It reminds me a little bit of a column I wrote in 2006 for a Progress Indiana, a local LGBT magazine a friend of mine created. I had a regular column called “Confessions of a Metrosexual”. Below is that column.

—————–

I’ve always considered myself to be a pacifist. When I was young, I would defer arguments to the more aggressive kids, even though I knew I was right. It was easier that way—not as much conflict. Even today, I am primarily non-confrontational. I’m a lover, not a fighter.

Sunday, December 11, I did something I’ve never done before, and never thought I would do. My fearless editor Dave, fellow staff writer Tom and I trekked to the far land of Wabash, Indiana to shoot guns. Tom wanted to experience firing a gun for his story (in this issue!) and I thought it would be interesting to tag along.

(Click through to read the rest)

Our first stop was to pick up a friend of Dave’s who owns several guns. He was to be our advisor. “So you don’t have to go to those crazy NRA guys,” explained Miles, our guru.

Next, we went to the local Wal-Mart to buy some ammo from Betty. Betty is a sweet little old lady who looks like she should work in the cat food aisle, not sell guns to four twenty-somethings in dark coats. We bought $114 worth of bullets. “Ammo goes fast,” Miles said.

We went to a farm that Miles’ family owns, and were joined by Chad, a friend of Miles’. They showed us how to stand, how to grip the handle and how to brace for impact. After much nodding-of-heads, Chad handed me his 12-gauge shotgun.

“You wanna try?”

“Sure,” I said, putting in the bright-orange earplugs that my father-in-law gave me.

I held it, cocked it, and pointed it at the ground thirty feet in front of me. Bracing for a shoulder-dislocating discharge, I squeezed the trigger, and BLAM! Dirt flew.

I tried out the semi-automatic pistol, the hunting rifle, the .356, the .22, among others. My favorite was the .38 detective special, a cute little thing that packs five notable shots. I envisioned myself in a pinstriped suit and a fedora, packing that little piece of steel in a shoulder holster, interrogating someone Sam Spade-style.

“I wonder if I can get this with an ivory handle,” I mused aloud.

The weapon that drew me in was the “thirty-ought-six,” as Miles explained it. It was a high-powered hunting rifle with a scope. Chad had set up some orange clay targets about 100 yards away, for the purpose of working on sharp-shooting skills.

I crouched down, bracing myself against a tractor-plow to steady my aim, and drew the target in my crosshairs. I held my breath, lightly squeezed the trigger, and a shot rang out, echoing across the farmland. After recoiling from the kick of the rifle, I saw that my target was shattered!

Suddenly, a change came over me. No longer was I a passive, metrosexual dandy. I was a flannel-shirted man, with the power to take a life with a squeeze of a trigger. That target could just have easily been a person, unwittingly shoveling snow, or enjoying a hike in the cold. I was powerful, and I had the equipment to prove it!

Then I realized that guns do kill people. But it takes a person to make that judgment call. My day of shooting was exhilarating, yes—but it would be totally different if I had something alive in my sights. Shooting clay targets and muskmelons doesn’t fill you with guilt that you have to live with for the rest of your life.

Guns really are remarkable. We see them a thousand times a week, in cop shows and spy movies and video games. They’re sexy, powerful, and sleek. But until you actually hold one in your hand and shoot it, you can’t respect them. They are just an accessory.

I know that guns are not for me. It’s fun to go out with the guys, fire a few shots at a target, and then go drink coffee inside. That was a blast (pun intended). But if I actually had to use a revolver to defend my wife or cat or home, or wield a rifle to defend my country—that’s a serious matter.

I know know that in the black-and-white world of life and death by gray steel objects, I’ll be using my words—and maybe my hair mousse—to work out the conflicts.

Image from Julia Wertz's book, "I Saw You", featuring illustrations from real-life Missed Connections postings. Click the picture to visit the books website.

Do you ever spend any time on Craigslist? I do. Although Fort Wayne’s CL page isn’t as hopping as, say, San Francisco’s, there are new posts daily in the For Sale section, Housing, Personals and Careers. I found my day job on Craigslist, sold a couch in five minutes flat, and bought several items, including a Nintendo Wii, which at that time was extremely difficult to find.

I want to do a story about Craiglist. My particular area of interest is in the Missed Connections. You often get ads like this:

Subject: exchanging glances and smiles=) – m4w – 22 (Barnes and Noble Glenbrook)

this past tuesday dec.22 i was working and had made eye contact many times with the most gorgeous eyes, but was occupied with work and could not find the courage to speak to you. you were wearing a white coat and had brunette hair with highlights. i just thought you were very pretty and would like to talk if i’d see you again. i was wearing a peacoat with a scarf and stand 6″ were you wishing we had talked? if so please respond=)

(Link)

There are others — dirty, sexy, desperate, romantic, generic, mysterious. But each one is a little drama, a story that we’re only hearing part of. What makes someone post to a classifieds website in the off-change the person they’re looking for checks it?

We want to know if you have any CL stories. Have you ever posted in the Missed Connections? If so, did anything ever come of it? Any other interesting stories involving Craigslist?

If so, please contact us. We’d really love to hear from you.

Jello’s sweet and entertainingly colored, but thick, quivering, and not exactly a proponent of easy gestures. It’s hard to see through, too much intake will deprive us of happier nutrients, and in a world of other deserts like the venerable Boston Cream Pie, Jello is the Wal-Mart of deserts.

We may be empowered with a rapidly advancing ability to connect, share, exchange, and friend the world around us, but the volume of Jello-y goodness out there pushes the other courses out of view; often the meat and potatoes are just around the corner, just under the twenty open browser pages, and we’re lucky to get to it before the expiration date pushes it beyond reach.

Since the dawn of the 24-news network, it’s this humble Hoosier’s feeling that the ratio of available information to non-information is compellingly misshapen and what’s worse is that the real stories out there are rarely given room to breathe until they are shoved out of the way for a commentator or sponsor’s commercial. There is a rush as if every story is the most important story and the line between fact and feeling is dimmed.

There is so much stuff out there, many are compelled to seek out the stories that are just around the corner, beyond the expiration date, and under the nooks and crashing in crannies. The downfall is those who aren’t compelled to seek out the punctuation at the end of a sentence and the digital age encourages this lethargy.

Journalism’s change has not been congruent to the path of its audience. Information is wolfed down without chewing. And chewing is the only opportunity you get the real taste.

Citizen Journalism is one step closer to the real story, bombarded not by sponsorship or slant, but by the visceral human story that echoes around inside individuals and among people. It’s the smasher of abundant bottles and the isolator of otherwise compelling material. It’s advocacy for feeling without the absence of fact.

In the digital age, it’s the YouTube moderator in a room full of redundant uploads. We’re digging in this mess to not bury the bone, but unearth its DNA.

-Kelly Lynch

It’s called “Citizen Wayne”, and it’s a local citizen journalism show, featuring stories about the  Fort Wayne /northeastern  Indiana  experience. What is unique about this program is that we’re not afraid to experiment with narrative structure — focusing on the art of storytelling rather than a straightforward presentation that you would hear in a regular news program.

I’m putting together a 30-minute pilot episode, and I need your help.

I’m looking for story ideas and submissions for either our first episode, or subsequent episodes. Not only do we want to air submissions, but we want to develop budding radio journalists as well, giving submitters the tools they need to produce quality content for public radio. The goal is to get storytellers excited about radio and podcast as a medium, thereby retaining them for future content.

What are we looking for? That’s up to you. The sky’s the limit. One submitter is writing about experiencing the FW Children’s Zoo for the first time as an adult. We plan on visiting it and recording his reactions and familiar ambient sounds from the zoo. We want to do a profile on an over-zealous neighborhood watchman and his nightly rounds. We plan on featuring a semi-regular piece from Angie Quinn, executive director of ARCH, the local historical preservation organization. She’ll be telling stories from  Fort Wayne ’s history.

Please brainstorm with me! Let me know if you’d like to become involved, either by emailing me (Visit the Submit Your Story page or the Contact Form page to your left) Before recording anything, though, I’d like to discuss your narrative vision — what kind of style and voice would you use to present this story? I would love to know your thoughts.

Life itself is the most wonderful fairytale of all.
—Hans Christian Andersen

-Andy Welfle

Part 1 of 4: On the Basics…

Click below for more, below the fold.

Part 2 of 4: On finding great stories…

Part 3 of 4: On good taste…

Part 4 of 4: On two common pitfalls…

He’s being brutally honest, but it’s good information, and most likely all too true. Ira, you’re an inspiration!