Dateline: J-town 4.29

So we did go to the Seaman's Institute last week. Tidy place with a chapel off the library that reminded me of the Chapel of the Sun in Degrazia's place in Tucson. No pews or kneelers- just a sittin' shelf around the edges and, I think, a carpet in the middle with a nook of an altar in the end.

Our conversation veered from our books and writing and marketing woes to hookers in Morocco. My kinda chat. Fascinating. When Paul was stationed there, these hookers didn't do one night stands, so he was told. You had to set them up in an apartment and got to use them as surrogate wives- minus the in-laws. Techinically, they weren't suposed to screw around with anybody else but you, but he was sure it happened when the soldiers were back at camp. What, after all, is a bad girl to do with her spare time?

May have to put off the start of the sailing project as the weather's turned grey and wet. But the flowers are loving it. My tiny front yard is a mass of volunteer violets- or blue bells- or something blue and flat and little and delicate- like malnourished babies with heart disease...

I started writing the Saddam chapter yesterday ala Nanowrimo. Just blowing everything I know on to the page without vetting facts, screwing with style, dealing with spelling or footnotes, yada. Just raw thoughts in a fairly coherent style. It came out pretty well. I'm 2/3 done with the rough draft. My goal is to finish the other third today before I go to work in four hours. But I realized to my horror that I'm all about passive voice in these versions. "Was" is a main character in these drafts and it makes me look like a teenage poet (no "ly"'s though and precious few "ings"). Even the non-chapters I write- like emails, etc, are full of them.

I've decided to make more still life studies of the disposable face mask I scored from the ER, but not cheesy and not funny- just classical still lifes with disparate or harmonious items perfectly lit against a prefect background. Another goal.

And speaking of goals- the rough cut of the "Zoo Haiku" movie's almost done. That menas clean it up, clean it up and then it will be ready for youtube and the Main Street Festival entry....

More as life develops

Dateline: J-town 4.23

RI, as any school child knows(except me when I was a kid, because I knew shit-all about RI other than it was the smallest state in the Union and what's the point of that? Somebody's got to be the smallest. But I remember when Alaska beat out Texas as the largst state of the union and that had me twirling in ecstacy, because it was like the Dodgers beating the Yankees in 1955 which showed the little guys sometimes do win big.... but I digress....) is composed of land, water, and islands. Lots of islands. As little as a rock and as large as Aquidneck with three major towns, inluding Newport, on them. I forget the exact number (though I'll find it again soon enough) but I think it's 37 in Narragansett Bay alone...

For the past 4 years, I've dreamed of touching or visiting every island in RI. Of course, without a boat, this ain't easy and there's only public transport to a few of them. So far, I've been on Rose, Block, Jamestown and Aquidneck islands. That leaves at least 33 to go.

Enter Nancy and Natasha, both ER buddies and both of whom own boats and sail. I approached them with my dream and, to my delight, they signed on immediately! Soon we'll be racing around the islands, doing things like tacking and yawing and whatever a sailor does with her boat. Twixt the dream and the doing there are often gaps, but I think a lot of this one is going to come true.

It's really odd how, at least in the USA, if you mention a dream, people will come to your aid to make it happen. Everybody buys into it and a good time is usually had by all...

Since both of them have boats that will accomodate up to six people, I get to bring a coupla photo group buddies with me when we go! I'm hoping to start ASAP with Prudence, Patience, Dutch and Hog islands, though we'll probably touch Gould and maybe Despair as well. Maybe even the Plum Island lighthouse, which was refurbished a couple of years ago afte rusting almost to death after the 1938 hurricane. This almost calls for another blog...

Aside from that, work has been a pit and I strain at the traces for the carrot of Social Security and freedom, though nobody pities me my 20 hr a week schedule...

I sent out my package to a real live NYC agent who asked for the chapters after reading my query and am reading like mad to learn more about Baghdad in April, 2003 for the next chapter...(see sculpturalassassination.blogspot.com for updates on that.)

Paul, my writing pal, and I usually meet at the Empire Coffeehouse which is a little independent throwback to the 60's that we both love on narrow Braodway with its early 19th century houses and street. But this time, it being Spring and warm and sunny, we decided to meet somewhere wharfside. He came up with a frickin' brilliant venue- the Seaman's Institute! It sounds so disreputable and slightly dangerous, it brought out my entire inner Melville. We'll be in the library there tomorrow afternoon.

Dateline: J-town 4.17

My shadow taking pix in groton- not a roman artifact

David wowed 'em at the public library tonight. Over 50 Jamestowners, young and old, in the same spot after dark was a real triumph for the guy from Harriet St. What impressed me tonight, as it has on the radio interviews, is how sincere the questions are afterwards. People really want to get at the truth of it all. Of course, it really still sticks in the craws of those who were sentient at the time, but even some of the kids try to understand. Of course there was the guy with the agenda in the back seat, who went on and on about Jackie's blood red roses as a symbol of conspiracy, but others gave it a grapple...

I was struck in the gut, in that hole I still have from November, 1962, when he talked about the events of the 22nd and the 25th. It seems unbelievable now- Oswald shooting JFK and Ruby shooting Oswald. Probably the last is the most astounding. A guy walks into a police station... how could the kids of today, who've grown up in a "security state" where their schools are chain-linked and barbed like some sort of gulags, and they can't wear shoes in the airport for fear of them exploding all over the place... how could these same kids believe in the freedom that we knew then that they'll never know? This country is, not to put too fine a point on it... fucked.

I didn't get the paid blogging gig, haven't rewritten the plays and haven't gotten a copy of the "Slainte" DVD from the theater. On the other hand, I have been working on the book again, am working on a new tiny movie working titled "The Third Day Blues..." featuring animals, poems and music... and blogging on my own and writing letters and teaching and working at the hospital...

Went for another photo safari with Jimmy G in Groton today. The sky was blue, the day was warm and we were hunting artifacts on the shores of Long Island Sound. Bagged a few good specimens, too. One woman stopped me and asked if I was looking for something she could help me with. I stared for a second and tried to put the words together. "Actually, I'm looking for Roman ruins," I answered. Jimmy G is always a hoot, and our search for a good caduceus was the best part of the trip. Finally found one on a back pain clinic sign between Mcdonalds and the sub shop. Who knew? Maybe I'll put those pix in a movie too.

There are too many temptations these days. My mind is too fertile (at elast something of mine is...) and ideas buzz like flies... I have to focus, focus...

Dateline: J-town 4.6

If I told you how much fun I had at the zoo with the Photo Safari, I'd have to kill you. That kind of info has to be classified! You can get the general idea, though, from the above shot I took at the sheep of some sort enclosure.... What do you supposed they're saying?

When 14 photogs show up in drizzle and chill to shoot the animals, you're bound to have a lot o' laughs. Many of us have decided to pool our best shots and create a "zoo butts" album. Cool. Those critters know exactly when to turn tail when a shooter is around. Paul, a new member who has more cool gear than anyone should be allowed, didn't notice that a monkey was peeing on his lenses box (which, fortunately, was closed at the time). Not wanting to be impolite, I waited to tell him what was going on until after he finished his shot. He now has a new nickname in the group. Shannon taught me how to use the sports shots function on my camera. Many people pointed out animals I didn't see at first. As a matter of fact, I was actually shooting the waterfall in the sheep enclosure when Robin pointed out that there were actually sheep in there as well. Looked like rocks to me!

You know, I was determined when we moved back here from the magical Berkshires to try and have the same rich and varied creative life here as I had there. And, by god, it's happened. Photo shoots. Play production. Teaching. Videos. Regular writing gigs. And the miracle of psych tune-ups that actually work. I'm beginning to enjoy life as she appears on my doorstep.

Speaking of which. I applied for a paid blogging gig on realhealth.tv, and am in the final 8 for 2 positions. I sent my test post into them yesterday and will find out if I nailed it by this time next week. Let's hope so, because if I get the job, it will be something I can carry out the door with me when I retire at long last from the ER.

Heard from Carol, the Slainte director who wanted the script for Saviours. She loved the play, she said, as a matter of fact, she wants to play Maggie, but she feels it needs more development. Wham. Haven't heard those dreaded words since OPP. Of course I was polite and really tried to listen to what she was saying- some of which was right on the mark. But inside I was screaming- "It's perfect! Perfect!!!!"

Dateline: J-town 4.3

As a aresult of yesterday afternoon's activities, I have come up with a hard and fast rule that must never- ever be broken.

Never give an academic a video camera. It's like asking a blind elepahnt to repair a watch. (That simile must have come from somewhere...) I was jazzed enough by an announcement in the local rag about a short doc that was going to be shown at CCRI, the state's community college to hike all the way off island and up the interstate to its spaceport campus. The movie was about the Naga Buddha statues of Cambodia. So, I thought, hey, that's pub sculpture, my passion- why not? I even wrote to the woman who made the flick asking if we could get together to talk either before or after the piece. She eventually wrote back and said yeah, of course...

The show was slated for 4PM, so I got there early, as usual. It turns outthat the event was slated to begin at 4, but began at 4.05 with a reception of yummy Cambodian food. But (I haven't quite got the hang of this "go with the flow" jazz) I wanted the movie. At 4.30 she floated up to the podium and told us all that she decided to challenge herself on her sabbatical by- MAKING A MOVIE!!! To her amazement (much like the W himself) it was hard work. Final Cut had a steep learning curve (whywhywhy do people do that Final Cut crap? Apple has done a brainwash the size of Texas to push their unbelieveably complex editing program for what should be an intuitive job.) So she made this movie with the help of the entire AV staff at CCRI and another academic filmmaker on staff and oh, yes, before we get on with the show, let's have the local Cambodian in exile Buddhist monks give us their karmic blessing. It was sweet, ingenuous, and belabored.

And now, 50 minutes after the supposed starting time, it's on with the show. She had one good shot there. She had interesting info, done powerpoint style, with some sloppy and embarrasing video. And, at the end, she threw in all the adorable "my summer vacation" shots she couldn't bear to part with. Holy crap!

Now I was taught early in my video life that the first three movies you make are throw aways. Which doesn't mean you shouldn't try hard. It just means they're not going to be good. This was her first.

Do I sound harsh???????

Dateline: J-town 4.1

So last night we went to a dinner party off island. The invitation said 6.30, but we didn't get the starters until two hours later, and the main course an hour after that. It was all very civilized and European and all that jazz, and the food was swell, but by the time I finished drinking and scarfing down the cashews out of every cut glass dish in the house, I was down to my last inhibition when it came to food. So I overate. And overdrank. And we didn't get to bed until around midnight.

It was pointless to jump on the scale this morning, so I did some hard thinking about my, like, weight obsession. Numbers, after all, are the mortal enemy of joy. So I've sworn off the machine for an entire month. No lurching into the bathroom in the half dawn to roll out the scale, stomp on and let out a roar. No glowing numerical eye to glare down my joy. This is my free month. I intend to make the best of it. Live healthy or die (hmmmmmmm). I even started writhing on a weight machine today after riding 10 miles on a stationary bike.

Which reminds me. Someone mentioned that she watches movies while she's working out. We started making our 10 best cardio cinema picks list. I chose Chicago, Cabaret, and Chariots of Fire. She chose some appalling action flicks. Then there's Zoolander...

The play triumphed. Packed houses every night, good review and word of mouth, and a nice fat check for the playwright when it was over. My idea of a good time being had by all. Especially me. I decided to write a second act after all. When I finally realized what it would be, I nearly spurt. It's so deep and wide I can hardly wait to jump in. The cast wants to take this production on the road to Ireland or Wales or somewhere, they say. Ummmmmmmm.... they can't take those accents with them. But they could take me. Theater is a cistern of dreams and sometimes they leak out the sides....

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...