A can of Red Bull hung precariously from the dash, threatening to spill over our laps as Rob swerved us through rush hour traffic. We were late for an interview. I was supposed to participate in some capacity, but I wasn’t sure how. I didn’t even really know who we were interviewing, nor did I know why. Not exactly an auspicious beginning to my first joint venture with the president of sotanLIFE. Somehow, I had managed to neglect the biggest assignment I had received to date, an assignment big enough to merit a ride-along by the company’s head honcho.

Nervousness began to set in, and not just because we were tailgating so closely that our car appeared to have a Siamese Twin. I was scared; scared of dying right there on 94 in a fiery wreck; scared that Rob, my boss, would chastise me for failing to prepare for this assignment; scared that thanks to all this tension, I was about to pit out. Rob wasn’t scared, and he certainly wasn’t sweating; he actually seemed to thrive off of this kind of tension and pressure. Plus, he had no idea that the writer sitting next to him was a complete moron. Spewing forth words at the pace that would impress rappers and auctioneers alike, Rob effortlessly held two conversations at once. One with me and one with the guy on the other end of his Razr.

We raced down Washington, bringing us closer to Nochee, where we would soon meet and interview Jimmy May. Jimmy’s claim to fame is his list. What kind of list it is, I couldn’t honestly say. Short list, grocery list, guest list, honey-do list; beats the hell out of me. Realizing that I’d rather make an ass out of myself in front of Rob than our interviewee, I fell on my sword and admitted ignorance.

“So Rob, what exactly does Jimmy May…do?” I stammered.

Dark sunglasses hid his eyes from me, but I imagined they were burning through me with the intensity of a thousand suns.

“Get serious…” Rob barked, slapping his phone shut and pulling down his shades. “Wait, you are serious.”

“Look, I’m sorry.” I mumbled, my presence shrinking like a cashmere sweater in the dryer. “I forgot about the interview. Does this mean I’m fired?”

 “Fired from life maybe.” Rob laughed. “How do you not know who Jimmy May is?”

“I dunno.”

“He’s only the most connected guy in the Twin Cities.”

“Like the Corleones?” I asked. “We’re gonna interview the Don?”

 “Not exactly.” Rob corrected me. “He’s more like the Don of what’s going on around town. Jimmy knows more people and has access to more information than the CIA. This guy gets the inside scoop on everything, and I mean everything.”

“So he’s not mobbed up?”

“Nope. But he gets mobbed wherever he goes.”

“Why is everyone so anxious to be around this guy?”

“Let me put it this way. If you need tickets to the Vikes, Jimmy can help you get them. If you want to know where the best party this weekend is going down, Jimmy can tell you. If your dog just had puppies, Jimmy can help you find homes for them. Once you’re on his list, you have access to all his connections.”

“I read you. So Jimmy May is a pretty big asset to anyone out and about in the Twin Cities.” “And this year’s winner for understatement of the year is Skylar…come on down!” Rob imitated a roaring crowd, mocking me and my superfluous ignorance. “C’mon, I’m gonna introduce you to the man himself.”

Thankfully, the car ride and the conversation from hell were over. My body, if not my pride, was intact. Following Rob’s confident stride, I shuffled into Nochee, where we assumed a seat in a corner booth and waited for Jimmy.

“So I’ll just sit here, observe, and transcribe. I won’t talk at all.”

“That’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said all day.”

“Sorry, guess I gotta stop saying things that crop up in the old brain.”

“Yeah. Do that.”

Jimmy May slid into the booth across from us after shaking our hands. I kept my yapper shut and just watched. It immediately became apparent to me that I was not half as energetic as either of these men. Something as simple as a debate over the merits of Miller Lite versus Coors Light got the two chirping back and forth like master debaters. In the name of civility, Jimmy and Rob agreed to disagree, and shelved the discussion of domestic beers for the moment.

I flexed my wrists, ready to do some serious writing, but all I have on my pad was the flow chart I made on the beer debate. I scored it a draw. Jimmy made the more eloquent argument, but Rob’s vehement support was equally convincing (it’s hard not to side with a guy who felt so strongly about his barley pop of choice that he named his dog Miller).

Beer was not the only topic that had Jimmy May waxing philosophical. He transitions from Coors to coming together quickly, speaking passionately about the importance of establishing a sense of community in the Twin Cities. May, who spent several years living in Chicago and Detroit, has a keen understanding of feeling left out of the mix. Moving around the country taught him how difficult life can be when left to your own devices to survive socially. Ever altruistic, Jimmy May sought to prevent the social slumps he had experienced acclimating to new cities from happening to fellow Sotans. His site, which does not charge users for the services provided, is “a highway to promote events around town, but it is also a vehicle to move personal property, jobs, and houses.”

“Can you give me an example of how your list has helped someone?”

“Sure. Believe it or not, it helped me. Through my list, I was able to establish a contact with Bernie, my limo guy, from Eclipse Limo. Thanks to my list, now I can ride in style with Bernie whenever the urge arises.”

My hand started to cramp up from the furious note taking, so I took a break and just listened. Amazingly enough, neither Jimmy nor Rob developed any cramps of their own, despite their intense regimen of accentuating each comment made with hand gestures. Adamantly punctuating each statement with a flourish of a wrist or a wave of the hand, they nodded their heads at the other’s comments. Regular use of the word “exactly” reflects that these two men were, for lack of a less trite phrase, on the same page. Obviously connecting on a deeper level, Jimmy and Rob are both intent on informing Sotans about the social scene.

Jimmy explained how it was his desire to provide access to information that was crucial to having fun. This information, which in the past, even he had felt excluded from, is now readily available to anyone with an open mind and an e-mail inbox. Jimmy May took what he saw as a personal obstacle, and cleared the road, for himself, and for the community at large.

Rob bubbled with excitement.  “That is amazing.  I know exactly where you are coming from.  That is why my partner Adam and I began sotanLIFE.  Our frustration sparked our inspiration. The state of informational affairs was sorely lacking, and if no one else was going to remedy the situation, we were.”

Jimmy nodded in agreement. His frustration upon returning to the Twin Cities led him to begin the Jimmy May List, organizing a series of social events via e-mail.  His efforts are somewhat similar to that of a social director, leading the people of the Twin Cities like a self appointed “Pied Piper."  Anyone who has been to one of Jimmy May’s events will happily hop in line behind the man with the flute, whose path always leads to a good time.

Scratching his shaven head, Rob wondered aloud, “So how did you start up this list? How did you build your list from the ground up?”

Jimmy sighed, recalling the initial days of the list. “In the fall of 2000, a core group of friends - Troy Hudson, Mike Dokken, Steve Handley, John Bliss and Mavis Loftness - met regularly down at Zelo’s on Friday nights. For a couple of months, we got together frequently, and in order to perpetuate the party, I compiled a list of email addresses to keep everyone posted on what everyone else was up to. It all just grew from there. The group at Zelo’s swelled, more people asked to be put on the list, and the whole venture evolved into a large community of people helping people.”

The energy at the table was palpable, with more sparks flying between these two than the time I stuck a fork in the outlet (curiosity killed the cat; it just gave me a new hairdo).

Rob’s mind was blown, and he clutched his forehead in amazement. I imagined his shock stemmed from the exponential growth of a list that began as a small group of friends to a list comprising over 2500 members. Even more impressive is the fact that Jimmy May has continued to work for the community in this capacity without receiving any compensation, other than the satisfaction from the smiles he puts on Sotan faces everywhere.

“That’s it?” Rob yelped, arms raised in an exaggerated shrug. “This empire you created started with a series of dinner parties?”

“More or less.” Jimmy replied, coolly recounting the birth of his site. His extreme intensity for disseminating information is not matched by blatant braggadocio. Jimmy May is genuinely humble, a down to Earth guy with an out of this world concept. Jimmy proceeded to elaborate on the simplicity of his marketing strategy.

“Word of mouth is the best advertising tool there is. The more fun people had, the more they talked about the list, and the numbers of people looking to join grew. The experience itself built the empire and things just grew from there.”

“Have you ever tried to get a perfect stranger to give you their e-mail address?” Rob cracked, addressing a point I had wondered about myself.

Was this the same thing as asking someone for their number? Did this request need to be prefaced by a bad pickup line? It was like Rob was reading my mind, and given the fact that he’s as bald as Professor Xavier from the X-men, he just might be. “How’d that go over? Was it an awkward experience?”

“Not really,” Jimmy began, “not for me anyway. My background in sales has taught me that the worst thing someone can say is “no”, so I’m not afraid of that response. I’ve developed rhinocerous skin by this point, so a “no” every now and again isn’t going to kill me.”

“So why your list?” Rob asked, challenging Jimmy to showcase that background in sales. “What is it that you offer that keeps Sotans gravitating to you and your site?”

True to form, Jimmy May smoothly countered, “People are looking for a good time doing something other than what you can find in City Pages. My site offers inside information, without any strings attached. There are no charges, no commitments, just a chance to mutually benefit yourself and the community at large. My site caters to the common man.” His response indicates that he has a keen understanding of sales, but words from the mouth of Jimmy May don’t smack of a sales pitch. He is genuine, shooting from the hip, and from the heart. He isn’t selling his site so much as he is offering it, an opportunity you’d have to be crazy to turn down.

“That’s great for the average Sotan, but what about you?” Rob continued. “You’re already working a 9 to 5; doesn’t the Jimmy May List begin to feel like a job with all the time commitments required of you?”

“Through the Jimmy May List, I have an opportunity to impact people’s lives in a lot of different ways. At times it may feel like a job, but it’s a rewarding one.” Rob and Jimmy continued to sip their domestic drafts of choice, making me regret my decision to order water. Although, I suppose I wouldn’t have known which brand to order unless they finished their aborted debate. The absence of alcohol in my system wasn’t the only thing on my mind. I was still wondering why the hell Jimmy May would go to all this trouble just to help out other human beings. In a way, this guy is the Mother Theresa, the Minnesotan missionary of social scheduling, giving selflessly to improve the existence of others.

“How would you describe the typical Sotan you encounter when you’re mingling out on the town?” Rob asked.

“What I love about this state is the strong work ethic people possess. Sotans aren’t afraid of hard work, but they like to have fun. They work hard, and they play hard.”

Jimmy May exhibits these very same qualities himself. In addition to his regular job, he offers his time and energy to Sotans everywhere, working hard to provide quality information on entertainment in the Twin Cities. That’s just one side of the coin. Jimmy May is also an extremely social individual who loves to partake in the same events that he promotes, rubbing elbows with the very people he invited out on the town with him.

“What is your favorite aspect of life in the Twin Cities?” Rob asked.

“The seasonal changes. I love to see the leaves change, the smell of a fresh spring dew, and a good snowball fight. Summers are a bit short for my taste, but I make the most of that time, hanging out on Lake Minnetonka with Curt Fretham, Chuck Clabots, Rob Pieper, Bruce Lea and the crew. I work hard, but I also play hard.”

Jimmy May has more connections than a box of Legos, and his list grows larger with each passing day. Currently, the list is 2,500 Sotans strong, but Jimmy May has a goal of 10,000 members within two years. When he says “You just made my list”, it’s actually a good thing, not a threat. The Jimmy May List, of which I was 100% ignorant before that meeting, is a tremendous resource for sociable Sotans.

“One last question Jimmy. You’ve obviously eaten out more than just about anyone. If you had to pick your own Last Supper, which Twin Cities restaurant would prepare it?”

“I would make sure that I was eating the succulent tenderloins from Biella’s, a restaurant in Excelsior owned by Mark Nazigan. If that’s my last meal, I’d die a happy man.”

The interview was over, and I felt a sense of relief that I had managed to keep from further embarrassing myself in front of the boss. I breathed a deep sigh of relief, finally letting all the tension slide right out of me.

As we walked back to the car, Rob effervesced with further energy. I, on the other hand, was drained from my evening as a scribe.

“Jimmy is amazing. I love that guy.” Rob said.

“Yeah, he’s cool.” I agreed.

“His energy,” Rob gushed, “his selflessness, his passion for the Cities; it’s contagious. The way he views life, that’s what it means to be a Sotan.”

“What’s a Sotan?” I asked.

“Now you’re fired.”

Visit www.jimmymaylist.com for further information.