Erica J Myers

2007 Personality Profile: “Fan”tastic Voyage

Lydia Watson has her head filled with fantasies and travel.  Will her quest in public relations put her at the forefront of young adult literature or have her spinning the globe?

When asked about Dragon*Con, a science fiction, fantasy, anime and everything else convention, Lydia Watson immediately stops typing on the keyboard, turns to you and begins to almost speak in tongue about her favorite event of the year.

Off in her own little world, Watson engulfs herself in books and travel.  She can usually be found online on Facebook, chatting it up with other Dragon*Con fans or posting pictures of her recent trip to Russia.

Watson finds it hard to talk about herself, according to her Facebook profile.  “I always find it so hard to talk about myself in these little ‘about me’ sections.  Who am I?”  She is asked how she became involved with fantasy.  The Atlanta native pushes her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear, revealing a plethora of freckles.  Her next entry reinforces that she loves to read and write.  She begins with Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Enchantment with fantasy seemed almost instantaneous for Watson, after receiving recommendations to read Lord of the Rings.

“Everyone mentioned Lord of the Rings.  I read it and went crazy,” Watson said.  A blushed look colors her already pink cheeks, even darker upon the recollection of encountering the Tolkien novel.  She plays with her hair some more.  Her eyes gleam with memories.  After finishing the book, she took the initiative to find out if there was more beyond Lord of the Rings.  This led her into the boundless world of young adult literature.

Five years ago, Watson attended her first Dragon*Con.  She has loved going to D*C every year since.  “Getting to meet authors!” was her first response.  She has met some authors, but this year three of her favorite authors would be attending: Cassandra Clare, the author of the New York Times bestselling young adult fantasy series, The Mortal Instrument; Holly Black, the author of the bestselling Modern Faerie Tale series, which includes The Spiderwick Chronicles; and Scott Westerfield, New York Times bestselling author of the young adult Uglies series.  Watson smiles enthusiastically as she comments that Westerfield’s writing are “very unique in the way he connects them to someone else in fairytales.

Watson has set goals to have fun, talk with authors and attend the Buffy Horror Picture Show at this year’s D*C.  Dressing up as Ginny Weasley is also a goal.  This year, Watson will be in charge of ushering James and Oliver Phelps, who play the Weasley twins in the popular Harry Potter movies.

In saving up money for the future, Watson has already calculated the 2008 Comic-Con in San Diego, California, into her budget; although her recent trip to Russia during the summer of 2007 “blew the budget.”  However, she raves in her blog about going to the Harry Potter premiere in England.  She gloats on the chance to meet J.K. Rowling at the premiere.  From spending four weeks in Russia and two weeks in England, Watson claims on her Facebook page that she has been “bitten by the travel bug.”

Currently attending Georgia Perimeter College to study journalism, Watson’s future plans include transferring to Georgia State University to complete journalism or get involved with film.  Nurturing an interest in publishing, she mentions that, someday, she would like to “work in public relations for an author.”  She reiterates, “I am not sure if I want to write fantasy stories.”

Whatever she decides, with Watson’s adventurous imagination, Prince Charming will have to travel to far-away places to keep up with her and bring Comic-Con tickets.

2007 Literary Nonfiction: Who’s the Fairest of Them All?

One state fair attendee realizes it is time to stop sowing memories and to start reaping reality.

The leaves are just beginning to change colors.  They are not quite ready to give up the ghost on their summery green leaves.  But browns, reds and yellows stick out like premature grey hairs on a young man.  The sky, once shielding itself in a veil of clouds, begins to slowly strip its fluffy coat for twilight. The rotund, topaz moon peers over the horizon, inspecting each of the million Georgia pines.  It is a beautiful weekend, gorgeous enough for a two-hour drive to Perry, Georgia. This is the time of year for full harvest moons, falling leaves and agricultural exhibits. This is state fair season!  Like college football, Georgia State Fair is inhaled into the nostrils like the tantalizing aroma of tailgating grilled goodness and swirled through your blood vessels like brain-freezing, cherry 7-11 slush until it settles in your heart. It pauses there for a second, loads up more passengers, and zips like rollercoaster through your soul.  

As an avid state fair attendee, I work my way around the fair, casing the joint in a fierce crime scene investigation manner. After entering the ticket booth, I swing a hard left to the main exhibit hall. This is where they harbor the fugitive archives of 4-H exhibits and crafts from fairs prior. Reminiscent of exhibits I once displayed when I was a girl, they remain the same: lightning effects, animal feed versus table scraps, recycling, energy conservation, etc.   The appointment with state fair past is interrupted by the waft of livestock stench.   I break through the lines of vacationing farmers and nomadic families to the animal exhibits.

God knows you never eat before visiting the animals. Off to the side lays a splash of undigested funnel cake and corn dog splayed on the ground like a decaying dead body. I step over it carefully. No one wants that mixture on a brand new pair of Skechers. The gory smell expands as you got closer to the kennels — Pigs. One tends to hurry through the pig display because of the smell.  Onward, I walk to the goats, with their alienesque features: long head with two big orbs and a little mouth that makes the most awful, whiny noise. Cows are my favorite animals.  They fan their wide bodies with a whip-like tail, docile and steadily chewing.  I slice up each one with a mental blue USDA ink as to what parts were which.

Emerging from the rows of animals I’d like for my teeth to maul to bits, I decide it is time to consume a beast. My prey of choice is … what else … a polish sausage dog, wearing a warm comforter of grilled onions, bell peppers and mustard. In between chewing and swallowing, a rinse of Coke creates a mudslide of chewed bits for my stomach to finish off. Sometimes I think I come to the state fair just to eat.  I do not want to take the grueling hour to prepare this same feast on a grill.

Walking turns into a cross-country endurance trial after a polish sausage dog. However, I make my way towards the midway. The prizes are irrefutably retro. Mirrors bear the image of Stone Cold Steve Austin, Beyonce or Maroon 5. The same mirrors in the 80’s were diagonally etched in latex with Michael Jackson’s face, Def Leppard’s insignia or Bon Jovi’s name.  The stuffed animals get larger each time. The gargantuan, pink teddy bears are equivalent to the “bling” of a five-carat diamond ring. It has always been a time-honored tradition to receive a giant Scooby Doo (minus the trademarked S and the actual words “Scooby Doo”) from the captain of the basketball team to his trophy cheerleader girlfriend. In my family, girls with large stuffed animals are prone to be ensnared by teen pregnancy. I never will have use for stuffed animals.

It is hard to tell a difference in the rides. There are some new ones and some old favorites. My body is not what it used to be. I am too old and weak to withstand the g-force orbit of the Gravitron.  It is a spinning, top-like, gravitational pull ride.  Who would want to risk the nauseating effect of being wrung out like laundry in the spin cycle? I get motion sickness in a car on the way to work! In my youth, I would sit in the Zipper, a flipping, wire cage ride that perform somersaults. I would beg for more. Now, I have claustrophobia in a two-door car. While I still love the feeling of falling, I will not risk it on the Sea Dragon. The Sea Dragon is a huge pirate ship set in motion like a pendulum.  The effect is the riding of large storm waves on the open seas.  Too many stomach flips during my alcoholic college days warn me to not even try it. Besides, did I mention I just ate a funnel cake?

Low and behold before me stands the epitome of survival warrior rites. The Super Loop! As a child I prayed for height, just to be “This Tall” to ride this ride. With hypothesized fear of sliding from the guardrail or plummeting to my death, my teeny child body stood on the sidelines watching the Super Loop. Of all the unlimited rides I could conjure with my bright-orange full-access armband, I was denied passage to the Super Loop.

When I had become a pre-teen and was tall enough, I climbed the stairs to the Super Loop. Thinking of past explanations as to why I was never able to ride before, I became hesitant.

“You’ll fall through the grate.”

“You’ll lose all your money on it.”

“You’re just too small.”

My blood boiled. Damn it! I was going to ride this brute. The clink of the guardrail reminded me how small and insignificant I was. I watched the carnie turn the safety key and punch the giant-mushroom green button. The car veered backwards, pulling me into an abyss. The car lunged forward, pushing me into the future. In front of me, teenagers made that whooping sound.  There was something to be awed about on the Super Loop. I was nervous. I feared the warnings of falling through and losing my life and my money. However, I had safely tucked my carnival nest egg away in the bottom of my sneakers. Once that sensation of falling kicked it, I began to wonder.

“They let me ride the Sea Dragon all these years, why not this?”

I soon realized why not. The car swooshed upside down and I let out my first girlish scream. Sure, the people around me were screaming already, but this, this was like an “Oh My God, I broke a nail while cheerleading, my life is ruined and I am going to die” girly scream. All those years of hanging upside down in the Japanese plum tree never prepared me for this. My calm, deep voice that I have always admired had relinquished itself to a sound similar to saying all the vowels at once. My heart raced in my head with each upside down flip.  The car was slowing down. It went back to the mere feeling that I was falling. As soon as it had come, it had gone. I stepped from the car and looked around. Everything was brighter, louder and smellier.

Like college football rivals, the Super Loop and I had it out on a yearly basis. I even mastered a one handed cartwheel because of the Super Loop. But I have to finish this fair off with one last treat from my childhood. The best ride ever invented. The Cyclone on Coney Island cannot compare. The Scream Machine of Six Flags will not understand. The Rebel Yell of King’s Dominion shall not relate. With the blaring sounds of “My Sharona”, no ride is as worthy as The Himalaya.

It is a glorious, spinning record ride with an unlimited supply of “My Sharona”. Forward, backwards, it can go in and out of wormholes in space, as long as “My Sharona” was playing, the Himalaya was the orgasm of State Fairs. Yet, nowhere do I hear the beat of “My Sharona”.  It is some rap song. Music like that does not belong on the Himalaya. Don’t get me wrong. I love rap and all sorts of music, but every song has its place and “Candy Shop” is not the song for The Himalaya.

For old time sakes, I will ask the guy to play “My Sharona”.  What seems like forever for my turn on the ride, I lean over and tap the deejay on the back. I am flabbergasted when this kid, younger than me, turns and asks, “What?”

I stare at him for a second. Where are the old carnies? The ones that look like they had served hard time, ended up on an episode of X-files or even held on to that look to be a featured guest on CSI, are gone. I have a BackStreet Boy as a deejay for The Himalaya.

I politely ask him, at 100 decibels, “Can you play ‘My Sharona’?”

His forehead wrinkles up in question. He pushes the black “Go” button for the ride to start. I stand diligently in line. He looks at his collection of mp3’s. He turns back to me, “Does Kanye West do that?”

Kanye West? “My Sharona”? I yell back, “No, the Knack!” He looks again. He’s baffled. I’m disgusted.

He looks at me and says, “Never heard of it.”

The harvest has come for my state fair soul. After sulking through the Snake Lady booth and seeing the 7-foot tall bull, I require comfort. I have already had one, but I needed another. If I cannot have “My Sharona”, I crave the seductive, stick to the roof of your mouth sweetness of cotton candy. For this is my good-bye to the State Fair — until next year.

2007 Long Feature: My Frugal Valentine

With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, two bargain-hunting Atlanta residents find a style of romance that doesn’t break the bank.

They both love art festivals and have to stop for a minute.  There are too many colors to count on this Sunday.  Brookhaven swells in a vibrant plumage of artwork and crafts.  The sun captures the blues, reds and yellows, casting them in a stain-glass aura over the white tents.  Children jump around the insides of an inflatable bouncing tent.  Other children are pushed lazily in strollers by parents, too young to play on the inflated toys.  Delicious smells of hamburgers, french fries and funnel cakes interweave with the crowd caravaning down the exhibits.  They love walking along the Brookhaven Art Festival, mesmerized with the vibrant atmosphere.

Horn, brushing back brown hair, stops in front of an artist’s display.  Her vibrant use of colors is what made Horn stop.  The scenic paintings are filled with blue, Horn’s favorite color.   Blue is also the color of Horn’s eyes.  Tucking both hands into the deep shorts pockets, Horn continues to look around a bit.

“It’s easy [for Ludell], always striking up a conversation with anyone,” says Horn, thumbing in the direction of Ludell.  “I’m not that outgoing.”

Ludell steps into the tent to get a closer look, engaging in conversation with the artist.  Ludell’s dark hair is cut close.  Proud of working out, Ludell exposes trim arms in an athletic tank top.  Ludell, the networker, is just as willing to hand over a business card.  Ludell works for a Public Broadcasting Atlanta.  Talking is necessary for the job performed for PBA.  The fascination right now is the artist’s work and techniques.

This weekend they are dog- and house-sitting for a friend.  Tucked away in a quiet cluster of Brookhaven, a brick two-story mansion rolls up its garage door to allow the two temporary occupants in.  The spacious abode is more like an elaborate maze of rooms, stairs and more rooms.  Two schnauzers greet arrivals at the entrance inside of the garage.  Horn and Ludell make themselves at home.

“Give them a cube of ice,” suggests Horn.  Two cubes of ice slide across the tile floor.  Two small, furry bottomed dogs skate across the floor after it.  The quiet home is filled with crunching as both dogs retrieving a piece of ice.

The patio is gorgeous.  The pair step outside, walk up a small trail of stepping stones and toss fish food into a koi pond at the top of the hill.  Koi leap at the granules, splashing water with delight.

Ludell tries to find the patio chairs’ cushions, but Horn had already sat in a bare chair, patting the other one as suggest for Ludell to sit.  It is Horn’s time to do some talking.

Thirteen years ago, they met each other in a bar.  Horn had come to meet a best friend; Ludell had been looking for a friend from long ago.  A mutual friend introduced the two.  They loved each other’s name since it was similar, dropping the ‘c’ off one of their names.  Ludell persuaded Horn to do something never done before.

“Here I am, the first night in Atlanta.  I meet somebody and I take my shirt off and dance up on a box,” says Horn, pressing palm to cheek, reflecting on the embarrassment of losing inhibitions. “We were young then.”

They learned about each other during a conversation and meal at the Majestic Diner at four in the morning.

“It was five in the morning,” states Ludell.  Ludell remembers specifics about the date, but is pretty silent.   Horn is the talkative one.

In the early life of the relationship, Ludell knew everyone in Atlanta, unlike Horn.  Ludell introduced the plethora of friends and controlled the relationship.  Horn is from Pennsylvania and was still living there when Ludell asked Horn to move to Atlanta.  They both had trouble with their relationship because of the long distance between them.  Ludell had had previous long distance relationships to go bad because the person never wanted to be closer.

“[Ludell] would call every night and ask me when I was coming,” Horn remembers.  Ludell shifted in the chair.  Horn pats Ludell’s knee, continuing, “I was leaving all of my friends and family to move to Atlanta.  I had a job.  I couldn’t just drop everything instantly to be with [Ludell].  It wasn’t fair for [Ludell] to force me into moving.  I kept saying, ‘I’m coming, but I need time to get everything in order.’”

Ludell admits that controlling the relationship was not a good decision.  “I had gotten myself into the same situation I had been in before.  I kept trying to break up with [Horn] because in my mind I didn’t “shacking up” was an option.  I really didn’t want to be hurt again.”

Ludell was telling Horn what to wear and what hairstyle to have.  Horn wanted to be different.

“I liked my hair long, t-shirts and jeans,” emphasizes Horn. “I take after my father, so we butted heads about my appearance.”  Ludell had learned the hard way that Horn was not going to be controlled, especially when it came to activities they liked to do.

“We love going to parties and bars together.  We like to stay together, but we can also party without each other.  Most of our friends cling to each other every time they go out,” says Horn.  They both look at each other and mimic whiny voices of their friends trying to find their significant others.

Horn and Ludell have their favorite, separate activities.  Ludell perks up.  A smile spreads the mouth; Ludell’s eyes widen with excitement.  He begins, “I love grocery shopping.  I know it’s not a typically fun thing like dancing and stuff. But I love grocery shopping.  It’s something that I do often without Horn.”

Ludell looks over at Horn.  “It’s nice being away from each other every now and then.  I can’t sleep when [Horn] is gone cause that instinct kicks in.  I worry that [Horn] is okay.”  Ludell rubs Horn’s shoulder.  “But it’s nice to have that time alone.  It’s a ‘me’ time when I can be really be myself instead of part of a duo.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to have that ‘me’ time,” chimes in Horn.

There are some changes that Ludell and Horn would like to make about each other and themselves.  Ludell holds a grudge towards Horn’s “rat-packing” collection of outdated magazines and ability to sleep till noon.  Horn nags about Ludell not taking advice and leaving stuff in the middle of the floor.

“[Ludell] will leave stuff in the middle of the floor, but my collection is in the closet,” says Horn right as an acorn falls from a nearby tree onto Ludell’s head.  They have a good chuckle before Horn hollers out, “Incoming!”  Ludell pretends to be knocked out.  Horn admits that he really loves this house and house-sitting for this friend.

“I would love to find a house like this within our budget,” says

Ludell hopes that they can one day get a house.  They are both happy with the apartment, but dogs are their want for the future.  The two dogs they are sitting this weekend peek out of the miniblinds, looking at the couple sitting in the chairs and then running off to play.  They prefer having a yard to let the dogs run in.  House-sitting gives them a taste of what homeownership is like.

“It’s like a little vacation for us.  It’s outside of our place.  Our friends are great about leaving food and stuff for us,” says Horn.

“Plus we get to do laundry without having to go to the laundromat in the complex,” says the thrifty Ludell.

Money is not plentiful with this couple.  Horn works in the Fulfillment Department at Macy’s and repeats that the pay is not great.  Plus, Ludell’s job at PBA is not a sustaining income.  However, they make a dollar stretch and take pleasures in the simple, and cheap, events.

“We go to art shows, matinee movies, anywhere that is cheap,” says Ludell.

“Or we can sneak food into,” laughs Horn.

“We wait till the day after Valentine’s to get good bargains,” says Ludell.

Horn nods in agreement.  Valentine’s Day and other holidays really dig into their wallets.  However, they have found ways around the pricey sticker of romance.

“There should be no reason why a dozen roses is jacked up to $75 just for one day,” complains Horn.  “Besides, roses are so cliché.”

Ludell grins and thumbs at Horn, “But you-know-know loves to get roses.”

“I do, but the day after Valentine’s, they’re so cheap.  I’d rather wait than to spend $75 on something that will die in two or three days.  We usually wait till after the holiday to get good deals on gifts and food.  Lobsters are cheaper afterward, too,” chirps Horn.  “Otherwise, we usually just go places that are free or inexpensive.  Like today with the art show.”

Ludell caresses Horn’s knee.  “Yeah, the art show today was great.  Lots of colors we like.  There was the guy with the Art Deco posters of Atlanta.  We saw him at another festival, but he didn’t have a particular poster we were looking for.”

Horn holds up a pack of greeting cards purchased from the artist.  “We couldn’t afford the posters, but he had these cards.  We figure we can frame these to decorate the apartment with.”

Neighbors begin letting their dogs out for the afternoon.  Their dogs are noisy.  Ludell and Horn are not happy with the constant noise of the neighbor’s dogs.  The dogs they are sitting are quiet and playful.  Dogs are the main reason they offer to house sit for their friends.  A couple from next door watches their dog play, then stares at Horn and Ludell holding hands.  They [Horn and Ludell] both wave to the couple.  The couple ponders the gesture, then sheepishly waves back at the duo.

Horn plays with curls of hair, “You know what I hate? When our straight friends find out that we are gay.”

“We’re normal, per the ‘heterosexual mentality.’  A lot of our friends didn’t know we were gay.  Our straight friends who find out we are a gay couple,” Ludell says, slapping his hand to his knee, chuckling, “try to hook us up with their other gay friends.”

“Oh yeah, that nice ‘Oh I had the most wonderful gay guy for you to meet.  You two would hit it off perfect.’  We have to remind them that I’m with Rik and he’s someone that I want to spend the rest of my life with,” says Horn.

Ludell gets tickled, “Yeah and then they get this puzzled look on their faces like ‘I thought you guys were promiscuous.’  It’s a riot and a sign that they are the promiscuous ones.  Being gay isn’t about being a sex fiend.”

Horn gives his two cents, “It’s not all about sex with us either.   We’re not pedophiles out to kidnap your children.  We’re not diseased.”

Horn and Ludell admits that they have had it better than most of their gay friends.  Their families have been supportive of their relationship.  Ludell was deeply touched with Horn’s father introduced him to the family’s Catholic priest as “Rick’s life partner.”  Ludell also convinced his father to tell their friends that Rick was his partner.

They are not afraid to go where they want to go.  “I like being able to go to the big gay parties, but I love the fact that we can also hang out with our straight friends and feel comfortable,” says Horn. Their future includes each other, no children and two dogs.  They are in love. And after thirteen years and counting, they both believe they have a cool relationship.  They now wait for the rest of the world to be cool with their relationship.

2007 Short Feature: Love 2.0

These days everything is found online.  Could love be just a click away?

The Internet holds a plethora of dating websites.  I decided to try out two of the more popular dating sites on the Internet.  But how would I get the best results?

I first applied at eHarmony.comTM.  I was instantly rejected because as the “compatibility computer” told me, I was incompatible with everyone in their database.   I was getting depressed.  I couldn’t even find love on the Internet.  What’s a single girl to do?

I called up my friend.

“Go to Match.comTM or GoogleTM dating services and Atlanta,” she advised.  Why hadn’t I thought of that?  I was resourceful on the Internet.  I never thought to GoogleTM my love.  I entered into the search bar: “Atlanta + dating”.  First website to appear was “Dating in Atlanta”.  I clicked on its web address.

The site looks easy to use.  I filled out a short profile.  I began searching for dates.  It wasn’t long before I received a private message from a “Big Twizzle.”  Was this supposed to be the love of my life?  His picture was a childish close up of his face with what looked like a stick in his mouth.  His message left everything to be desired, as it began with, “S’up Ma?”

I logged off instantly.  I couldn’t take the slang.  I wasn’t a “ma” because I don’t even have any children.  Big Twizzle was a petite fizzle into oblivion.  There was no need for the pimp-star thug in my love life.  My search was not going well.

I decided to flip the switch and see how the gay community lived.  I visited Gay.comTM.  I enjoyed the site, but it was mostly promoting gay clubs, cruises and products.  I signed up as Eric, 33, single in Atlanta.  I received six messages before I completed the rest of my profile, all looking for hookups.  It was a stereotypically promiscuous gay site.  I e-mailed my gay friend.

“Go to Manhunt.comTM,” he replied in an e-mail.  He explained that Manhunt was the premiere website for gay males looking for a date.  All of his single gay friends found their boyfriends there.  So there could be some promise with this site since it produced boyfriends.  I could use that type of commitment.

I typed it in and clicked Go.  I was going to find love, even if I had to play like I was a gay male.  Once the site uploaded, I was flabbergasted.  The disclaimer warned me about adult content, but this soon?!  I had seen things that I wouldn’t share with my own sisters and would probably have given them both heart attacks.  Though I had to admit, I was staring at the pictures presented before me.

I quickly closed my laptop down when my roommate walked into the living room.  My online quest for love was over.  I may have been a new-age, technological genius, but my dot com bubble for love has already burst.  I’ll stick to the old fashioned method: waiting for Love to find me.