A growing commotion across the channel pulled me from those thoughts. First came the sounds—shouts and whistles echoing from the maritime forest of Assateague Island. Then the Saltwater Cowboys, those volunteer firemen renowned for their horsemanship emerged, leading what looked like a hundred shaggy, wild ponies toward the water’s edge.
“Here they come,” murmured a woman beside me, lifting her camera.
The ponies hit the water with surprising confidence. Some entered tentatively, while others seemed to know exactly what to do, sliding into the channel with practiced ease. Their compact, muscular bodies proved perfect for swimming as they paddled across, snorting and jostling one another. The sight triggered that same pure adrenaline rush I had felt watching this same spectacle as a teenager.
“How do the foals fare during the swim?” I asked the woman with the camera, suddenly concerned about the smallest and youngest of the herd.
“Oh, they’re strong swimmers,” she assured me with the casual confidence of someone who’d witnessed this dozens of times. “The crossing’s only about three to five minutes, depending on conditions. Besides, we’ve got cowboys in boats watching out for them and vets standing by.”
In fact, there was one eager stallion which for many years beat the other others to the punch. In her new book Out of the Sea Lois Szymanski recounts how in 2006 a stallion dubbed Miracle Man decided to get a jump on things with his large band of mares and foals. When he saw the cowboys scouting the herds on Assateague the day before the swim, he apparently sensed what was next. He rounded up his brood and drove them across the channel to Chincoteague where pony committee members scrambled to meet and escort them to the carnival grounds. Miracle Man did the same thing for next six years, always leading the first herd to arrive on Chincoteague Island.
I watched the lead stallion reach the Chincoteague side, water streaming from his coat as he scrambled onto land. The others followed, and just like that, the swim was over as the herds headed towards the pen in town to be corralled until the auction the next day.
The auction was founded in 1925 by a group of 25 men who organized the Chincoteague Volunteer Fire Company after a series of two fires devastated the town. Their plan was to purchase a fire truck, and to pay for the equipment they would drive their wild bands across the channel from their home on Assateague and into town where the auction took place. The proceeds were used as the initial payment on the equipment, a tradition that still funds the Fire Company today. In fact, the Fire Company legally owns the horses and is responsible for managing the herd and their well-being.
I followed the herd to the carnival grounds, remembering how my teenage self had clutched a copy of Misty of Chincoteague during our family trip. Marguerite Henry’s beloved children’s book had put this event on the map in 1947 and is still the reason thousands of visitors descend on this tiny barrier island town.
I then realized why I had felt compelled to return after all these years. In a world that changes relentlessly, there was something profoundly comforting about this century-old ritual—wild ponies that live by the wild sea swimming to temporary captivity, some to be auctioned to maintain their own population’s health, all to support the fire company that had been protecting this community since those devastating fires in 1925.
Some things, I thought as the last pony was led into the pen, really do stay the same—mosquito bites, summer heat, and the magic of watching wild things move between worlds, just as they had when I was fourteen, just as they had for a hundred years, and just as they likely would for a hundred more.
This article originally appeared in VEER Magazine, September 2024.
I grew up in a small eastern North Carolina college town in the 60s and 70s, which for a gay boy could have been a traumatizing experience. Fortunately, I had cool hippy musician parents who were progressive in a time and place when that wasn’t the norm.
They were artists, and as such they encouraged me and my brothers to explore all the artistic endeavors our hearts compelled us to. For me, that was the movies. As luck would have it, there was a movie theater right across the street from my house and from the time I was 12 years old I would go to a movie every weekend (admission 50 cents).
I remember the comfort of sitting in a darkened theater with strangers and allowing the film’s narrative to take me where it would. Some of my favorite films from that time were thematically reminiscent of what I was feeling: the sense that I didn’t fit in. I found comfort and, in many ways, recognized myself in films such as Dog Day Afternoon, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Saturday Night Fever, Taxi Driver, The Bad News Bears, and most impactful, The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
Rocky Horror was an eye-opener. For the first time, I understood the power and the possibilities of self-expression. That film turned its after-hours screenings into interactive cosplay gatherings designed for a communal experience, and I was all in. This sort of expression appealed to my burgeoning gayness, and when Frankenfurter camped it up as “a sweet transvestite, from Transsexual Transylvania,” I knew I wanted to put on those leggings and pearls and be that outrageous.
That’s the power of film for anyone struggling with their identity. Over the years, I’ve experienced how LGBTQ films have not only helped me accept who I am, but more importantly, how they have helped move our society forward into a somewhat fragile but joyous place of acceptance.
As I grew into a young man, I started seeking our LGBTQ-themed films, and in the 80s and 90s reviewed many of them for my college paper and city paper.
Films such as the 1983 Oscar winning documentary The Times of Harvey Milk were groundbreaking. I was vaguely aware of Milk’s impact on queer activism, but this film surprised me with the depth of his commitment to equality and shocked me with the hatred that ultimately killed him. I think that was the moment I decided to push that door all the way open, live authentically, and be an activist in my community.
When Longtime Companion debuted on PBS in 1989, I knew people who were dying and had died of AIDS, and this film was the first realistic depiction of how terrible that time was. It also demonstrated what I already knew: that the bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of joy and respect in each other’s lives. It is a spot on commentary about how the LGBTQ community takes care of its own in times of crisis when blood relatives have turned their backs on us. To this day, it impacts me on a visceral level.
In 1994, I saw The Birdcage for the first time in a packed movie house in Raleigh. As the closing credits rolled, the entire audience stood up and applauded for a solid five minutes. All I could do was sit there and cry because it gave me such hope that maybe my community was going to make it after all.
In 2005, Brokeback Mountain came along at a time when I was wholly out, but as I immersed myself into the story of unrequited love, I was immediately taken back to the dark days of high school and college when I was in the closet, depressed and ashamed of my sexuality.
In 2017, Moonlight offered me an understanding of the queer black male experience and how toxic masculinity, familial abuse, trauma, and homophobia can derail a queer person’s life—but could ultimately leave them in a better place.
Filmmaking is a unique form of storytelling, and the story is at the heart of any good film. Unless there is an engaging tale to be told, the special effects, setting, and actors are meaningless. Every culture and community has its own unique stories and narratives, and when they are shared through the medium of film they can have a profound effect on the viewer and on society.
Harnessing that power to tell the stories of the LGBTQ+ community is impactful in many ways. It can be an effective agent of change, and in a time when visibility is vital to our very survival film can and has paved the way to a deeper understanding of the many facets of the LGBTQ+ community.
That trend is reflected in the increasing number of mainstream films featuring LGBTQ+ characters. In 2022, GLAAD reported that 28.5% of 350 films released featured an LGBTQ+ character, more than in any other year in the survey’s history.
That’s why I am thrilled that the Virginia Queer Film Festival is now embarking on its second year. This year’s Festival will feature the works of 40 queer filmmakers from seven countries including animated shorts, full length documentaries, narrative dramatic films.
Films such as Kim Carnie Out Loud from the United Kingdom which tells the story of Scottish singer Kim Carnie who was in a closeted same-sex relationship for six years. As she reflects on the impact that time of secrecy had on her, she finds redemption with other people who have hidden their sexuality and activists in the LGBTQ community.
Blue, transgressive from Mexico tells the story of Blue, a trans woman filled with romantic hopes, who prepares a special dinner to finally meet her boyfriend Ricardo’s family. But her hope fades when he, fearful of judgment, compels her to hide inside the closet while his family dines, triggering an internal battle between love for a man and self-respect.
Boob is a 7-minute romantic comedy from Canada that follows the trials of Butch, a large boob (in the Canadian sense) who is struggling with insecurity about his masculinity as he works to impress his new crush in unfortunately toxic ways. Butch may or may not end up getting the girl, but in trying he goes through anxiety, humiliation, and a transcendental experience.
Love, Venezia is a narrative feature film that tells Michael’s story of healing after a painful breakup. He travels to Venice where he discovers the beauty of desire and experiences a love that awakens his spirit, promising to forever change the course of his life.
Our centerpiece presentation is Mary: Her Journey from Pain to Purpose, a documentary featuring former Hampton Roads resident Mary Almy who, at the age of 58, embraced her true self and transitioned supported by the unyielding love and devotion of her wife and advocate Betsy. Her story illuminates the indomitable strength of the human spirit and the transformative power of self-acceptance and love. Following the screening, Mary will conduct a talkback with with the audience.
Groundbreaking films such as these this is why independent festivals like the Virginia Queer Film Festival are especially important for queer filmmakers. They give burgeoning creators an opportunity to get their work in front of audiences and, hopefully, ultimately, in front of production companies that can offer wider distribution.
Depictions of queer and trans people have been present in the film medium since its inception more than 100 years ago, but due to censorship and varying degrees of prejudice against the LGBTQ+ community at different points in time, onscreen representation has a long, complicated, and often coded history.
Fortunately, we live in a different time which, while feeling tumultuous at times, is still much more accepting of queer people than it was 50 years ago when I was struggling with my identity. I like to think that much of that has come from on-screen representation of our lives as they are: out, proud, joyous, and unique.
It’s my birthday this weekend, and as a student of astrology, I always love to gift others on their birthday with a reading from my favorite book on the subject: Grant Lewi’s 1935 classic, Heaven Knows What. Lewi has been described as the father of modern astrology in America and in this book he pioneered chart synthesis with 144 Sun/Moon sign delineations and aspect cross-references that he developed on the basis of thousands of questionnaire responses. Everyone whose chart I’ve interpreted using this resource have come away stunned at how accurate the interpretation is–including me.
Lewi’s top level view of astrology begins with your Sun/Moon combination with other planetary influences and aspects secondary to that. I was born with the sun in Aries and the moon in Scorpio (and just for a bit of additional spice, Scorpio rising), and here’s his spot on analysis.
••••••••••••••••••••
Well, whatever may happen to you, good or bad, life is never going to be dull. Between your own aggressiveness and vitality, your conviction of your own worth, and the way you are able to make the world believe in it, you will have your ups and downs, but you will never lose that zest for living which fills you with energy and inner drive. Although not by any means always happy (you have a way of brooding over secret matters, real or imagined, of which even those closest to you have little knowledge), you none the less give the impression of competence and ability, of holding the strands of your life firmly in your hands and of doing with them pretty much as you please.
Even in adversity, you are undismayed for a combination of faith in yourself, and in some higher power which you may or may not call God, or Luck, surrounds you with a kind of aura of invulnerability. You seem so competent and capable that you are likely not to get nearly as much sympathy from the world as others do – and you don’t want sympathy. You scorn it. Ready enough to give it to others (though in a rather detached and impersonal manner), you would consider yourself humiliated if sympathy were offered to you.
You are able to take care of yourself, and do, and are proud of it, and resent any implication that you can’t. This justifies your pride both to yourself and to the world. You have a turbulent nature, and in many ways lead a turbulent life. If you are born low, you go high; if you’re born high and secure, you’re likely to go low and jump back again. There’s a steel spring in you that stays wound up, waiting for the emergencies of life, for you are not really ambitious in a worldly sense. You want security, comfort, activity, excitement, perhaps, but you are content with these.
You like recognition, but for its own sake rather than for wealth. Your rewards in life are deeply intimate and personal, and the conviction of your own worth is of more value to you than all the money or property in the world. Thus, as an artist, though you may, through your vitality and your ability to magnetize the public, achieve some degree of fame and recognition, you pursue your art from a truly inner sense of well-being in a task well done, in a Self properly realized and expressed.
But at the same time that you are expressing yourself in this or in some other way, there are deep wells of secret things that you do not express at all: ideas, ideals, dreams, imaginings, that never come to the surface and would surprise your friends if they knew of them–if they were not prepared never to be surprised by anything you may do. This great fund of secret ideology provides inspiration if you are an artist of any kind, and magnetic force to your personality, either in business or in social matters.
You are pretty set in your ways, very inflexible when your mind is made up, determined without the appearance of being stubborn (though of course you are stubborn), and able to convince people peaceably even against their wills.
You are exceptionally loyal and devoted in matters of love and stick to your friends through years and years. You are capable of demanding little and giving much but you won’t be imposed on. You have a sure instinct for the chiseler, the sycophant, or the fawner who may seek your friendship merely to be helped by your money or your influence. Him you detect and scorn. But you will give the shirt off your back for a worthy person, though you have in general little interest in causes. You will help individuals and let the causes take care of themselves.
••••••••••••••••••••
If you’re not completely asleep by the time you finish this and are intrigued, email me with your birthdate, time, and place (all info will be on your birth certificate), and I’ll find your sun/moon sign and send you a link to where you can read your profile from Lewi’s book. It’s pretty effing amazing.
The first time I met Kim I knew right away that we were going to be great friends. It was 1993, and I had just moved to the Outer Banks to take a new job. Kim owned a super cute frame shop on the Manteo waterfront, and from the first time I walked in there, we hit it off.
She was in a lesbian relationship and living in South Nags Head right across the street from the beach. I lived right up the road so she and I, being the Water Babies that we are, spent much time exploring the National Seashore, sailing on my little Force 5, having drinks at the pier and Oasis on the Causeway, or simply lying in the sun and talking.
We soon discovered that we were cut out of the same Aries mold. Her birthday is March 22, the day before mine, and we both came into this world to spread joy and create stuff. That’s what us Aries do. For many years afterwards, we celebrated our birthdays together, and God help you what those parties were like.
That was also the beginning of a lifelong aspect of our relationship that I like to call “The Big Idea.”
We were always starting some sort of new project, and when either one of us would have a brainstorm, we immediately called each other.
“Hey, I have this idea,” was usually how those conversations would begin. And no matter what the idea was, or who came up with it, if we could make it real, we were both in.
I can honestly say that Kim was the only person in my life of whom I could ask, “Hey, what do you think if I started a Film Festival?” and get the reply, “That’s a great idea!” She never pooh poohed my ambitions and I never even thought to question hers.
I think that’s what I most miss about her: her adventurous spirit. If I called her with an idea, she was immediately supportive whether it was a new business or just an adventure, or whether it worked or not. It didn’t matter because we were in it more for the experience. And up until the day she died, we would have conversations that began with, “Remember that time….”
IIn 1997, I moved to Norfolk. Kim and I stayed in touch though, and we got together whenever I was visiting the Outer Banks, or she came home.
One time she called me and nonchalantly said, “Hey, I just bought a sailboat, and I need some help sailing it to Manteo. Can you get off work?”“Hell yeah,” I replied, and off we went. We took possession of the boat (which would be her home for the next year or so) in Downtown Norfolk and for the next three days sailed the Intercoastal Waterway to Manteo. A lifestyle reporter for WAVY TV tagged along and filmed the jaunt for a Coastal Carolina segment which I still watch frequently. It was one of those rare lifetime bonding experiences, not to mention a bona fide seagoing adventure, one we always remembered as a high point in our lives.
That’s how it was with us. Over the 30 years of our friendship, we would come and go in and out of each other’s orbit not because our relationship was faltering in any way, but only because we both knew that chasing the sun was our destiny. We often took off and did our own thing, sometimes not seeing each other for months.
Probably the longest we ever went without seeing each other was the period she laughingly referred to as her “Wasbian Period.” One day she was here in Hampton Roads, and the next thing I knew she married a Navy officer and moved to Croatia to be an ambassador’s wife.
And that was OK because once again she was chasing the sun.
I heard from her maybe three times while she was overseas. Then one night a couple of years later, I was having dinner with Andrew and a couple of friends at Byrd & Baldwin and looked up just as she walked in the door with her husband.
She strolled up to the table up with that big grin and said, “Hey you.” I jumped up, hugged her, and when we stopped laughing, I asked, “So what’s new?”
“Not much,” she said, “I just moved overseas, had two children, and now I’m home.”
Perfect.
We picked up exactly where we left off and continued making new things where there once were none. She founded Starving Artist, I launched OutLife, and we were each other’s sounding boards throughout both of those ventures. We felt so safe in that space.
We also had way too much fun with our extended and blood families: Thanksgiving Tapas at their Willoughby house, pool parties at their Larchmont home, Homo for the Holidays Christmas Eve parties at our house – all of them filled with laughter and friendship.
When her first cancer diagnosis came, she invited me to lunch and broke the news. In typical fashion, she was positive that the outcome would be successful, and in the beginning that seemed to be in the realm of possibility.
When the second recurrence was diagnosed, things began to look bleaker from my perspective. But again, Kim would not be deterred. And then one day in June 2023, she called and said, “I have this idea….”
She wanted to establish a non-profit dedicated to providing those with cancer support and financial assistance with the everyday needs that we all have but aren’t covered by insurance. She had experienced that brand of kindness from others during her battle with the disease: people who came by with meals, who fixed her fence, and who helped Nicole with managing the house and the boys. She wanted to pay that forward, and she even had a name: Paint Pink. It would turn out to be her legacy, her final big idea manifested.
Soon she and her board were putting together regular fundraisers. Kim put her art to work for the cause (thus the Paint in the Pink), and sales of her work plus the other fundraisers rapidly filled the coffers. To this date, a small army of her friends and family continue her mission and have raised over $225,000.I helped her promote Paint Pink and interviewed her for a short promotional video for the website. We could barely get through it because we were joking around and cutting up. It turned out to be one of the last times we were together while she was in remission.
On the beach later that summer, she revealed that the cancer was back for a third time. Kim was positive as always, but beneath her optimism I sensed her concern, and I felt a stab of fear.
It metastasized rapidly. Kim was admitted to the hospital and shortly afterwards went into hospice care. Nicole did a wonderful job keeping her inner circle notified with daily updates on a private Friends of Kim Facebook page. Then the day we all knew was coming arrived. Nicole called me and said, “If you want to come say goodbye, now is the time.”
That was Tuesday, September 10. Nicole and I sat together with Kim for a while. Then Nicole quietly left the room. I reached across the bed and took Kim’s hand. She woke and smiled wanly.
I stroked her forehead, and she looked at me and said, “I just had this dream that I was in a car wreck and my father came to get me out of it.”
Her father had passed away a couple of years before.
I said, “He’s here to take you home.” She looked me in the eyes and nodded. She knew.
“What do you need me to do?”
In a feeble voice, she answered, “Take care of my boys.”
I held her hand for a few more minutes until Nicole returned then left the hospital knowing that was the last time I would see her on this plane.
The next day Andrew and I flew to Nebraska for our nephew’s wedding, which was just the affirmation of life we both needed. The following days were a wonderful reminder of how precious and fragile it all is, of how life is meant to be lived to its fullest, and celebrated every day. Kim embodied that spirit and drank up all that life had to offer.
Five days later, I was alone on a plane headed home, 36,000 feet somewhere over Illinois, out of touch with the world below, dozing off when I felt an electric charge at the base of my neck.
The sensation moved up my spine and ended with what felt like a pat on my head. I smiled and knew that it was her stopping by to say goodbye on her way to wherever she is now, no doubt already working on the next big idea.
You can donate at paintpinkinc.org.
Comedienne. Actor. Musician. Advocate. Entrepreneur. Five-time Grammy and Emmy nominee. When hasn’t Margaret Cho’s strong voice been part of our consciousness? It feels like she has always been here, like a friend you can always count on, lighting the path for other queer people, women, other members of underrepresented groups, and other performers, to follow.
Margaret staunchly supports the causes that are important to her: anti-racism, anti-bullying, and gay rights, all while fulfilling her successful creative side with a legendary stand up career that has yielded 10-plus comedy tours. In March, her new one-woman show, Live and Livid, comes to the Hampton Coliseum. We caught up with her via to dish on the bat-shit crazy political environment and her career in show business.
Outwire757: Are you on the road?
Cho: I am. I’m here in Chicago waiting for takeout before heading over to my show.
Outwire757:Let’s start out with that. You’re coming here to Hampton in March with your new Live and Livid Tour, and I’m sure it will be full of Cho-isms except updated to reflect all that’s going on in the world.
Cho: For sure. I think it’s just like the good time to get out on the road again. I’ve never experienced such a homophobic, racist, sexist time. It’s like you fight these battles your whole life, and it’s meant to get better.
Outwire757:Now that you’re on the road again how have you audiences changed since COVID?
Cho: I’ve toured during COVID in clubs, just working things out. And I think people are excited to be out and seeing live shows. That’s impressive, and I’m excited to perform. I think performers who haven’t been able to tour are also refreshed and excited to be out there. So there is a kind of meeting of enthusiasms. I think what COVID did, too, was align everybody to new information sources. Social media was much more current with what’s happening. Whether that’s Britney Grinder’s freedom to this ridiculous Republican senator crying over gay marriage.
Outwire757:Oh lord, that guy….
Cho: So weird. Why are you crying about straight people? Are you that threatened by gay marriage that you have to cry about it? Obviously, it’s, the weirdest need to control others. I think Republicans have a weird control kink. They need to control the gay people, and that’s even more morally questionable than drag.
Outwire757: And then there’s that wacko in North Carolina who tried to cancel the drag show by shooting out a power substation.
Cho: And the power station also brings electricity to hospitals, to any kind of emergency facility, to your own home.
Outwire757:It doesn’t make any sense, this crazy environment, and I’m not quite sure if social media is more to our advantage or detriment at times. It’s just sometimes difficult to tune it out.
Cho: It’s hard to know what’s true and what’s not. But I like having the information. I tend to think my sources are more correct and more impartial. But at the same time I’m also an avid watcher of the right-wing sources, conservative web sites, and I like look to those communities to see what’s going on so I can safeguard myself and see what they’re planning and what they’re saying. And it’s very shocking.
Outwire757: Know thine enemy.
Cho: You’re right. My kink is watching them. How did they even get to that conclusion, that drag is somehow harmful? What they should be looking at is that now science is telling us that global warming is harmful for fetuses. So if you really care about unborn lives, take care of global warming. That’s going to work much better than fighting abortion.
Outwire757: It’s also true that churches are where we need to be looking for children who are being molested, and they are not legally responsible for reporting those incidents like schools and other organizations are. It’s not the drag queens. There’s never been one recorded incident of that ever.
Cho: Not a one. Again, deflecting. And then we’re in charge of defending ourselves even though we’ve never been accused. It puts us into defense mode as opposed to addressing their faulty logic and saying this is actually wrong, and you don’t believe it either. I don’t know where they get it.
And what about the Herschel Walker vampire versus werewolves discussion. That really kind of sent me. What about zombies versus ghosts? That’s actually a bigger battle. There’s a lot to unpack when it comes to their absurd logic.
Outwire757: I could not believe that election was even as close as it was. It was a squeaker. And if it wasn’t for Atlanta, basically the cultural center of our country, Walker would probably be taking office
Cho: That’s depressing that it was so close. It should not have been like that. It’s really abomination. I mean, they give us so many abominations, including the abomination of ignorance. That’s really the problem.
Outwire757: It feels to me like every day we’re watching a cliffhanger unfold and what just happened with Congress passing the Respect for Marriage Act felt like being pulled back from the abyss right before we go over. But it’s not just the queer community in danger. I know you are a vocal advocate for all human rights. Where’s the intersection of all that for you?
Cho: Yes, it’s all connected, and I think it really boils down to what does it mean to be America? What does it mean to have equal rights? What does it mean to have a separation of church and state? We’re going into this very dangerous theocratic idealization for Christian evangelicals where they’re trying to justify Nazism, Yhey’re trying to justify these kinds of horrifying scenarios, and you can’t follow their logic because they’re moving towards an authoritarian state. I think that the problem with Democrats is that we wish that we could not dignify it with a response. But the fact is that we have to.
Outwire757: I think that’s where the progressive movement falls a little bit short, because we’re so goddamn polite all the time. It’s time for that to end. We need to push a little bit harder and step up like you do through your comedy. Who are some of the bright queer comedians that we need to keep an eye out for?
Cho: Robin Tran is really important. She’s a Vietnamese American trans woman who is just so impressive to me. I’ve worked with her many times. There’s so much talk about trans people in comedy and trans bodies in comedy and politics, but very little heard from trans activists and performers that need to be on the main stage. We need to focus our attention not on cis voices, but on trans voices. Alok Vaid-Menon is an amazing nonbinary trans performer comedian. They’re just amazing. Patti Harrison also. She’s a trans women, very surreal, and so unique as a musician and a performer. Trans voices are bending my approach to comedy towards politics and political humor. They’re the voices that I’m really paying attention to now.
Outwire757: One of the things you have talked so much about is your negative experience on the set of “All American Girl.” In the years since then, you’ve stayed in the entertainment industry. How has the industry changed since then?
Cho: It’s changed a lot. It’s changed for the better, in a great way. I think that there’s so much more inclusion and visibility, and we’re seeing so many more Asian-American stories, queer stories, queer Asian-American stories. There still needs to be more, but I’m excited for the future of media for entertainment in storytelling. I love that there is a whole generation in between myself first doing television to now. They are really making great strides, whether that’s Joel Kim Booster or Bowen Yang or Billy Eichner, who I really love. I think there are a lot of great things happening.
Outwire757: I love those young voices that are coming up too. It feels a lot like the 70s when we had Robin Williams and Richard Pryor and those sort of people that changed the comedy game. I know you knew Robin Williams. It seems like I saw somewhere that he was like a father figure to you.
Cho: He was a huge part of San Francisco comedy, and he was the one successful person we would see all the time. He was a father figure for all of us coming up through comedy in San Francisco which is a very tight community. I would always have to perform after him which was the worst if you’re a young comedian, Can you imagine following Robin Williams? I think that experience made me a lot more aggressive on stage.
The first autograph I ever got was from him when I was really young. My father owned a bookstore in San Francisco in the 70s and 80s, and Robin would come in. I still have it. It’s a copy of “The World According to Garp” with his picture on the cover. His story turned very tragic. But at the same time the immeasurable gifts that he gave to comedy and culture is really special.
Outwire757: What kind of influence growing up in San Francisco’s gay culture have on you as a child and also your family? Because obviously, your parents really didn’t give a shit about their gay bookstore and clientele. When you came out to them, it seemed like they were accepting. But correct me if I’m wrong that when you came out as bisexual, they had a little bit of a struggle with that?
Cho: They don’t understand bisexuality because it doesn’t exist to them. They only understand gayness like the lesbians with tweed jackets and suede elbow patches. They only understand academic lesbians and gay painters. They don’t really get that those archetypes of queerness are so stuck in gender and the 70s. They also look at the community through a separatist lens because they lived in that time before AIDS when the men were in one camp, and the women in another. Yes, there was drag but drag was its own thing outside of that. That was a different era of queerness, where everybody was serially separated. (Cho has since begun to identify as asexual.)
Outwire757: I always love it when you pop up in these great cameos or ensemble roles in television or movies. We run to the movie theater or streaming to see what you’re up to. My favorite role of yours by far is as Charlene Lee in Randall Kaisers’ “It’s My Party” in 1996.
Cho: Oh, that’s a beautiful movie. Oh my god, it changed my life! It was my it was my first real encounter with an AIDS specific movie.
Outwire757: How did you get involved in that?
Cho: I actually auditioned. In fact, I went through a long process auditioning with Eric Roberts and getting into these people’s lives. I got to meet Roddy McDowell. It was his last film which is incredible. Olivia Newton John and I became very good friends.
Outwire757: OK, I see your take-out was delivered. One last question: where is Charlene today?
Cho: Charlene, I think, is pretty butch now. That hair is gone. That movie really messed up my hair. That’s all my real hair. Every day it was so big. They teased it every day. I think there’s like a bump it in it at some point. It really ruined my hair.
Thanksgiving 2019
Thanksgiving mornings when I was a kid, I always woke to the smell of my mother’s delectable breakfast casserole. She prepared it the night before because she knew none of us boys or my dad were going to cook breakfast, and she had other things to do. She was an incredible chef, and Thanksgiving Day in our house was her day to shine.
We’d gorge ourselves on the casserole, and by one o’clock, we were hungry again. No fear: mom whipped out a pint of raw oysters—always oysters—with cocktail sauce and Saltines and a baked brie topped with raspberry jam and slivered almonds. Hunger crisis averted.
Around three, people would start showing up. In the early days, it was usually ECU students stranded in town for the holiday. Later, after mom got sober, they added friends from her AA group who also had nowhere to go, and Thanksgiving became this wonderful conglomeration of disparate people. The conversation and drinking—for those who still drank—would go on late into the night.
All year round, my parent’s house was like a stop on the underground railroad for folks in need of comfort and fellowship. Anyone was welcome, and I learned hospitality and inclusiveness from them. I learned a home isn’t a truly warm unless you use that space to gather those you love and who love you back. Because life is empty without meaningful, loving relationships.
These were my thoughts when I woke up this morning. I swear I could smell her casserole baking in the oven (which, BTW, Andrew does a really good job at replicating). I lay in bed and thought about them, and my heart grew so full that I know there were there with me.
I cried for minute, not out of grief, but out of gratitude that I had the most incredible set of parents. We weren’t the perfect family, but we always strived to be better. And entertaining was one of the ways that they achieved that. In fact, I still run into people today who tell me that they went to “one crazy party” at my house.
Today, be thankful not only for what you have, but what you had.
I’ve known Johnny Benjamin and Tony Conrad for years, and this is actually the second time I’ve photographed their family. But this one was definitely more fun and exciting. The day began with overcast skies, the threat of rain, and a howling Nor’easter. But we were determined, and we convened at a Chesapeake Bay beach in Norfolk. Just as we began the shoot, the sun popped in and out of the wind-driven clouds, making for some spectacular shots.
My absolutely least favorite chore is a trip to the post office. I’d rather stick needles in my eyes than be subjected to the long lines, milquetoast service, and the crumbling, embarrassing building that used to represent one of America’s greatest achievements.
Situated between a bowling alley and an auto body shop, the low flat-roofed brick building has turned nearly black from lack of cleaning over the years. On the front are tall windows held in place by steel frames that look like bars on a prison cell. The parking lot is a pock-marked minefield.
No matter what time of the day, there are always about ten people in line and only one clerk on duty– who is the slowest postal clerk in the history of postal clerks. The countertops, windows, and shelves are piled high with envelopes, packages, and boxes waiting to be processed.
It’s dusty and dirty, and the big screen TV on the wall that should be providing valuable information to customers instead displays a message that seems appropriate: no connection. The space looks for all the world like a scene out of a dystopian film. Think of Sam Lowry’s office space in Terry Gilliam’s Brazil.
As I stood in that perpetual line the other day, I my Aries impatience began to bubble, and I took a deep calming breath. There’s nothing you can do about it, I told myself, there’s nothing you can do about it.
In front of me was a young Navy guy with a huge package that needed to be weighed, labeled, poked, and prodded by the young female clerk with long gorgeous silver dreads, three-inch long fingernails painted the same color silver, and the perfect confident, nonchalant approach to her work that said, “Look I know you’re frustrated. I’m frustrated, too. So, Ima try to get you out of here as quickly as I can. But don’t test me because I ain’t playing.”
She was new here, and true to form she was the only one on duty.
Behind me were five people, all with the same blank expression that telegraphed the fact that they, too, hate the post office.
Suddenly the door to the lobby swung open, and in scurried a young boy about three in dinosaur pajamas. He was blond and blue, and he bore a huge toothy grin as he giggled his way into the service lobby.
Behind him was his mother: tall, attractive, with graying hair and sweet look in her eyes. In her left hand, she held what look like a green nylon dog’s leash, and as I followed the course of that leash, I realized her boy was strapped into a harness at the end of it.
I have no problems with parents that feel the need to have this product available to them. But as I kept watching the boy squirm and attempt to flee—all the time laughing his head off—I understood. He was invigorated by being around people, and he was in continuous motion as he reached out to touch everyone around him, only to be gently reined in.
At one point he released a delightful laugh that actually made me chuckle. His mother saw me watching, and I said, “You deserve mother of the year. He’s a handful.”
“Yeah, he wants to hug everyone,” she replied. “Plus he’s on the spectrum, so that makes it even more interesting.“
The boy was staring directly at me during the exchange, that big grin on still on his face, then suddenly spread his arms wide over his head and made a move towards me. His mother pulled him back with a gentle “No.”
“Oh that’s OK. I like hugs.”
“OK,” she said with a shrug which meant be careful what you pray for.
She unfurled the leash, and he barreled toward me, almost knocking me off my feet as he grabbed my left leg, wrapped his arms around it, and squeezed tight. He rocked back and forth, delighted yelps emanating from him. I rubbed his back and said, “Thank you buddy, that makes my day.”
His mother and I smiled at each other as she gently pulled him back to her side. I glanced at the other patrons, and some were smiling, too. Like the Grinch, I felt my heart grow three sizes bigger.
It was then my turn with the clerk. I purchased my stamps and thanked her.
“Have a blessed day,” she said. Why yes. Yes I think I WILL have a blessed day.
I stopped in the lobby to stamp my envelopes, a chore which no longer seemed like a burden. A few minutes later, the boy and his mother walked out and towards and the exit.
As they passed me, I said, “He’s a beautiful boy.” She paused at the half-opened exit door and turned towards me.
“He is so lovable and loving, but it’s a lot of energy and work. He’s nonverbal, and when his mother found that out when he was three months old, she abandoned him.”
“That’s horrible,” I replied in disbelief.
“I took him in, knowing all that,” she said. “I had already raised three kids, but I couldn’t let him go into the system.”
“Kids like him don’t survive the system,” I replied, “Bless you for saving him.”
“Thank you,” she said with a tight, slightly sad smile. “I needed to hear that today.”
“And I needed that hug today,” I replied.
Then she was gone, dragged out the door by a three-year old boy on a green leash who was on his way to make someone else’s day.