The pawn business is the second-oldest profession known to man, dating back 3,000 years to China. The practice started in Asia but is rich in European and eventually American history – it’s well known that Queen Isabella of Spain pawned her jewelry to fund Christopher Columbus’ expedition to find a more direct route to the Indies.

A half-mile up Central toward uptown, Will’s Park and Pawn wears its history on its walls, which include a faux rhino’s head, a collection of 1950s model airplanes, an old Elvis exit sign, and a collection of guns and knives that could arm a province in Afghanistan. In business since 1985, Will’s place isn’t about looks, or air conditioning; it’s really about the owner Will Spoke and taking what can be a difficult financial situation and making it at worst manageable and at best feeling like you just made a friend for life. A friend who also happened to loan you $40 on a slightly used Suzuki acoustic guitar.

Spoke’s business includes a set of supporting characters who beautifully round out his shop. Including, in no particular order: his son Will Jr. who, after going to Appalachian State for a short period, decided it wasn’t for him and happily joined the family business; Spoke’s mother, who softens the all-male crew with her charm; Mikey, who when he’s not eating fixes jewelry in the middle of the shop; and Broadway, a true Southern gentleman with a wavy gray pompadour who watches the door. Broadway always has a toothpick in his mouth and started in the pawn business seemingly at random after managing a Sears’ car service center at SouthPark.

Talking to Spoke made me feel like I was listening to a NASCAR driver talk shop while simultaneously driving his car at 200 mph. He didn’t take a breath between explaining the pawn business to me, buying a black leather Harley Davidson jacket from a customer, whispering that he really just wanted it for himself, and then getting an additional $5 from the customer for getting Mikey to fix his watch. By the time this customer left the shop he was smiling, fist bumping Spoke, and promising to come back if he ever needed some quick cash again.

Both pawnshops I visited were quick to explain that they abide by all the rules and regulations set forth by the city, county and state. They provide regular reports to the Charlotte police and help to track down stolen property. As a rule, this was the first thing that I was told. Second was that all items purchased must be held for seven days after the purchase date, and all things pawned must be held for 90 days after they are foreclosed upon. The third was typically that they were making a killing on lending money.

In the state of North Carolina, pawnbrokers are legally allowed to charge 2 percent interest per month on all money lent. However, on top of this interest rate they are allowed to charge fees for handling, appraisal, storage and insurance not to exceed 20 percent per MONTH. So with fees included it is within the law to charge an annual interest rate of 264 percent.

But those in the industry would counter any shock and awe from that number with the following two points. The first being that banks legally charge upwards of $25 for insufficient funds plus any fees levied by the store where you passed your bounced check. For checks under $25 the DAILY interest rate could exceed 100 percent.

The second point is that pawnbrokers have been providing a valuable service for centuries as a source of readily available credit to a section of society that has been underserved. Thousands of years ago it was subsistent farmers in China, today its folks riding the No. 9 bus down Central Avenue working in kitchens across the city, mowing lawns, and doing other menial jobs that for the most part go unseen by the majority of society. It also includes senior citizens on social security or welfare who are unable to pay their bills in a typical month. It is a part of society for which bank-issued credit is not an option as American Express does not bombard them with gold card offers, and in most cases Bank of America will not even grant them a checking account.

Most of the heat and humidity outside has joined us inside of Spoke’s Park and Pawn. The clouded glass door opens, the rusted bell rings and in walks a gorgeous woman in a short, clingy dress and a humongous guy with dreads carrying a vinyl covered guitar case. In the case is an out-of-tune gleaming black guitar and painted on the back is a heart surrounded by a crown of thorns. Along with the guitar and case is a collection of how-to tapes and books. In Will’s place, eventually a story is told about why someone is selling their stuff – in this case, a musical career was planned that never panned out and a need for money overtook the woman’s musical dreams. Will & Co. took a quick look over the guitar and books, offered the couple a price that they took, and another happy lifelong customer walked out the door.

In between customers, Spoke is boxing up items for eBay like an assembly line, weighing the box, packing the goods, and slapping a USPS pre-printed label on the outside to be picked up by the mail carrier, sometimes upward of 30 boxes a DAY. Both shop owners I met agreed: eBay is a huge source of income for all pawn shops and in most cases more is sold on eBay than in their stores. Plus, eBay is a ready source of current prices for just about anything. In Central Jewelry & Pawn I was told of a woman who brought in a sterling silver tea set she valued at $1,200. A quick look on eBay found that a similar set recently sold for just south of $500. As a result, the tea set was bought for $200. Before eBay, they all agreed, this sort of price shopping was impossible.

A healthy but harried woman in her early 30s comes in to Spoke’s store after Will had left for the beach; Will Jr. takes care of her. She lays on the counter three very small silver necklaces, with crosses made of semi-precious stones. In a business-as-usual manner, Jr. takes the necklaces, eyes them under a jeweler’s loop, tosses one aside, and takes two to weigh on his scale. The numbers tickle upward ever so slightly as the necklace folds into a small bundle on the scale. Will Jr. quickly turns and apologizes, saying there really isn’t enough silver in her necklace to be worth much more than a couple dollars. Her demeanor quickly changes from one of nonchalance to quiet desperation. Not understanding Will Jr., she says she’ll take it. He clarifies by saying the necklaces are worth $3 at his price, meaning only about a dollar to her. She hears this but once again says, “Fine, whatever I can get.” With a small amount of patience left, Jr. says it’s really not worth it to fill out the paperwork, get thumbprints, take down a driver’s license, and report it to the police for a potential profit of $2. Not hearing and with the desperation in her voice growing, she says she understands but would still like to sell the chains. Will Jr. realizes the situation she must be in, and with a touch of exasperation reaches back and pulls $3 from the cash register, and without taking the chains he hands her the money.

~ Todd Trimakas

When Anna was born her diagnosis crushed me; the attending nurse had to tell me twice what her diagnosis was. Trisomy 21, Trisomy 21. I had to ask what that was. Down syndrome. Like I’ve said before, the news was devastating, so much so that it threw me to my knees, crying in a heap in the corner of the delivery room and into a state of shock for a week.
But that was more than a year ago, and things have changed, to say the least.

I recently heard a man say that the word “adventure” is overused. In his mind an adventure doesn’t start until everything goes wrong. I couldn’t help but smile and nod my head. How true.

In my mind an adventure is also shaped by how we respond to what went wrong. Do we remain crying on our knees or get up and move forward? From this experience with Anna, I think moving forward is life while standing still is death.

A couple months after Anna was born, my wife, Julie, and her mom, Sara, were talking on the phone. At the time it wasn’t meant as a joke, but Julie and I joke about it now. Sara asked her if she thought that I was going to leave the family because Anna had Down’s. Julie mentioned it to me, and I said I wouldn’t, but if I ever leave and go to Mexico I’d be taking Anna with me. Thankfully we never had to find out.

I realized with Anna and with the magazine, seemingly insurmountable obstacles will appear one day, then the next will appear to be a blessing in disguise, and in the end just make your adventure that much more interesting.

Just this past week I was able to escape to Oak Island with the family and some friends. We had a great spot on the beach and we would go out every day to drink beer, soak in the sun and play in the sand. With Anna still in diapers you never know what surprise may come, but eventually a surprise will come and one afternoon it did, in her swimmy diaper. Mom went to clean up Anna in the surf, and she came back with a naked, sleepy, salty, wet, fat baby in her arms. Mom gave her to me and for the next 30 minutes a very happy baby slept in Daddy’s arms as a warm, soft Carolina beach breeze dried her off. It didn’t matter one iota what she did or didn’t have, just that she was mine.

~ Todd Trimakas

There are many earth-friendly ways to make the beast with two backs, and we’re not even suggesting harnessing the power of your lovemaking to generate electricity for your toaster, but just some simple ways to save money, power and space in the landfill.

According to the Durex Global sex survey, 43 percent of us use sex toys – manual, automatic and everything in between. Some of these toys can contain chemicals called phthalates, which are used to soften hard plastic. And when these toys are used as they’re supposed to, they can release toxins and potentially cause long-term health issues. Because of these concerns, folks on the green side of the bedroom have been moving toward toys made from glass, metal, silicone and hard plastics. It ain’t easy being green, and comfort might be a necessary sacrifice if you want to go that extra mile for Mother Earth.

But if your toy buzzes and swirls with the aid of a AA Energizer bunny, then rechargeable vibrators are the way to go. Some suggestions include the Aphrodite Wand and Acuvibe Softtouch massager, which can be found on Amazon, along with hundreds of reviews of these products. And then there is funfactory.de, based in Germany, which is seemingly the online Wal-Mart of sex toys. Award-winning products are listed on its website, and there is an entire rechargeable section, plus all the products are German made so they’ll hopefully last longer than that North Korean assembled Jack Rabbit collecting dust in your bedside nightstand.
When your lovemaking involves two people but is made just for the fun of it, a condom might be the only thing that separates you and a future filled with dirty diapers and burp cloths. So make sure your love sheath works as advertised. Latex is the material of choice for most and is naturally derived from rubber trees. If you’re of the vegan persuasion, however, a normal condom might not do the trick, as there is a milk enzyme that’s added to the latex. Instead, check out Glyde condoms, the only vegan condom available.

Next stop on the green train are those sheets that you’re rolling around in with your spousal equivalent. The cutting-edge fiber these days is bamboo. It is nothing like the razor sharp reeds taking over your backyard, but instead is silky soft with natural antimicrobial qualities and moisture-wicking properties for when things get sweaty between the sheets. The experts say it’s one of the softest fibers in the world, softer than cotton with a drape like silk. Plus, it’s more mainstream than you might think; you can pick up a set from Bed Bath and Beyond these days. Bamboo isn’t just for the bed sheets either; it is making its way into your pants, literally. Bamboo skivvies and clothes are becoming popular, as well.

So whether you’re having a one-person party or entertaining that lovely lady in your love shack, there are many ways to make sure Mother Earth is protected while you get your rocks off.

~ Todd Trimakas

We get hundreds of press releases every day, with the vast majority lasting just long enough for a finger to hit the “Delete” key. But this release caught my attention. It was from someone named Khobi Brooklyn and announced that a “Pure Electric Super Car” was coming to Charlotte. When I saw it I thought it better be the Tesla or someone’s press release was going to get an extra forcefully executed “Delete.” It was, and Brooklyn offered a test drive of the only all-electric (read: no gas at all) high-performance sports car on the market, the Tesla Roadster. The Tesla team was going to be in Charlotte in the next couple of days and wanted to know whether I’d be interested in driving it. Hell yeah.

The typical manufacturer that comes through town offering rides in their cars carries with them a large production of multiple sales reps, factory reps and press agents. Rolls Royce flew through town and brought along eight cars, set up shop in front of the Bobcats stadium, and had an NFL football team-sized entourage. With Tesla I thought it would be similar, so through e-mail I asked multiple times where they were going to camp out, and where we could meet up. They were a bit hesitant about disclosing their location and talked about their schedule being in flux, so we could decide on a location when we spoke over the phone the following week. OK?

Five days later I get an e-mail from Dan and his traveling partner, Shaun, about scheduling a time to meet to drive the car. The day after that I give Shaun a call and it sounds like Shaun is standing in the street somewhere in uptown and I ask whether I can schedule a time to drive the car. “Well”, he says, “I think the weather is supposed to be bad tomorrow, and we’re headed up to Lexington over the weekend anyway, so how about now?” Without hanging up, I grab my stuff, head out the door of the office, and get the location of where they have the car displayed to the public. He mentions a cross street near the Carillon Building and explains they are parked on the street. On the street? Entourage, fireworks, press agents? Nope.
Walking past the Carillon, I see a guy sitting near the park texting. And lo and behold, parked on the street, along with everything else, surrounded by nothing but the curb, is a $157,000 all-electric Tesla Roadster. Wow.

I capture a couple pics of the car and ask to see the “engine.” The Tesla is a mid-engine roadster and all you can see when popping the back hood is the top of its lithium ion (read: laptop) batteries. And of course a week’s worth of dirty clothes for Dan and Shaun. They are literally just driving the car around the East Coast, stopping in cities to talk with potential customers and the occasionally lucky media rep. Just a week’s worth of T-shirts, underwear and shampoo. It’s more like a college road trip than a press junket, except instead of Mom’s sedan, they are driving a car that does 0-60 in under four seconds without a single drop of gasoline.

I sign something I didn’t read, absolving Tesla of all responsibility for my driving, and Dan hands me the keys. Luckily I whitewater kayak and am used to folding my 6-foot-1 frame into tight spaces because the driver’s side seat is similar in size to the cockpit of my whitewater boat. Tiny.

What follows is hard to describe: The engine cranks but there is no sound, no gasoline fumes, and no power steering. The wheel is tiny in my hands, and is similar in size to the go-karts at Victory Lane. I pull out into traffic and jerk into my lane. “Instant on” is the term I would use. The accelerator feels like it’s tied directly to the rear wheels, and there is no lag whatsoever.

At the on-ramp to Independence, we are stuck behind a carbon fuel-based pickup truck from the ‘80s. But after the on-ramp we quickly join the flow of traffic. And I floor it. There is no tachometer, but instead a dial that displays wattage use. I redline that, and with the engine quietly whining in the background we are thrown back in our seats. I think Dan is trying to tell me something but I’m laughing too hard to hear him. Amazing.

~ Todd Trimakas

See more at Chris’s Gym www.chris-frye.com

~ Todd Trimakas

I’ve added muscle, can recover more quickly, and don’t get winded as easily, but my workouts at Chris’ gym seem to be just as difficult as they were when we started. It’s almost hard to understand.

Let me explain. I’m used to working out by myself, at my comfy gym, reaching a point where I get stronger, am able to lift more weight or run farther, and then I stop. I stop progressing, and I stay there, sometimes for years, and everything gets stale. It becomes hard to go to the gym, and when I do get there it’s hard to stay motivated and not be captivated for 10 minutes at a time by the latest news pouring out of the talking heads on CNN. Maybe I’ll do one less set or a little less weight because I convince myself that I have to get back to what I was doing before my workout started.

The motivation at Frye’s gym is so different that I feel like it comes from a different part of my brain, a more primal region in my head that sparks to life about 45 minutes before my time to meet up with Chris. It starts with a nervous flutter in my stomach, which then kicks off a personal inventory of the current state of affairs with my body: Yes, my shoulder is sore but I can work around it, knees are a bit tender but I think they just need to be warmed up, wrists are beat but that’s nothing new. Then I determine that I feel pretty good, and that I’m about to kick the shit out of Chris’ workout. Nothing he can give me is going to wear me down today. I get in the car, head to the gym, and start to get ready.
By the time I’m at the gym, changed, and warmed up physically I’m ready to go mentally. It’s me against Chris’ workout and no way in hell am I backing down. The problem creeps in after the “warm-up” when my thighs are already betraying me; the burn I feel isn’t a warm-up burn, but a full-on lactic acid bubbling, muscle-tissue-tearing fire that’s been lit inside my legs. What the hell? What’s happening here? I’m super strong with oversized lungs and the ability to go on for days, but I’m 10 minutes into it and already looking at the clock. My mind inevitably moves forward and I start to think, what has Chris concocted for the next 50 minutes?

What’s next is an assortment of swinging kettleballs, climbing forearm thick ropes, and tossing 500-pound tires, and again by the end of my allotted 60 minutes I’m lying on the floor trying to catch my breath and once caught, wobble over on spent legs to put on some less sweaty clothes for the trip home.
This workout wasn’t any easier than the others, there was never any thought of doing less, just ensuring that I could do enough, and Frye has once again pushed me further than I would ever push myself.

See more at Chris’s Gym www.chris-frye.com

~ Todd Trimakas