Island Life

Patience paid off

2009-09-09T00:23:00.004-04:00

In a few hours, I am leaving for Toronto. I'll be back in the Vineyard in a week and a half, but only briefly. I'll gather up my stuff, pack the Prius one more time and head onto the ferry to start back to Michigan. My time here is winding down. I am one of many people departing the island at the end of the season: "Help Wanted" signs, which were almost impossible to find two months ago, are now popping up in store windows.

I've been asked, "Was it everything you thought it would be?" It's difficult to answer. In some ways, yes, it was. I thought it would be a beautiful place, and it certainly is. I thought I would meet fascinating people, and I did. And yet it was also not at all what I was expecting. I came out here to do a job that turned out to be considerably less interesting than it sounded. My initial disappointment colored my perception of the island for the first month or so, and I had serious doubts about my decision. I was certain I'd find a great part-time job immediately; that was sheer fantasy. The recession has taken a toll on the Vineyard, too. Almost half of the summer had gone by before I landed the Playhouse job, and by that time I was having some bitter thoughts about staying here until September. There were times when I contemplated turning around and going home early, simply because things were not working out the way I wanted them to.

How foolish that would have been. I would have missed out on so many of the events and people that showed me what this island is really all about. I was already in the right place; I only had to wait for the right time to roll around and when it did, everything fell into place.

I spent the last weekend revisiting South Beach -- where the water is still remarkably warm -- and seeing more of Chappaquiddick. This morning, I had a magnificent hour-long massage that left me completely at peace. This evening, I finally fulfilled a little fantasy by visiting Le Grenier, the renowned French restaurant in Vineyard Haven. Kate, my stage manager at the Playhouse, had heard me daydreaming aloud about going there and gave me a gift certificate as an opening-night gift. (I could never have afforded it otherwise!) The food was incredible: clams casino, dripping with garlic butter and topped with tiny curls of crispy bacon; a robust onion soup coated with melted cheese; tender veal scallopini in a velvety cream sauce; fluffy whipped carrots that tasted almost like a dessert; a frozen key lime souffle, surrounded by a shallow pool of raspberry and pineapple sauces. It was a dream of a meal.

Then I came back to the house to pack up most of my stuff. I have to laugh at how much clothing I brought along (much of which was never worn), but at the same time I admit back in May, when I was deciding what to pack, I had no idea what I would be wearing here. I didn't know I wouldn't be wearing all those dress shirts or white pants or gaudy Hawaiian shirts (most of which never left the dresser drawer). And yet, although I ridiculed myself for cramming so many bathing suits into my luggage, I did in fact wear every one of them multiple times during my many trips to the Mansion House pool -- so I was right about something!

The last of the lobster rolls

2009-09-05T11:05:00.004-04:00

On Friday, I stood in line for lobster rolls at Grace Church for what will probably be the last time. It's been something of a weekly tradition. And not just for me: The church sells anywhere between 1000 and 1500 rolls every Friday evening.

The secret of their success is simple: They have great food at bargain prices, which is not all that common on the island. A single roll costs $13, which sounds extravagant until you see how much lobster the cooks pack into a humble hot dog bun. A drink (lemonade, iced tea or an Arnold Palmer combination of the two) is included, as well as a bag of potato chips. If you want a generous slice of pie to go with that, it's an extra $3 -- and it's worth it. The meal is definitely filling, and I have learned to eat very lightly on Fridays to save room for the Grace Church goodies.

I overheard one of the workers say Grace Church receives its shipment of frozen lobster on Wednesday. The seafood thaws out overnight and on Thursday, the cooks run the lobster through a stainless-steel press to squeeze out as much of the remaining water as possible. After the lobster dries off, it's ready to be combined with the mayonnaise and turned into the luscious lobster rolls.

In addition, Grace Church is dedicated to recycling. The cups they use are made not of plastic, but of a material derived from corn that's biodegradable; the same is true of the bags they use to package large orders. The to-go containers are lightweight cardboard, which could easily be recycled. The church (which is Episcopalian) uses the money raised from lobster roll sales to fund its many programs and charities. The sales are only held for a few months each year, so they will conclude at the end of September.

I have taken many friends to Lobster Roll Friday and no one has been disappointed yet. But I suspect I will be disappointed many Fridays in the future when I am far away, reminiscing about the wonderful dinners I have had there. Of course, I could make lobster rolls at home, but of course it wouldn't be quite the same.

Happy September

2009-09-05T10:33:00.005-04:00

"Has anyone wished you 'Happy September' yet?" my friend Milo asked the other day. It sounds cheerful and innocuous enough, but the greeting is actually two-pronged.

On one hand, it's an expression of relief that the tourists are finally leaving the island. Tourists -- or "washed-ashores," as the locals call them -- are both a blessing and a burden. Yes, they oftentimes do show up with bulging wallets and a desire to splurge on food, clothing, luxury rentals, etc., which is great news for the merchants. The glitch is so many of them arrive in July and August that the island's narrow roads are quickly overwhelmed, parking spaces become an endangered species and the towns and beaches are overrun by outsiders (not all of whom are particularly well-mannered or respectful). The year-round population of the Vineyard is estimated at around 15,000; in the summer that number swells to 100,000-plus, so you can imagine the strain and get an idea of how happy residents are when the "washed-ashores" finally board the ferries and planes for home.

But "Happy September" is also a bit of gallows humor, too. When the tourists take off, of course, so does the money. I have heard estimates as much as 75 percent of the revenue brought in by local merchants is made in June, July and August. Sure, the locals eat at restaurants and do some shopping, but they don't do it often enough to make up for those missing money-bearers. September spells the end of the island's annual financial windfall.

You can already see the changes in the streets. There are noticeably fewer cars on the roads and in the parking lots. While the sidewalks are still busy, they are not congested in the same way they were a few weeks ago. And then there's the most telling sign of all: Store after store hosting a "50-75% off sale" or advertising "summer clearance" prices.

So, if you're hoping to find bargains on the Vineyard, this is a perfect time to drop in. But don't wait too long -- after the "everything must go" sales, many of these businesses will in fact be shutting down for the rest of the year (or, in some cases, permanently), as the island prepares for its semi-hibernation.

Birds of a feather

2009-09-01T14:03:00.003-04:00

I have written before about the surplus of skunks around the Vineyard. There are also many flocks of wild turkeys on the island. They pop up in unexpected places and generally behave as if they own the place. Just before I snapped this picture, this particular group nonchalantly strutted across a busy Vineyard Haven street -- and traffic came to a complete halt as they crossed. They are certainly not pretty birds by any stretch of the imagination. But they walk as proudly as supermodels on a Paris runway.

So many goodbyes

2009-09-01T13:26:00.002-04:00

The last few days have been decidedly bittersweet. On the positive side, Hurricane Danny turned out to be a spectacular non-event: It rained much of the day Saturday, but the fierce winds never materialized and, aside from a little extra oomph in the waves, you would never have known a tropical storm was passing through. "Memory House" continues to play to very appreciative audiences, and Kathy and Natalia continue to give vivid, compelling performances. Although it can be difficult to keep a show fresh when you're performing it five or six times a week, they have managed to do exactly that.
On the other hand, summer is quickly drawing to a close. This Week has closed up shop and everyone is heading off in their own directions. My co-workers Scott, Anna and Danielle are already gone and Zach will be leaving tomorrow. Jessica, who was the first This Weeker I met, takes off for home Wednesday and will be returning to the island, but by the time she gets back I will be gone. I'm excited to see them moving on to new opportunities, but of course I can't help but feel a bit sad, too.
I also learned yesterday that my friend and former co-worker Thea Lapham had lost her third battle with cancer. The news was not entirely unexpected, yet that didn't make it any less hard to take. I wrote about Thea in this July entry. Uterine cancer is notoriously merciless, and apparently her body simply couldn't take one more battle.
Not that Thea was ever the type to shy away from anything. Vivacious and strong of spirit, she was one of those people who saw every challenge as an opportunity and always made sure she finished the job. When I was training to be a DJ back in college, I was told to try to speak with "a smile in your voice." At first, I didn't know what that meant; eventually, I figured out to do it without sounding phony or overly sweet. I was reminded of that advice every time I talked to Thea on the phone, as I often did when I was at the Gazette. She constantly had that smile in her voice, even when she was struggling with health problems or having trouble getting the information she needed for her story. Nothing got her down. As sorry as I am to lose her, I can take comfort in the inspiration she provided to everyone around her, both as a gifted writer and as a caring, compassionate person who routinely seized the opportunity to brighten up the world a little bit. Certainly she deserved a much longer life, but the happiness and kindness she shared with all of us will be remembered for a long, long time to come.

Aquinnah up close and personal

2009-08-28T13:05:00.003-04:00

I will write more about Aquinnah in the next few days (probably when I'm being pounded by Hurricane Danny, which is reportedly on its way), but I wanted to share a photo I took when I was there Wednesday. I had mistakenly believed you could only see the clay cliffs from a distance, that the beach itself was private. A kind police officer told me the real story: If you are willing to pay a rather steep parking fee ($15 for the day -- ouch) and take a fairly lengthy walk, you can leave your car and stroll down to the coast. If you keep walking down the beach, you will be directly in front of the cliffs, which, in my opinion, are the prettiest sight the island has to offer. They absolutely mesmerize me.
I had photographed them from afar and I was thrilled to have the chance to actually stand beside them; I was reminded of the Painted Desert. Although they look quite solid, they are definitely a combination of colorful clay and rock; you can break pieces off and mash them up in your hand. It is not a good idea to do this too flagrantly, however, since the cliffs are the property of the Wampanoag tribe and they are protected under law.
While speaking to a long-time Aquinnah resident, I learned the cliffs -- impressive as they are -- are but a shadow of what they once were. Erosion, the tides and tourists have taken their toll. As far as I'm concerned, however, they are still pretty spectacular. More pictures will follow to show what I mean.
Back in the 1960s and early 1970s, I am told, the cliffs were a prime hangout for hippies and the "living off the land" types, who would rub the clay all over their bodies and then bathe in the unruly surf. Rubbing the clay on your skin makes you look like something out of "Quest for Fire" since it dries fairly quickly and leaves you brilliantly colored. Please do not ask how I came upon this information. I do not want to tangle with tribal authorities.

To market, to market...

2009-08-26T23:41:00.004-04:00

Fine, fine, but are those free-range Baptists we're talking about? Because the others have way too many growth hormones injected into them. I mean, did you read "Omnivore's Dilemma"? Not on my table!

In case you think everyone is Obama-crazy

2009-08-26T22:05:00.005-04:00

Cindy Sheehan was scheduled to make a speech on the Vineyard Wednesday about Obama failing to end the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Her street team plastered Chilmark with stark fliers that state her points rather bluntly.

Here's an overview from the Boston Herald: Sheehan, who has never been to the Vineyard before, said she is interrupting her own vacation for the trip, which will include press conferences, peace vigils and sailing excursions on what she’s dubbed, “SS Camp Casey.” Sheehan just came off a four-month, 36-city book tour for her 100-page “Myth America” and had intended to take all of August off. “But I decided that this would be a very good way to cut my vacation short,” she said. “To demonstrate to the world that there are still people in America who care about peace.”

Sheehan said she hopes her stay on the Vineyard will put the issue back in the spotlight. “No matter who’s president, we still have to keep our end of our democracy going,” she said. “Even though Bush is no longer in office, these policies are still continuing. In many areas, they’re escalating - the occupations in Iraq, Afghanistan and now the horrible fightings in tribal regions. The killing of innocent people in the name of corporate welfare, or whatever this war is for, is certainly not about freedom or democracy or keeping us safe here at home.”

As for the Obamas, they enjoyed dinner at Sweet Life Cafe in Oak Bluffs, the very same restaurant I visited after the Illumination Night festivities. I can only hope they followed my lead and ordered one of the cafe's tea-infused specialty martinis. I cannot afford the main menu at Sweet Life, sadly, but I can certainly recommend their outstanding desserts and refreshing bar concoctions.

If you have to ask, you can't afford Edgartown

2009-08-26T09:47:00.004-04:00

In case you worry that I have not been getting enough lobster lately, let me set your troubled mind at ease. On Monday night I stopped by David Ryan's in Edgartown to sample the acclaimed Seafood Macaroni and Cheese, which includes lobster, scallops, shrimp and a medley of white cheeses. Predictably, it was delicious. It was also indicative of what you don't get for your money when you choose to dine in Edgartown. There were no side dishes, no salad, no extra anything. And it was (gulp) $24, which turned into $25.50 with the bevy of Massachusetts taxes that are now being levied on everything. As you can see from the picture, the portion was not exactly enough to choke a horse.

It's a reminder of why Edgartown is my least favorite of the three major towns on the island. Yes, it's classy and "sophisticated." It's also rife with what the advertising world calls "snob appeal," that attitude of "if you have to ask, you can't afford it." If Vineyard Haven is the unpretentious New England town and Oak Bluffs is the place to party, Edgartown is the place for designer labels, trendy fashions and overpriced entrees. It's the place where trophy wives shop for their clothes and their husbands pay $14 for a middling martini.

It's also a nightmare to get in and out of. To reach Edgartown, you must typically pass through what locals ominously call "The Triangle," in which two narrow roads -- Edgartown/Vineyard Haven Road, coming from Oak Bluffs and Vineyard Haven, and Beach Road, coming from (surprise) the beach -- meet in what is almost always a congested intersection to form Upper Main Street. There is a stop sign at the end of Edgartown/Vineyard Haven, which gives the Beach Road traffic the right of way and puts drivers from Oak Bluffs at the mercy of the back-from-the-beach crowd. Traffic gets so unwieldy that some drivers simply give up, park their cars in the Park and Ride lot behind Edgartown Pizza and take a free shuttle into Edgartown (that's often been my strategy as well). If you do make it into Edgartown, chances are you'll have a lengthy search for a decent parking space.

Unfortunately for someone like me who would happily avoid Edgartown altogether, the community does have the best movie theater on the island (faint praise indeed). While the Edgartown 2 is nobody's idea of a superb cinema, it does have noticeably better sound and less projection problems than the other theaters. I have sometimes put off seeing a film until it was scheduled to play the Edgartown (on Monday, I saw "Inglourious Basterds" there).

Another Edgartown attraction I have to admit I really enjoy is the Among the Flowers Cafe, which has wonderful (and reasonably priced) food, extremely friendly service and an espresso shake that is beyond belief. It's also a fun place to look at: Its ceiling is so low, you feel like Alice in Wonderland after she ate the mushroom. Among the Flowers is celebrating its 30th anniversary this year, and I would not be at all surprised if it's still around 30 years from now. If you spend $25.50 there, you will at least get a substantial meal; that's certainly not true of every place in Edgartown.

My favorite welcoming sign

2009-08-24T21:47:00.002-04:00

There are dozens of signs around the island to welcome the Obamas. But I have decided this one is definitely my favorite. I hope the First Family takes the school up on its generous offer, don't you? The Rose Garden could probably use it!

Rolling out the red (white and blue) carpet

2009-08-24T00:02:00.008-04:00

Hurricane Bill never really showed up, despite the threats and despite the fact that many area grocery stores were overrun Saturday afternoon and evening by anxious folks determined to stock up on crackers and bottles of water, just in case Bill turned out to be Son of Katrina. Saturday night brought nothing more than a few unspectacular showers, a steady breeze and some rougher than usual waves, which stuck around much of Sunday as well.

But Sunday brought a different kind of storm: the long-awaited (in some circles, long-dreaded) arrival of the First Family. Their touchdown on the island was delayed slightly by worries about Bill, but by late Sunday afternoon the word was out -- they're here! Of course, there have already been plenty of reported sightings of Michelle dining and shopping in Oak Bluffs over the past two weeks, hardly a surprise since there seem to be scores of well-heeled young women taking fashion cues from the First Lady. I admit even I had to look twice when I went to dinner at The Newes in Edgartown last week and caught a glimpse of a stunningly lovely lady who had done a sensational job of cultivating a Michelle Look. I wasn't the only one fooled: The waitress kept scrutinizing her carefully and seemed to make extra trips to the woman's table to refill the water glass.

If President Obama is looking for a friendly place to escape the tensions of the health care debate, he's made a perfect choice. The Vineyard has rolled out the red carpet and the Obamas seem to be exceedingly popular with the residents. Of course, this might be because the local merchants -- who weathered a disastrous June, thanks to a month-long series of rainy days and tepid temperatures -- have been betting the President's vacation will bring in a few thousand more tourists that are eager to spend big money in the hopes of seeing the First Family. Obama-themed merchandise is literally available on every corner, whether your tastes run to T-shirts, oil paintings or handbags with the word "HOPE" stitched on the side.

If you get hungry, there's Baracky Road Fudge or Barack-O Tacos. You can wash them down with a mug of Ale to the Chief or an icy Obamarita. There are even dog treats inspired by First Dog Bo. If there's a way to capitalize on the Commander-in-Chief, the Vineyard vendors have probably found it.

But the island is also dotted with welcoming signs put together by residents, including hand-painted signs from kids and far more elaborate displays by grown-ups. My personal favorite is the yard display down the street from my house: The family cleverly (and probably painstakingly) stacked red, white and blue balloons to form a six-foot-high OBAMA billboard.

Of course, the media is everywhere, filming Sunday morning shoppers in Vineyard Haven and Sunday afternoon shoppers in Oak Bluffs. The arrival of the Obamas was closed to the press, but the island is basically open-city and you can bet the Chamber of Commerce is thrilled to get what will amount to thousands upon thousands of dollars of free publicity, courtesy of CNN, MSNBC and all the dozens of smaller networks and stations that have sent reporters and photographers to document the visit.

There's something else on the island, too: roaring black helicopters in the skies. They've been flying around for much of the past week, surveying the landscape. They aren't limited to Chilmark, where the Obamas are actually staying; they are everywhere. A huge black van with a sky-high transmission tower on the roof was parked alongside State Beach last week. Since the license plate bore the "U.S. GOVERNMENT" insignia, it was fairly easy to guess who was inside.

But -- at least for the time being -- the horrendous traffic tie-ups and clogged streets that some feared would come with the Obamas have yet to materialize. I went to Vineyard Haven Sunday morning to swim at Mansion House and had no trouble at all finding a parking space. Late Sunday afternoon, I went to Oak Bluffs to eat dinner at Thai Cuisine and not only was parking a snap, it turned out I was literally the only customer in the restaurant (it's usually bustling). Sunday night I returned to Vineyard Haven to see a friend's band perform at Chez Lounge and catch a showing of "In the Loop"; again, no parking hassles and no mob scenes.

Maybe people were still hiding from Hurricane Bill, but since the weather Sunday was generally gorgeous that's a bit hard to imagine. After all, who wants to eat boring old crackers and cheese when you can run down to Sharky's for a Barack-O Taco instead?

Words to live by

2009-08-22T11:35:00.001-04:00

Who says there's no culture in "agriculture"?

2009-08-22T10:24:00.015-04:00

With the Grand Illumination last Wednesday and now the arrival of the Martha's Vineyard Agricultural Society Fair -- known locally as the Ag Fair -- we are moving into what the Vineyard Gazette so poetically calls "the heart of a Vineyard summer." It's apparently a very steamy heart, if the humidity in the air is any indication.

At least there were a few bold breezes blowing through the Ag Fair yesterday, which were both a pleasure and a nuisance. Pleasurable because they kept the air circulating; annoying because they kept knocking over and rearranging the hand-out materials on the Vineyard Playhouse that I had carefully set up on our table in the so-called Community Tent. There I was, wedged in between a quilt raffle and a display of melted hair curlers, scorched extension cords and burned-up shoes that was meant to call attention to fire hazards in the home.

Cautionary tales are clearly a major part of the fair. Walking in, I was almost immediately confronted by a giant inflatable rat (who was waving a small American flag, for some reason) that was supposed to remind me to have my property checked for vermin. The rat-extermination table was located directly beside an exhibit that's supposed to encourage parents to talk to their teens before those party-hearty kids get out of control. Pest-control, alcohol-control -- it's all the same at the Ag Fair. After all, it's just a matter of time before those crazy teens start ratting their hair and listening to the seductive sounds of Ratt, right?

Getting to the fair was a challenge in itself. There's supposed to be a bus that runs from downtown Vineyard Haven out to the fairgrounds, which are nestled in the wilds of Tisbury. My plan was to park my car at the Park and Ride lot -- thus avoiding both the traffic and the $5 parking fee -- and jump on the bus. But although I had no trouble finding a space at the lot (which is something of a minor miracle in and of itself), I had more difficulty tracking down the shuttle. In fact, it never showed up.

So I started walking down State Road in the direction of the fairgrounds, certain that any minute that tardy bus would be rolling into view. No such luck: I finally decided to call a cab so that I could get to the fair by 10 a.m., which was the time I was supposed to open the Playhouse's table. The cab showed up almost immediately and the driver couldn't have been chattier or more pleasant. The cost of the trip: $20, plus tip. But I sure did save that $5 parking fee...

The Ag Fair seems like a good old-fashioned good time, but it's actually serious business. The Agricultural Society lets no one in for free, even if you're coming in to staff a table in the Community Tent. Adult admission is $8, which gets you nothing more than the honor of having your hand stamped by a cheery child. You want to go on the ferris wheel? It costs extra. You need a corn dog? Cough up another $4.

And if you run low on cash, you can always turn to the ATM machine for a quick fix -- if you are willing to pay the $3.50 service charge per transaction that apparently goes to the Agricultural Society. Like so many things on the Vineyard, the Ag Fair is chock-full of hidden costs.

That is, it is also a reasonably fun fair, with a broad variety of food booths (including Touchdown Tempura, a Japanese-themed concession stand run by Vineyard Football), the standard celebrations of prize-winning fruits and vegetables, a talent show (which, at the time I dropped by, featured breakdancers doing The Robot to songs from Michael Jackson's "Thriller," so we are clearly not dealing with cutting-edge entertainment), racing pigs (disappointingly, they were on their break when I dropped by) and livestock exhibitions. One of the DJs on WMVY had promised this year's fair featured "pigs the size of pianos!" and I was eager to see if they lived up to the hype. Yes, they were the size of pianos... toy pianos. I left the barn feeling absolutely swine-dled.

More intriguing were the vegetable sculptures, created by local artists who see untapped potential in cucumbers, tomatoes, squash and such. Really, how can you not be charmed by a figure with an eggplant body, gourd eyes and a red pepper nose reclining in a miniature hammock? There was also a fiber tent, in which weavers demonstrated their craft. Some of them were using alpaca wool from Island Alpaca, which is located just around the corner from me. The creations were beautiful and, although it was in the high 80s inside the tent, several of the sweaters and shawls looked as if they could easily ward off the chills that autumn and winter will someday bring.

In mid-afternoon, three youngsters from the Playhouse's Summer Stars youth theater program arrived to take over the table for me. "We'll bring in a younger crowd!" they promised. Their secret weapon: iTunes. One of them had brought along a laptop and a special musical playlist was quickly compiled in the hopes of attracting curious customers. First, they tried out John Mayer's "Your Body is a Wonderland" (which they sang along to). Then they moved on to selections from "Wicked" ("That's real theatrical music!" one told me), but before too long Beyonce had nudged Elphaba and Glinda out of the way.

In between trying to find the perfect songs ("Do you have 'Lucky' by Britney Spears?" one Star asked another. "Yeah, I had that CD -- when I was, like, 5!" he answered.), the Stars provided their own reports on fair activity. After an ill-fated run for chicken fingers, two of the Stars returned with a towering basket of fries instead. "This was the small!" they assured me. "You should have seen the large: I swear, it was like a basin!"

While the Ag Fair pigs may not really be the size of pianos, some things at the Fair are definitely not for the meek of heart.

Oak Bluffs illuminated

2009-08-20T10:54:00.007-04:00

The gingerbread cottages of Oak Bluffs were dark last night, despite the scores of paper lanterns hanging from awnings and around the porches. There would be no lights until right around 9 p.m., when a single lantern was lit and carried through the main aisle of the Tabernacle to signal the start of The Grand Illumination, an annual celebration dating back to 1869. Hanging that first lantern started a domino effect around the Martha's Vineyard Camp Ground and, within seconds, hundreds of Chinese and Japanese paper lanterns began to glow all around the neighborhood.

When it began 140 years ago, Illumination Night was allegedly little more than a publicity stunt to attract potential buyers to the cozy community; now, it's a full-fledged festival, with neighbors cheerfully competing against each other to cook up the most eye-catching presentation. Some display lanterns with a long history, decorations that have seen many an Illumination Night. Others use bright new lights. Some mix it up, combining the vintage and the modern.

The heavy emphasis on Asian art is a reflection of the time in which the Illumination originated. In the 1880s, the West was just beginning to embrace all things Oriental, and Erastus Carpenter, the builder who helped establish Oak Bluffs, considered Japanese and Chinese lanterns to be the essence of chic. Looking at the delicately painted paper globes featuring geishas, charging horses, spectacular dragons and smiling suns, you can see some things never go out of style.

The crowds flocking to Illumination Night begin their evening at the Tabernacle, where a band plays a mix of familiar tunes (ranging from "Stars and Stripes Forever" to a "Wizard of Oz" medley and the theme from "The Phantom of the Opera"). A Community Sing is held. And then one Camp Ground resident -- it's supposed to be a big surprise, but one of my friends said the identity of the honoree always leaks out before the ceremony "because we have nothing better to do than gossip about things like that," she explained -- is picked to light the first lantern, which will signal to everyone else in the neighborhood that it's time to brighten up the night.

The decorating is done hours before the event begins, since many of the lanterns are antiques that can't stand much exposure to heat or wind. In earlier times, the lanterns included candles; most of them are now equipped with electric bulbs, although there are still a few hold-outs.

Strolling around the Camp Ground is like Halloween in reverse. It's the homeowners who are likely to be in costume, as some choose to dress in the fashions of the 19th century, or deck themselves out in their best summer attire. Some serve punch, cake or ice cream to visitors, but many simply lounge on their porches, greeting passersby and basking in the glow of a magnificent tradition.

Night of the Living Bass Heads

2009-08-18T10:26:00.002-04:00

"If you see anything big in the water, let us know," said a solemn-faced young girl who was standing near me in the waters of State Beach. Her brother was close at hand, scrutinizing the water. Let me remind you that Martha's Vineyard is the location where "Jaws" was filmed, so the idea of "anything big in the water" is a bit troubling to me.
Thankfully, the kids were not hunting a Great White Shark; they were pursuing an impressive bass that must have easily weighed 15 pounds. Unfortunately, they were hunting him with almost comically small plastic nets that would have been more appropriate for hunting butterflies. "The Deadliest Catch," it was not.
I spotted the bass almost immediately and alerted the siblings, who scampered through the shallow water to track it down. The bass, of course, easily eluded them. It even seemed to be teasing them, swimming within a foot of their nets and then making an abrupt turn to take them off in another direction. I did not stick around for the finale of this particular fishing expedition, but I seriously doubt the kids dined on bass last night.
State Beach, located on the coast of Oak Bluffs, is a fascinating place to spend a warm afternoon. The water is so heavy with salt that you can practically float on the surface simply by laying down on the water. The waves are mild, unlike the roaring surf of South Beach. And State Beach is also the site of The Inkwell, the area of beach once populated almost exclusively by African-American vacationers. Although the term may sound vaguely derogatory, it's still widely used by people of all races in Oak Bluffs. "We're not actually in The Inkwell, we're just outside it," a black woman told a friend on the phone who was trying to locate her.
At least on this particular afternoon, The Inkwell looked much more like The Melting Pot, as sunbathers of all colors and nationalities gathered to enjoy a perfect day of brilliant sunshine and reasonably warm waters. And that elusive bass, of course.

Chappaquiddick: No jokes, please

2009-08-17T09:19:00.006-04:00

There was something stalking me in the bushes. All I had wanted was a leisurely walk down the winding roads of Chappaquiddick, and now something was following me. With every step I took, I heard a slight crunching in the shrubbery nearby. I looked over to see if I could identify what kind of creature was hiding in the leaves, but I could see nothing. I decided maybe this would be an excellent time to cross over to the other side of the street -- and maybe start jogging.

After all, Chappaquiddick is definitely a rural area and you never know what might be watching you. A thin strip of land separated from Edgartown by water, Chappaquiddick is so peaceful and rustic it makes Edgartown look like a Mardi Gras by comparison. In contrast to the chi-chi boutiques of Edgartown, there is only one business on Chappaquiddick (reportedly some sort of convenience store and car-repair garage) and I did not see it. Most of the rest of the Chappaquiddick is ruggedly pretty countryside: tall grasses, wildflowers, robust trees, etc. You can find seashells in the grass. You can also discover more goldenrod and Queen Anne's Lace than you ever thought could exist in one place, making this a dicey destination for anyone with either allergies or a paralyzing fear of chiggers.

At one time, Chappaquiddick was apparently connected to Edgartown by a narrow strip of beach that was washed away in a tumultuous storm a few years ago. Now, getting to Chappaquiddick requires taking a ferry, although it would not be mistaken for the jumbo-sized ferries that carry us back and forth to Woods Hole. This ferry is barely larger than a pontoon and can only accommodate three vehicles at a time; passengers on foot or bicycle are squeezed into the space on the side of the boat. The entire journey takes about 45 seconds, and you could probably swim there if you were willing to brave the current and the busy boat traffic.

I had been planning a visit to Chappaquiddick since mid-June, but every time I had started out for the ferry, a storm rolled in. When I awakened yesterday to glorious sunshine and warm but not blazingly hot temperatures, I finally decided to try again.

Strolling through Chappaquiddick definitely feels like taking a walk in the countryside. All along the road, you find gorgeous flowers and plump, possibly poisonous berries dangling from their vines. Towering trees provide ample shade. Looking out over the terrain, you see the sleek sailboats and ivory-white yachts you would expect to find in the surrounding waters.

Chappaquiddick is best-known, of course, for being the place where Ted Kennedy drove off his car off the Dike Bridge in 1969, resulting in the death of passenger Mary Jo Kopechne. This incident has not been forgotten in the Vineyard: In fact, there were fliers posted in Edgartown for a "40th anniversary tour" of the accident site. Thanks, I think I'll pass.

You might expect a place with such a strong Kennedy association to be luxurious and classy. But I had to chuckle when I saw the Chappaquiddick Beach Club, which sounds impressively upscale but actually looks like one of those old British holiday camps, with tacky, flimsy-looking dressing rooms and little more than a well-worn white picket fence to keep undesirables out.

Many of the houses are positioned far back from the road, most of them located behind walls of trees or at the end of long driveways so that you can't exactly see what they're like or who might be living there. Chappaquiddick is obviously a place for those who like seclusion: The scenery is dotted with signs reading "private drive," "private property," "no trespassing," etc.

I never did find out exactly what was lurking in the brush, watching my every move. Perhaps it wasn't an animal at all, but a Chappaquiddick resident, worried that I might dare to actually set foot on his private property or private drive. Thankfully, I resisted the urge to trespass and made it back to Edgartown in one piece.

It's Opening Night

2009-08-15T16:52:00.004-04:00

Three very successful preview performances behind us, and now we're ready to open "Memory House" at the Playhouse. Tonight's performance is already sold-out and rumor has it Judy Blume is going to be in the audience; she'll already be in Vineyard Haven, since she's doing a book-signing at the Bunch of Grapes bookstore down the street from us.

The show is playing remarkably well. The audiences have responded to both the humor and the tension between Maggie and Katia, and Kathy and Natalia's performances seem to get a little richer and fuller with each run-through. They got a standing ovation last night, which must have given them an extra jolt of confidence (or perhaps an extra butterfly or two) going into tonight's opening. As an opening-night present, I bought each of them miniature bottles of blueberry vodka, which they will hopefully save until after the final curtain.

Our set continues to get fleshed-out with more and more decoration and color. Since we are opening on what would have been the great chef/TV personality Julia Child's 97th birthday, I made sure to include two of Julia's books on the shelves for good luck; after all, this play does include actual baking, and we'd like to have Julia on our side. I also dropped in Wade Rouse's "At Least in the City Someone Would Hear Me Scream," a very funny and often tender memoir about his attempt to live out Thoreau's "Walden" in modern-day Saugatuck with his partner, Gary. Wade's cosmopolitan tastes and attitudes did not always fit comfortably alongside ice fishermen and church-social types, but the book is not a "look how stupid these country bumpkins are" jab. It's about how he re-examined his own outlook on life and tried to come to terms with his childhood in the Ozarks, which he had spent much of his adult life burying and running away from. Wade contacted me through Facebook several months ago and had very kind things to say about my writing, so of course I immediately added him as a Friend. Yes, all it takes is a few compliments and -- ding! -- you're my new Facebook Friend. Anyhow, he is collecting pictures of his book being read or displayed in unusual places and I thought, what better location than on a Vineyard Playhouse set? Hey, even if Julia doesn't smile on us, perhaps Wade will -- although I have no idea how his baking skills would measure up to Julia's.

What rocks the Capawock

2009-08-13T08:47:00.003-04:00

On Tuesday night, I walked into downtown Vineyard Haven on my dinner break and saw a line of people stretching down an entire block. What could attract this many customers to the Capawock Theater on a pleasant Tuesday evening? They were there to see "Julie & Julia," with Meryl Streep and Amy Adams; unsurprisingly, the showing was sold out. It was the first time since the opening week of "The Hangover" that I've seen such a crowd at the Capawock. By the way, I went there Sunday to see "(500) Days of Summer," and the film was terrific. I have somehow avoided buying tickets for some of the theater's other attractions this week, such as "Aliens in the Attic" and "G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra." My loss, I am sure!

A nervous night

2009-08-13T08:21:00.002-04:00

The rehearsal period for a play is sort of like going to school: You ask a lot of questions, try to remember important information and spend time getting to know the other people around you. The "tech" period and preview nights, however, are like finals week. Everyone is a little more nervous, things you were certain you knew vanish from your memory at inopportune times, problems pop up regularly, and preparation takes much longer than you anticipated.
At the same time, I have always felt relieved if my tech period is full of trouble; if you have a smooth, trouble-free tech period, believe me, the gremlins will show up in full force once you have an audience in the house.
Wednesday night marked the first public preview of "Memory House," and it was like many first previews, with missed lines, last-minute emergencies and technical tricks that didn't go quite as perfectly as we hoped. There were tears backstage and tensions in the air. And yet, the audience completely embraced the show. They didn't know or recognize what might have been missed or what might have gone wrong: They became utterly absorbed in the relationship between Kathy and Natalia, and they didn't focus on a set that still needs tweaking, or the fact that Natalia's costume was delivered literally seconds before she had to be onstage. All they cared about was the performance itself, and Kathy and Natalia completely captivated them. The applause went on for so long that I had to send them back out for an encore, which completely surprised both of them.
The show is in good shape, and I have no doubt tonight's audience will see something even better. Previews are like first drafts, a chance to see a work-in-progress, and last night's crowd obviously enjoyed what it saw.
As for me, I spent the entire 75 minutes backstage, listening to the play and silently praying that all the necessary props were in place and ready to go. Since the play is one long scene, there's no chance to run out and make changes during a blackout: Once you're running, you're running and you can only hope the pie pan is where it belongs and the lemon made it into the shopping bag and everything somehow comes together.
Coming off the stage last night, Kathy expressed concerns that a crucial prop had been left out along the way. "We're missing the bourbon that's supposed to be backstage after we get finished!" she joked.

So many blueberries, so little time

2009-08-11T08:49:00.003-04:00

"Memory House," which I have been working on at the Vineyard Playhouse, starts its public previews tomorrow night. Written by Kathleen Tolan, it's a drama set on New Year's Eve in the New York apartment of office worker Maggie (Kathy Baker) and her adopted teenage daughter, Katia (Natalia Payne). More than a decade ago, Maggie and her then-husband went to Russia to pluck 6-year-old Katia out of a dismal orphanage. But no good deed goes unpunished, as Maggie learns when Katia, faced with the prospect of writing a college application essay about her past, finally begins to express the anger about her confused past that's been building up over the years.

While Katia stews, Maggie bakes, whipping up a blueberry pie as a kind of domestic defense mechanism in the hopes of distracting her daughter and calming her down. The play begins with Maggie bringing in the groceries needed to make the pie and ends with the pie coming out of the oven, (hopefully) in all its splendor. If Maggie doesn't follow the necessary steps at the proper times, not only does she fall out of sync with the script, she also risks ruining the dessert.

So, for the past week and a half, the "Memory House" team has been trying to coordinate great acting with a sort of Blueberry Bake-Off. We are fortunate to have Kathy Baker as our champion. Kathy is a world-class performer -- while she is perhaps best-known as the villainous trampy housewife in "Edward Scissorhands," she's also given marvelous performances in such films as "Street Smart," "Cold Mountain," "Permanent Record" and, my personal favorite, "Clean and Sober" and she starred in the original production of Sam Shepard's "Fool for Love" -- and a delightful woman. But I'll reveal her secret: She also lives up to her name.

Although she is playing a woman who barely knows her way around a kitchen, in real life Kathy studied at the Cordon Bleu in Paris and had a career as a pastry chef. She created wedding cakes and cream puffs to pay for her theater classes, and she told me the challenge of "Memory House" has been trying to keep her natural flair for cooking from coming through in the performance. "It's as if I'm a ballerina who has to pretend I can't dance," she said.

In early rehearsals, she merely mimed the kitchen work, pantomiming rolling out the dough and mashing together the butter and Crisco for the crust. But for the past week, she has actually been baking a pie a day, which means I have consumed more blueberry pie in the past few days than I have ever eaten in my entire life up to this point. Kathy plays around with the recipe, sometimes adding a little extra sugar, sometimes putting in more lemon, sometimes letting the berries and cornstarch thicken a few more minutes; I must add every one of her variations has been delicious. I don't know what will happen to her pies when we get a paying audience in the house, but for now, director Claudia Weill, stage manager Kate Hancock, Natalia and I are greatly enjoying the fruits of her labors.

I'm the assistant stage manager on the show, which means I am something of a troubleshooter. If Kathy or Natalia need prompting with a line, I'm there following along in the script to give them the right words. I make the emergency lemon runs to Tony's Market or Stop and Shop. And Kate and I get to set up (and clean up) Maggie and Katia's apartment every night, which is almost as challenging as making a perfect pie. While "Memory House" is only one scene -- the two characters never leave the stage and don't change their costumes -- it involves dozens of props, ranging from teddy bears to broken video cassettes to rolling pins, butter cutters, computer printers and more. Things are messy as the play begins and a bit messier when it ends, 70 minutes later.

In addition to having a new appreciation for blueberry pie, I have a new appreciation for the magic of the dishwasher, since the Playhouse does not have one and I must do all the dishes by hand in the sink. Do you know exactly how many bowls, pans and utensils are required to make a pie? So many that I have established a close and intimate relationship with the cucumber/aloe lotion we keep on the set. Blueberry pie may tickle the tummy, but cucumber and aloe soothe the skin, which is just as important.

Be careful what you wish

2009-08-04T23:28:00.002-04:00

Throughout the month of June, I had a wide-open schedule with very little to do. Every day began with the question, "What do I feel like doing today?" And for a while, that was great. But then I started to realize you can only go sight-seeing so many times or visit so many beaches before you start looking for something a little more, well, profitable, to be honest.
I was not making much money and I had lots of spare time, so I started looking for a part-time job. And nobody -- absolutely nobody -- was hiring. I scoured the ads, walked up and down the streets of Oak Bluffs and Vineyard Haven, kept an eye on employment websites and still came up completely empty-handed.
This is no longer my problem.
I am now in rehearsals for one show during the day and helping out on another show every night. Every morning and afternoon, I serve as assistant stage manager for the next Vineyard Playhouse production "Memory House" and then I hurry over to do behind-the-scenes work on "Walking the Volcano," which is now in its final week. I get breaks for meals, but that's about it. So please forgive me if I do not post as often as usual between now and next Wednesday. It is not because I am lazy, I assure you! I will, however, try to update as often as possible -- hopefully, while still getting at least a few hours of sleep.

Possible Dreams become profitable realities

2009-08-03T23:42:00.003-04:00

"I like those five figures!" Possible Dreams co-auctioneer Rick Lee growled as the bidding on a day of painting with Allen Whiting topped $10,000 at the annual event. That particular Dream wound up going for $11,000, making it one of the top events at Monday night's auction.
The 31st annual Possible Dreams Auction drew hundreds of attendees, some of whom were active bidders and many of whom paid their $25 admission fee just to watch the action and look for celebrities beneath the spacious white tents set up in Oak Bluffs' Ocean Park.
While lawyer Alan Dershowitz and director Harold Ramis took turns at the podium to help pitch some of the Dreams, the crowd seemed most intrigued by a star who wasn't there: Carly Simon literally phoned in her appearance. The singer-writer called auctioneer Susan Klein to apologize for not being there in person -- she blamed too much wine and chocolate on Sunday evening -- and to sing a few bars of her Vineyard-inspired ballad "Never Been Gone" via speakerphone. A musical sailing trip with Simon, Singer-songwriter Benjamin Taylor and boat designer Nat Benjamin brought in $10,000.
Here's a sampling of the final prices on some of the other Dreams: a visit to the set of "Monk," including lunch with star Tony Shalhoub -- $4000; a job as an extra in director Peter Farrelly's soon-to-be-shot new comedy with Hugh Jackman and Kate Winslet -- $10,500; a Provencal Culinary Adventure with Espresso Love chef Carol McManus -- $16,000; a visit to the school or library of your choice by "Arthur" creator Marc Brown -- $10,000; a private screening of director Doug Liman's "Fair Game," starring Sean Penn and Naomi Watts -- $5000; a consultation with designer Kenneth Cole -- $3500; dinner and cocktails for 30 people aboard Nancy and Chuck Parrish's yacht Freedom -- $13,000.
Proceeds from the event, which was dedicated to the late newsman and Vineyard resident Walter Cronkite, brought in approximately $260,000 for Martha's Vineyard Community Services.
The nearly three-hour-long auction featured guest appearances by Clifford the Big Red Dog (a picnic with Clifford and creator Norman Bridwell sold for $6000) and Pulitzer Prize-winning authors Tony Horwitz and Geraldine Brooks (dinner with the couple at Sweet Life Cafe went for $7000). The tone was generally lighthearted, with some good-natured warnings being issued to audience members. "If you're not waving to somebody, ma'am, you're in trouble," Klein told one woman in the midst of a sale.
Pushing a Dream that involved dinner with author Robin Cook and an autographed first-edition of his soon-to-be-released thriller "Intervention," Ramis poked fun at Cook's fondness for one-word titles by referring to the novel on separate occasions as "Migraine" and "Hernia." (It took $3500 to buy Cook's book, by the way.)
Even so, there was a brief moment of tension when Lee sold a kite surfing lesson with Black Dog CEO Rob Douglas for $1000, even though a patron had signalled his willingness to pay $1500 for the Dream; Lee hadn't seen the man's hand go up and closed the auction, prompting a few unhappy murmurs from the crowd. "Forgive me," Lee said. "It gets crazy up here."
That wasn't a joke. A few Dreams provoked miniature bidding wars, particularly the last Dream on the block: an oil painting created by Meg Mercier as the auction was unfolding. A flurry of early bidding gave way to an intense contest between two very competitive parties. In the end, Mercier's artwork brought in $4200, a tidy sum for a few hours' work.

Back to the beach

2009-08-02T02:07:00.003-04:00

A piece of good advice: Anytime you are on Martha's Vineyard, have a bathing suit and a towel close at hand because you never know when you will be headed to a beach. The island has many of them, of course, and there's no telling when you may be called to visit one. For example, you could head off to work a matinee show on a brilliant Saturday afternoon, only to find the matinee has been canceled and you now have a few hours unexpectedly free -- with an invitation to go to the beach.
That was my situation Saturday. I had spent the morning doing the usual handouts of This Week to ferry passengers in Oak Bluffs, a duty I often complain about but one which sometimes offers some amusement. On this particular morning, I was wondering if Martha's Vineyard is some sort of Elephants' Graveyard for troubled marriages since I kept bumping into couples that were clearly headed for the rocks. There was the prickly pair who were obviously looking for an excuse to argue as they walked along Circuit Avenue.
She: What are you looking at?
He: Don't you want lunch?
She: Why are you stopping?
He: I was looking at the menu.
She: At what?
He (pointing to a menu displayed in a restaurant window): The menu. They've got a menu! I was trying to read it. God -- anything?!
She: What's that supposed to mean?!
It was like "Revolutionary Road" with sunblock.
Then there was the French family getting ready to board the ferry. They had a deluxe bike towing one of those little tents-on-wheels for their toddler. But Daddy had the bright idea of loading a couple of heavy backpacks on top of the little tent, which caused it to topple over on its side, prompting a tantrum from Maman (thankfully, the baby was not in the tent at the time). To make matters worse, the accident happened in plain view of at least a dozen other would-be passengers and Maman was so busy scolding Dad that she stepped away from her son, who, perhaps to distance himself from the shouting, started to walk into the crosswalk.
"Regarde le bebe!" Daddy shouted in alarm, as a pedestrian reached down to stop the baby from fleeing the scene. Maman, who had been busy screaming choice insults such as "cochon!" (pig!) at Daddy, whipped around and grabbed the kid. Then it was Daddy's turn to do the name-calling. I would be happy to translate the rest of the confrontation, but unfortunately they started bickering so quickly I couldn't keep up; suffice to say, the ferry trip was not going to be smooth sailing.
Anyhow, a few hours later I was back at Oak Bluffs for a few pleasant hours on the sand and in the water, which is now warm enough for comfortable swimming. Heather, one of the four "Volcano" stars, wanted to get some sun before the evening performance and we had a very pleasant break on the beach.
Well, mostly pleasant. Every so often, we noticed this awful smell on the breeze, sort of like rotting garbage. It didn't seem to linger for long, so we didn't pay too much attention to it, but it popped up often enough to make us wonder what it was. Unfortunately, we found out. As we were gathering up our towels and beach bags to head back to the theater, we realized we had stationed ourselves within a few feet of a seagull that had apparently perished on the sand and was slowly decomposing atop a pile of sea rocks; the bird's dried-out corpse blended in so perfectly with the stones we hadn't noticed it at all.
Another piece of good advice: If you make a spur-of-the-moment trip to the beach, look twice before you set down your towel.

Crabs on the rampage

2009-07-30T15:39:00.004-04:00

Christian and Heather, two of the "Volcano" stars, had friends visiting from New York City, so they decided to go to State Beach in Oak Bluffs and kindly invited me along as well. So far this summer I had only been swimming in the pool at Mansion House because the few times I'd cautiously dipped my toes into the water at Katama or Lobsterville, I had to restrain my teeth from chattering. The afternoon was decidedly overcast -- the sun made momentary appearances but apparently had other places to be -- but there was no rain, so we stuck around the beach for a few hours, enjoying the waves and marveling at the variety of colors and textures of the rocks and pebbles that dotted the sand.

Although the water was hardly what you'd call warm, we all ventured out and floated around (Heather and her friend and I swam out to the buoy and back, noticing the water gets markedly saltier the further out you go). The afternoon was going beautifully -- until...

A vaguely reddish shape moved beneath the slightly cloudy water. At first, it looked like a roaming piece of seaweed. But then it started scurrying over the sand much too quickly to be mistaken for a bit of vegetation caught in the current. It was a very angry crab, probably perturbed we had invaded his space.

Everyone cleared out to give Mr. Crab some room. For some reason, however, he insisted upon following me: No matter where I tried to swim, he simply scuttled right behind me, pincers waving wildly. I kept trying to remember the last time I actually ate any crab. Was it at Mediterranean, almost a month ago? There was a succulent crab sauce on the sole special, if I remember correctly. Did I still have the odor of crab consumption on me? I once knew someone who had worked in a restaurant for a long time and could tell if you had consumed garlic even days after you'd eaten it, even after you'd showered and sprayed yourself with a fragrance of choice. Perhaps this crab had a similar sixth sense for seafood.

Anyhow, he was most persistent. When he wasn't following me directly, he would sort of dance circles around me, as if he was moving in for the kill. I kept hoping he'd find another distraction; unfortunately, he was a Crab On A Mission, or something. Eventually, I summoned up my energy and swam away as quickly as I could toward the beach, leaving Crabby in a cloud of stirred-up sand.

OK, it wasn't exactly a brush with death, but it was still a close encounter with a very aggressive crustacean. It was also the first time since I've been here that I have run into an actual crab that wasn't being served up on a plate. To be honest, if I had had a bucket with me, I think I could have easily trapped that troublemaker and brought this tense tale to a delicious finale.

Surprise! Surprise! Surprise!

2009-07-29T11:54:00.003-04:00

Martha’s Vineyard is supposed to be a place of peace, a little oasis of calm where you can rest and relax and get away from it all. You will go to sleep at night enveloped in the comforting silence of the island forests and wake in the morning to the sound of gleeful songbirds. Unless you are awakened shortly after sunrise by this:
“Caw! Caw! Caw! Caw!”
“Caw! Caw!”
“Caw! Caw! Caw!”
“Caw! Caw! Caw! Caw! Caw!”
Repeated ad nauseum for the better part of an hour.
Outside my window yesterday morning a band of crows had congregated to do whatever it is that crows do at 6 a.m. Apparently, they like to gather atop phone lines and exchange gossip or engage in a political debate or some other activity that involves non-stop, back-and-forth “Caw”-ing.
These were not ordinary crows, either. They were the largest, fattest crows you have ever seen in your life, the kind that probably run in packs and beat up scarecrows for cheap thrills. When they startled me from my slumber, I wished I had a BB gun; when I got a closer look at them, I realized these crows may very well eat buckshot the way we snack on M&Ms backstage at the Playhouse.
I looked out at one that had thoughtfully perched himself directly in front of my bedroom window, so that I wouldn’t miss a single word of his side of the conversation. He looked directly at me and didn’t move a muscle. Since I didn’t want to wake up the rest of the house by screaming at him, I merely scowled and waved my arms in a gesture that was meant to be menacing. He sat perfectly still. Then he deposited a glob of gooey crow poop on the front lawn.
So began a strange day.
After spending the morning helping out at WMVY, which is always a pleasure, I decided to go swimming at Mansion House. Unfortunately, I arrived to find the pool swarming with screechy little kids and their even screechier mothers. After about five minutes of fruitlessly trying to stake out a place for myself in the pool -- it never ceases to amaze me how many of the adult “guardians” don’t even watch the children as they venture out into the deep end, smack each other with kickboards and run around the slippery tile on the edge of the pool; is “Eat, Pray, Love” really so absorbing? -- I retreated to the locker room.
Just as I had slipped out of my bathing suit, I heard the poolside door open and the sound of footsteps. Seconds later, there was one of the mothers, looking around curiously. I reached for a towel, but she was already staring at me. “Ooops!” she said, although she didn’t sound particularly surprised. “I must have gone through the wrong door!” She turned and started to walk away, but before she opened the door she called back, “It’s OK. I didn’t have my glasses on!”
Well, that doesn’t make you any less of a Peeping Thomasina, sweetie. Wasn’t the, uh, aroma of the locker room enough to tell you it might have been a masculine domain?
Clothed and disgruntled, I headed out to Che’s Lounge, the absolute best coffee place on Martha’s Vineyard, which is conveniently located on my way to the Playhouse. I ordered a black coffee to go and asked for a sprinkling of the cocoa/chili powder mix they use to spice up their drinks. The woman behind the counter grabbed the cocoa/chili container, opened it and proceeded to dump about half the bottle into my drink. A mound of cocoa/chili powder began to quickly sink into the dark depths of the coffee, like Atlantis disappearing beneath into the ocean.
“Oh my God!” the barista screamed. “I am so sorry! This thing must be broken!”
In this sort of situation, what traditionally happens next? Would you think a new black coffee would be quickly poured and served as a substitute? Yes -- and maybe those crows would have started singing the best of Gilbert and Sullivan if they’d stuck around long enough.
Instead, the barista grabbed an extra cup and began frantically trying to scoop the now-sludgy powder out of my drink, while apologizing at a rapid-fire pace. I have to say she did the best job she could have, given the circumstances.
“Taste it,” she ordered and I took a sip. It tasted like coffee with a hint of cocoa and chili powder, but it was hard to tell how strong the “hint” was since the coffee was still steaming. Since I was in a bit of a rush to get to work, I didn’t demand a new brew. And she certainly didn’t volunteer a refund.
Tasting it again a few minutes later, I realized even though the coffee itself had cooled, that chili powder was definitely lingering around. It felt as if a small heat lamp had been turned on inside my tongue. Thankfully, I was able to tone it down a bit with some of the coffee we serve to Playhouse patrons, although the concoction still cleared out my sinuses quite effectively; it was like a Mexican meal in a cardboard cup. Coffee verde.

After the show, Christian and I took a couple of his visiting friends to Offshore Ale in Oak Bluffs, where we enjoyed a pretty amazing cheeseburger pizza (mozzarella base, topped with ground beef and a coat of aged cheddar) and several of the micro-brewery's specialties. Afterward, we found ourselves almost magnetically drawn to Back Door Donuts, which is kind of the center of the Oak Bluffs whirlpool. There's no point trying to resist: Sooner or later, you will be standing at the screen door, ordering an apple fritter the size of a placemat as a pre-bedtime snack. I'm reasonably sure it's an unwritten law.

What's black and white and an unwelcome sight?

2009-07-26T14:10:00.007-04:00

I'm sure the Visitors' Bureau isn't promoting this in their materials, but Martha's Vineyard has skunks galore. Everywhere. If you are anywhere near the woods, you are probably nearly a skunk or three. They're inescapable.

As I was getting out of my car a few nights ago, I heard a suspicious rustling in the leaves on the other side of the street. Crunch! Crunch! Crunch! I turned around just in time to see an adventurous baby skunk pop out of the forest and start to scamper into the street. Then he saw me and froze, even though I was a good 20-feet away. In a panic, he scurried back into the brush and I heaved a sigh of relief and hurried into the house.

It could have been worse, I suppose, if it had been a shark. Yes, there are sharks around the Vineyard, too, which is why the Monster Shark Tournament was held again in Oak Bluffs this weekend. It's an annual shark hunt that apparently delights many spectators and disgusts the Humane Society and distresses the Humane Society, the Massachusetts Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and Fishpond USA, which joined forces to protest it. A sizable ad appeared in the Vineyard Gazette last week urging a boycott.

But, if the Gazette's Friday editorial is any indication, the tournament may not be around much longer anyhow. "Participation... is well down this year, partly due no doubt to the state of the economy," read the editorial. "But it also feels as though the shark tournament's place in the world of game fishing, where conservation and catch-and-release are the prevailing mores these days, may be slipping. ... Reports are circulating that the tournament may move to some other location next year. If that happens, the town of Oak Bluffs -- and the Vineyard -- will be no worse off for it."

The Cape Cod Times reported "(t)he winning fish, it turned out, was a 361-pound porbeagle shark hauled in on the Marshfield-based fishing boat Karen Jean II. The shark measured more than 7 feet long."

Of course, Martha's Vineyard will be forever associated with shark hunting, thanks to Steven Spielberg's 1975 blockbuster "Jaws," which was filmed here. (Yes, there's a festival to celebrate that as well.) Many of the sights from the movie, such as the rustic homes and fishing boats of Menemsha, are still around 35 years after the filming ended; thankfully, the hideous leisure suits and polyester ensembles worn by many of the townspeople -- arguably the scariest element of the film for those who dread mid-'70s fashions -- are nowhere to be seen.

Speaking of the 1970s, that was the decade in which Carly Simon became a household name via hits like "That's the Way I've Always Heard It Should Be," "Anticipation" and "You're So Vain." By that time, she was already a familiar face on Martha's Vineyard and nowadays she's a year-round resident. She still records, but she also has a successful store in Vineyard Haven called Midnight Farm, which sells upscale antique furniture, elegantly funky clothes and decorations (such as $200 mirrored pillows for the couch) and a prime selection of coffeetable picture books (including a hefty volume of black-and-white photographs by Jessica Lange).

It's the kind of store that people like you and I drift through while daydreaming of being rich enough to actually buy the items we're "ooohing" and "aaahing" over. I can't even afford the $84 Velvetmen shirts I've been trying not to drool over for the past six weeks, so Midnight Farm is a great place to go whenever I need a little ego deflatment. It's also a gorgeous store, though, and I know it would be a terrific place to pick out an offbeat wedding gift or a Mothers' Day present that would be sure to get Mom's attention. Like much of Carly's music, it's mellow but stylish, with a strong undercurrent of humor and nostalgia: Many of the eye-popping shirts and dresses look as if they arrived via teleporter from Haight-Ashbury, circa the "Psych-Out" era. I have yet to see Carly in the aisles, although I keep dropping in, just out of curiosity. And, I admit it, I keep looking those Velvetmen shirts, too. They would be worth every penny of their price, I know.

Past the halfway mark already?

2009-07-23T23:34:00.003-04:00

I just realized today that, as of Friday, I will have been here for a full seven weeks. That means I am now in the second half of my time here. In some ways it seems to have gone by incredibly quickly. Believe me, since I started working at the Playhouse, the time has truly flown. We've already done six of our 22 performances, which is quite hard to believe.

People keep asking if I'm going to stay in Martha's Vineyard. Honestly, I don't want to give a firm "yes" or "no" at this point, but I have to say it seems rather unlikely. Not that I haven't enjoyed the community or the people (or the abundance of lobster). There is so much to recommend this beautiful place, both in terms of its natural beauty and the almost supernaturally easy pace of life here. I have never lived in such a comfortable, almost entirely stress-free environment and I can certainly understand why this island has been a haven for so many for so long.

But when I look at the situation realistically, I don't see myself here in the long run. My jobs are seasonal, for one thing. My housing situation is as well. And although I've met some wonderful people out here, most of them aren't going to be staying around either.

My family and most of my friends are nearly 1,000 miles away and I am reminded of that every day. I had hoped to take a break midway through my stay and go back to Michigan to attend my friend John's wedding, but it was prohibitively expensive. I hated having to tell him I wouldn't be able to make it; even though he said he understood, it was a disappointment for both of us. And that's the sort of scenario I would be facing again and again by relocating here permanently. I have written before about how tricky it is to leave the island. Figuring out how to get to Michigan for a few days -- a journey that would have involved ferries, buses, planes, rental cars and possibly even trains and cabs -- was almost hilariously complicated and the trip would have easily cost the better part of $1,000.

At the same time, I can't see myself staying in Michigan permanently. The job market is barren and it's anybody's guess when (if ever) it's going to improve. My former position is gone and even though I have heard from friends who are "sure" I could get it back, they are sorely mistaken. It won't be happening, no matter how hard they wish it.

Anyhow, all of this has been on my mind since I had to fill out some paperwork for the Playhouse this evening that asked for my "permanent address" and I realized, perhaps for the first time in my entire life, I don't have a permanent address right now. That is a disorienting thought. Does this make me a gypsy? Homeless? A wanderer?

Ultimately, of course, I will end up living wherever I get a job. Right now, I don't know where that will be. Maybe it will be Martha's Vineyard -- but I am doubtful. I only hope I have a much clearer answer in the not-too-distant future.

Rumors realized

2009-07-20T23:25:00.000-04:00

It's been probably the worst-kept secret of the year: the vacation plans of the First Family. Even before I arrived here, I'd heard rumors the Obamas would be vacationed on the island. In the past six weeks, it's been a hot topic everywhere from Edgartown to Aquinnah. Walk through the business districts and you'll see Obama-inspired displays in window after window. Eavesdrop on conversations and you'll hear multiple theories about when they'll arrive, where they'll stay, what they'll do here and who'll be hosting them.

Today, the plans were finally officially announced. Details are still on the sketchy side, but it does look like it will happen, and that news must be glorious indeed to merchants and restaurant owners who complained about lost business all through the cold, rainy month of June.

As for what it will mean for the general public, we'll see. The traffic here is already tough to navigate -- getting in and out of Edgartown is tricky under the very best of circumstances, and finding parking in Oak Bluffs is getting increasingly challenging, even though there are hundreds of spaces available -- and putting a few hundred more vehicles on the island's narrow, twisty roads won't make things any easier.

At the same time, it's hard not to be at least somewhat excited. And what an interesting time for the Obamas to arrive, just as the African-American community on the island is up in arms about a highly critical piece by Touré in New York Magazine that paints a most unflattering picture of snobbery among the Vineyard's black residents. Among the most controversial points in the feature is a quote from a "Vineyarder who’s part of black high society" who says (without putting his or her name to it, of course) that the Obamas won't fit in.

"Obama is more a man of the people," the secretive source claims. "...He doesn’t seem to identify with affluent black people. His wife definitely doesn’t; she is basically a ghetto girl. That’s what she says — I’m just being sociological. She grew up in the same place Jennifer Hudson did. She hasn’t reached out to the social community of Washington, and people are waiting to see what they’ll do about that."

Read the Vineyard Gazette story on the local response to Touré's accusations.

One of the most common misconceptions about the Vineyard is that it's a playground for millionaires and billionaires and that the only "common" people here are serving drinks, selling T-shirts and scooping ice cream. That's nothing but fantasy. All sorts of people live here and vacation here and, while there is certainly opulence and wealth to spare in certain neighborhoods, not everyone is strolling around in Armani suits or driving Maseratis. The Vineyard is a celebrity magnet because the stars know they can come here and the locals will not chase them down the street or snap unflattering photos of them to sell to the tabloids. The attitude here seems to be similar to what they'd find in New York City: Even if the stars are recognized, they're not hassled -- or, if they are, it's not by residents, it's by other visitors. People may spread the word that Steve Carell is around, or Owen and Luke Wilson, but that's about as far as it goes.

Does that mean the Obamas will find peace and privacy, too? Let's face it: It's much easier for Carell and the Wilsons to sneak around than it will be for Barack and Michelle, who must surround themselves with Secret Service personnel. But it would be my suspicion that if the media was banned from coming to the island, the Obamas would probably be treated similarly to any other celebrities that vacation here: People would talk, but they wouldn't stalk.

Echoes of the 1960s

2009-07-19T23:23:00.000-04:00

The opening night of "Walking the Volcano" went over exceptionally well. That was a great relief to me, but I suspect a much greater relief to the four-person cast -- Heather Girardi, Marya Lowry, Robert Walsh and Christian Pedersen -- and director MJ Bruder Munafo. I have only been with them a week; they've been working on the show since the beginning of the month. It's a complex piece consisting of eight scenes, each involving different characters, settings and time periods. The connecting thread is the fallout from the 1960s.

The title refers to the willingness (even eagerness) of the generation that grew up during that time to defy convention, take risks, explore freedoms and challenge the status quo. The first act features Heather and Christian in scenarios that unfold between 1964 and 1979; in the second half, Bob and Marya show us similar sorts of people dealing with the challenges of aging, trying to put their pasts into perspective and attempting to repair broken relationships. Heather and Bob have one scene together in the second act as a tough-talking, hard-living young woman and her father, a sort of shaman who now spends his days drinking and laughing at reality TV. So Heather is in five scenes, Bob and Christian each have four and Marya has three. Each new scene involves extensive costume changes (which is where I come in) and, in most cases, wigs.

I work primarily with Christian and Bob, but I have taken on the extra duty of helping Heather build up a head of steam for some of her bolder characters. For example, in the first scene she plays the rebellious daughter of an American diplomat, a rich girl who behaves badly because she knows someone will always be there to clean up the messes she makes. So, before she goes on, I'll tell her things like, "I think you could really take some lessons from Lynda Bird Johnson, little lady," or "Maybe it's time for you to go back to finishing school." That gets her temper boiling. Similarly, when she's about to go out as a Grace Slick-style rocker determined to sell her song "Basement Blues," I make a point of saying, "Ugh, that 'Basement' song is a real turkey. Nobody wants to hear that mess anymore." By the time she struts through the curtain, she's practically foaming at the mouth. Yes, she has thanked me profusely for helping her get into the mindsets of these women, and I admit I enjoy it!

I told Christian the other night that doing this must be like running a gauntlet. The actors literally have to rush into the offstage dressing rooms, where Tessa, Andrea, Alex and I quickly help them out of one set of clothes and into the next within the space of a couple minutes. If they're lucky and nothing goes wrong, they might have time to catch their breath or get a very brief drink of water. Then they're pushed back through the curtain to take on another personality, a new voice, different body language, etc. Many actors would be terrified by this kind of challenge, but this cast has truly run with it, and the performances are uniformly sharp.

The opening night audience seemed to understand exactly what author Jon Lipsky was trying to say. They also got the jokes, which was wonderful for us to hear. A post-opening night party featured various volcano-themed foods, including a towering chocolate cake with a pool of melted red sugar "lava" around it, and a cream cheese volcano drizzled with salsa.

I have spent much of the week running back and forth to the theater for technical rehearsals and previews. I had promised myself I would take it a bit easier during the weekend, so I finally caught up with "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" Saturday afternoon in Edgartown. I went to the first matinee and was somewhat surprised to find the audience was at least 70 percent adults -- people over 18 anyway -- with only a few youngsters around.

Here is a classic Martha's Vineyard moment. The two guys sitting behind me, both probably in their early 20s, had bought a large popcorn because of the "bargain" price and then realized they had much more than they needed, even for a two-and-a-half-hour movie (I've had wastepaper baskets that were smaller than the popcorn tub they were holding). So one of the two leans over my shoulder and says, "Excuse me. Would you like some popcorn? We have way too much." I would have accepted, except that I had just had a big lunch while researching a story on Skinny's Fat Sandwiches for This Week on Martha's Vineyard; suffice to say Skinny's doesn't skimp when it comes to hot pastrami, and I was completely full. But really, where else are you going to have fellow audience members ask you to share their concessions?

The Vineyard Playhouse is dark on Sundays, so I had time to visit the John Lennon art exhibit at Mansion House. Once I got through the door, I wished I had scheduled more time to look around. Dozens of Lennon's ink drawings, cartoons, sketches and illustrations were on display, ranging from caricatures of himself to erotica to beguiling, whimsical pictures he created for his son, Sean. The presentation was underscored, naturally, with a soundtrack featuring both Lennon's solo songs and tunes with the Beatles. Talk about someone who truly embodied the spirit of the 1960s.

Prints of the art were on sale, although I got the feeling most of the visitors were more interested in the show as an opportunity to peek into the private creations of this multi-faceted man, who poured his insights, humor and heartaches into his drawings. Say what you will about his relationship with Yoko Ono, but there's no denying it was real love: The tenderness and passion he felt for her practically radiates from the portraits he drew of the two of them.

Looking at the work, I was startled to think it's been almost 30 years since Lennon's murder. How vividly I remember December 8, 1980 and the chill I felt when I first heard the news (on WLAV-FM, in fact) that Lennon had been shot to death. As much as I roll my eyes over the drawn-out, show-bizzy melodramatics surrounding Michael Jackson's passing, I try not to ridicule the people who are genuinely torn up over his death. While Jackson didn't mean much to me -- I love his work with the Jackson 5 and the "Off the Wall" and "Thriller" albums, but by the mid-'80s I felt he was already turning into a parody of himself and nothing he produced afterward really connected with me -- I remember being crushed by the loss of Lennon and I'm sure Michael's mourners feel something similar.

Why we fight

2009-07-17T10:23:00.000-04:00

This has been one of those weeks when a flurry of events remind you that life is full of possibilities and revelations -- some wonderful and some terrible. The same day I got the job at the Playhouse (which has gotten off to a great start and has kept me running all week), I also heard that a friend who has already fought two battles with cancer must now gear up for one more. When she went in for a doctor's appointment to determine what was causing her painful cough, she learned she has seven new tumors scattered all around her body.
News like this instantly puts all the other problems in the world in perspective. Suddenly, my laundry list of issues (set up a post office box, buy new black shoes, see "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince," etc.) looked ridiculously petty.
After a certain age, I think we all realize we are very much mortal and none of us is going to live forever. Even so, with the amazing strides medicine has made in the last 10 or 20 years most of us see ourselves living into our 80s or even our 90s; my friend is barely in her mid-50s.
The news is, of course, devastating to her. "I don't know how long I have left," she wrote in an e-mail. "My doctor just keeps staring at her shoes when I ask her."
I sent a reply immediately. "Whatever you do, do not allow yourself to give in to despair or resignation. People do come back from the edge, and a lot more often than they used to. Don't give up hope yet. Being realistic does not have to mean preparing for the worst. You have an indomitable spirit and a strong circle of support around you, as you well know. Get your rest, take it all at your own pace, keep looking for new information whenever you can and don't allow your doctors to avoid your questions. Above all else, if at all possible, envision this as a struggle you have to get through and not as the end of everything."
Perhaps this sounds hopelessly hopeful, but I was not playing Pollyanna. In conversations with doctors, therapists and healers over the years, I have heard again and again how crucially important it is to face a health crisis with a positive attitude. If you admit defeat right off the bat, it's as if you have opened up the doors of your home and said, "Come on in, burglars: I'll show you where all the valuables are."
I knew a young man who worked as a publicist in Chicago in the 1980s. He went to Ireland for a vacation, came home and realized he wasn't feeling quite right. He went to the hospital, expecting to hear he had food poisoning, or stomach trouble. Instead, when the bloodwork came back, the doctor told him he was HIV-positive and the man instantly began fearing the worst. Within a week, he was dead. Granted, this was in the late 1980s when the concept of living with HIV seemed almost like science-fiction. But who knows how much longer my friend might have had if he had chosen to put up a fight instead of literally laying down and dying?
When I was diagnosed with testicular cancer in 2002, I thought back to that particular case and what a tragedy it was, that someone so young (he wasn't even 30) let go of life so easily. I vowed I was not going to allow that to happen to me. I gave myself 10 minutes to sit at home, alone, and run through all the worst-case scenarios and get extremely worked-up and emotional. And then, at the end of the 10 minutes, I said, "Now, let's get on with it." I pushed all that melodrama and misery out of my mind (and no, it was not easy) and concentrated instead on finding out as much as I could about my disease, about the surgery I would need, available post-operative treatments, side-effects, etc. By the time I started telling my family and friends about my condition, I could also tell them about the exceedingly high recovery rate and what I would need to do. It wasn't tears and screaming and hand-wringing and making funeral plans.
I would go in to my doctors with a notebook and print-outs of information I'd picked up. One of my doctors found this very disorienting, apparently. "I've never seen anyone do this kind of thing before," he said, as I sat taking detailed notes about seminomas and their response to radiation. I replied I wanted to be as well-informed as possible so that I could make intelligent choices. He was used to people breaking down and going to pieces. "I could do that," I said. "But what's the point? The more I know, the less I feel afraid."
Well, you might say, that's all good and well for you, but not everybody can do that, especially if you've been told you have seven tumors. Of course, that's true. But you have to make an effort. You have make a commitment to get through this situation. I feel confident once my friend gets over the initial shock of her diagnosis, she'll brace herself once again for another war with cancer. She has no choice. It's truly a matter of life and death.

Behind the scenes

2009-07-15T10:25:00.000-04:00

There is much to be said for being in the right place at the right time. On Monday afternoon, I dropped by a rehearsal of "Shrew," the production of Shakespeare's "The Taming of the Shrew" that is being staged at Tisbury Amphitheater, a marvelous natural stage nestled in the middle of the woods just beyond Vineyard Haven. I was there to take some pictures and set up interviews for a story I'm doing for next week.

Midway through my visit, MJ Bruder Munafo, the Vineyard Playhouse producer and artistic director dropped by and came over to sit with me. We'd run into each other several times during my ushering stints. She was curious if I would be willing to help out as a dresser for the new show she's about to open, "Walking the Volcano": It's a series of eight short plays focusing on the lives of various people who grew up in the 1960s and how they adjusted (or failed to adjust) to the changes in the next four decades. The various characters are played by four actors -- two men, two women -- and they have to completely transform themselves from one scene to the next, which requires quick changes of clothing, wigs, shoes, etc. The dresser is essential to pulling off these overhauls. You have to know exactly what your actor needs next and how to make the change as smoothly and efficiently as possible, so the job involves keeping a watchful eye on the wardrobe and making sure everything is in place and easily accessible when it's needed.

I decided to take the job. It's a challenge, certainly, but an enjoyable one. After running through a few changes on Monday night with Christian, the actor I'm working with in Act One, I went through the entire show a couple of times on Tuesday, assisting both Christian and Bob, who takes over in Act Two. The brief running times of the plays (most of them are about 10 minutes) does not allow for much fooling around and you have to prepare as much as possible in advance, but the day went surprisingly well, I thought. (Christian and Bob told me they were happy as well, which is even more important.)

If you don't work in theater, you would be surprised to find out how much a play develops in the final days before the opening. Even yesterday, one day before we start public previews, costumes and makeups were still being modified (a jacket that's too small was thrown out, easily attached sideburns for one of Christian's characters were brought in, etc.). Sometimes the tweaking continues even after the show has opened: When I was in "Class Reunion," a largely improvised comedy-drama at the Kalamazoo Civic five years ago, the decision was made one night to completely "rewrite" the end of my character's subplot -- and this was halfway through the run of the show! It was a smart choice because the revised finale seemed to play better for audiences, but to be told at the start of the show one night that you need to completely revamp something you've been doing for more than a month? And you're going to be trying it out in front of a sold-out house? Yes, there was a certain amount of nail-biting suspense, you might say.

So I have plenty of sympathy for Christian and Bob as they deal with costume touch-ups while getting ready for their first public preview this evening. Anyone who's done many plays will tell you that the dreaded "tech week," the time just before the show opens, is almost always the most trying time. It's been my experience that if tech week is a breeze, all those invisible, malicious theater gremlins materialize during the run to ruin your sound, play tricks with your lighting, cause you to forget your lines and make crucial props and costumes vanish at the last minute, so I'm always happy if tech week is tough. If it's not, I tend to brace myself for the crises to come!

Vineyard Playhouse gets New York Times exposure

2009-07-13T11:59:00.001-04:00

Over the course of the last month, I have had a terrific time helping out at the Vineyard Playhouse in Vineyard Haven. They are a great group of people and I always look forward to the evenings when I get to usher there. (The photo above is from the post-show gathering on the closing night of the Playhouse's outstanding "Fly.")

Now the New York Times has cast its spotlight on the organization. Click here to read the feature (no, the writer doesn't mention my invaluable contributions, serving lemonade and cookies and helping patrons find their seats, but that's one of the reasons print journalism is headed for oblivion, don't you think?).

Thanks to Zach for originally pointing this out.

Making a splash at Mansion House

2009-07-13T10:37:00.000-04:00

I don't think I've written much about Mansion House, the luxurious old-fashioned hotel located in the heart of Vineyard Haven, even though I visit there almost every day. No, I did not get a job as a chambermaid and I'm certainly not staying there as a guest (it costs much more than I could ever afford). About a month ago, I bought a three-month membership at their wonderful health club, which offers plenty of workout equipment and classes in yoga, aerobics, pilates, etc. The real attraction for me, however, was the facility's incredible 75-foot-long indoor pool, which I have been visiting regularly.

Why swim inside when you're on an island, surrounded by water? Hmmm. Head down to the beach, dip your feet in the water and see how eager you are to get in and swim for half an hour. Although the waves are slightly warmer now than they were a month ago, they are too chilly for my taste and besides, I don't do much swimming in the kind of shallow water you find at the beaches (there are copious amounts of seaweed drifting through the currents here, for one thing, and there's nothing like getting seaweed in your hair or in your face to send you running from the water).

The Mansion House pool, on the other hand, is maintained at a steady 83 degrees, just warm enough that you don't shiver or shriek when your tummy first touches the water. It's also chlorine-free: I don't know the exact name of the system they use to keep the pool clean -- they call it "Spring Water" in their literature -- but it involves using salt water instead of eye-stinging, swimsuit-bleaching chlorine to keep the pool clean. So it's sort of like swimming in the ocean, without the distractions of unpleasant plants, rocks or mysterious sea creatures brushing up against your legs. Remember that "Jaws" was filmed in this very neighborhood, so having something brushing up against you in the water can spark all sorts of gruesome memories.

The only downside to the Mansion House experience is that downtown Vineyard Haven has a very limited amount of parking spaces and finding one anywhere near Mansion House is about as common as finding a $1000 bill on the sidewalk. Many days I am forced to park several blocks away in the neighborhood district, and I could swear I get more exercise walking to and from the health club than I actually get inside. Even so, if the weather is nice, it's hard to complain about such "inconveniences."

I was also surprised to see that Mansion House will soon be hosting "Come Together," an exhibit of artwork from John Lennon. It opens this Friday as a benefit for the Island Food Pantry. The artwork is also for sale, and I'm sure there will be something in my price range (ha!). Well, perhaps not, but I can afford the $2 admission fee, so I guess I have another good reason to keep on battling the Vineyard Haven traffic.

Pull up to the bumper

2009-07-11T13:25:00.000-04:00

Here's an unpleasant start to a Saturday morning. I had gone to Oak Bluffs to do my weekly This Week newspaper handout and I parked in one of the four-hour slots near the Steamship Authority. Some time between 9:30 -- when I arrived -- and 10:30 -- when I came back to the car after a delicious breakfast at Biscuits (more on this later) -- someone apparently skidded up against the rear bumper on the driver's side of my Prius, leaving scratches and a bit of chipped paint. No major damage or cracking, but it's definitely visible and I called AAA to file a claim. The agent was very understanding and, once I find a good body/paint shop on the island, I should be all set.

It's fascinating the effect this place has had on me. This is the kind of incident that would have absolutely launched me into a rage if it had happened in Michigan; I can easily picture myself flying into a full-blown fit over something like this. But I find I'm more perturbed/annoyed than infuriated, and I think it has a lot to do with the relaxed atmosphere and calm of the Vineyard. When I first saw the damage, I was definitely angry and started looking around for tell-tale signs on another vehicle, certain that the perpetrator was still in the vicinity. After a few minutes, however, I stopped searching, got out my AAA card and phoned in the claim. Then I walked down to the beach and listened to the soothing sounds of the sun-splashed waves. Getting angry over something like a few scratches is a waste of energy, especially since AAA kindly waived my deductible and even reminded me that I'm entitled to a $30-per-day credit toward renting a car if mine needs to be in the shop for any length of time.

Or maybe I was more easy-going because of the wonderful breakfast I had. Biscuits is a bustling Oak Bluffs restaurant that serves breakfast from 7 a.m. until 3 p.m., and there's usually a waiting line out in front of the door. I ordered take-out, and got linguica hash and what Biscuits calls Pigs in a Blanket.

The Pigs in a Blanket I am familiar with are little sausage links wrapped in pancakes and doused with syrup; Biscuits' Pigs are sausage patties served inside split buttermilk biscuits and covered with a creamy sausage gravy. It was a surprise when I opened the container, but they were wonderful.

Linguica is everywhere on the Vineyard: It's a pork sausage created by the Portuguese that's often served inside rolls, hot dog-style. The linguica hash is a blend of shredded linguica, diced onions, potatoes and finely chopped red bell peppers that's been fried (apparently not for very long, since it was much less greasy than traditional hashes). When I first looked at its rather vivid red-orange color, I thought it was going to be much too spicy for this time of day. One forkful told me otherwise. Because of the potatoes, the pepper and onion did not set my tongue on fire, and I could still taste the hints of garlic and paprika in the linguica without being overwhelmed by them. The balance of flavors was perfect.

By the way, for those who are wondering about the cost of the groceries, the correct answer was C. That relatively meager amount of food (and detergent) cost $50.61 -- although I did get a 5-cent credit from Stop & Shop for bringing in a reusable bag. Every time I go to a grocery store around here, I want to kick myself for not buying food off-island and bringing it back over on the ferry. The prices here are generally laughable (at least until you have to go to the check-out counter, at which time they become a little less funny) and, I have noticed, they have gone up slightly since the start of what the locals call "the season." For example, Stop & Shop had a package of six crumpets -- little hand-sized pancakes -- for $1.99 a couple of weeks ago, so I bought some and spread cherry preserves on them: delicious. But when I checked the price on the same crumpets Thursday, they had jumped up to $2.49. Sorry, no sale.

The same is true of the detergent, which had been $7.29 when I last bought a bottle at the beginning of June. It's now up to $7.69 and, while I can have a breakfast without crumpets, washing clothes without detergent is a bit trickier. Perhaps there have been great production crises in the crumpet and detergent worlds that I have been blissfully unaware of and the manufacturers had no choice but to raise their prices in response. And yet somehow I suspect the puffed-up prices have more to do with a chance to make a little bit more off tourists who like British tea time snacks and laundry that smells like a Springtime Waterfall or a Country Breeze or whatever it is they're putting in detergent these days.

Now how much would you pay?

2009-07-09T20:12:00.000-04:00

One jar of cherry preserves; three boxes of tea; six small bottles of juice; two bottles of tonic water; four cans of Vienna sausages; two cans of deviled ham spread; two cans of chicken spread; and one bottle of laundry detergent. That's all I bought at Stop and Shop in Edgartown today (I forgot yogurt, which I had intended to pick up). All the groceries fit into my "green" canvas reusable shopping bag. How much did I pay?

A) $27.63
B) $41.41
C) $50.56
D) $73.49
E) My eternal soul

Jackson junk

2009-07-08T23:09:00.001-04:00

Even though my trip to Boston meant I had to miss the grandiose Michael Jackson memorial, it did not mean I was spared all the hype. I snapped this shot of some el cheapo T-shirts that were being sold by a vendor in South Station. The imagery of Michael is really disturbing: Do you prefer the "maybe I should look Asian this month to please the fans in Japan" look, or the Halloween-worthy, Casper-the-Friendly-Ghost visage on the far left? Somehow I managed to resist the urge to mourn MJ by purchasing this ridiculous rag.

The Boston Straggler

2009-07-07T23:30:00.000-04:00

Over the weekend, I received an email inviting me to a screening of the upcoming Meryl Streep/Amy Adams film "Julie and Julia" Tuesday afternoon in Boston. Having read both Julie Powell's book "Julie and Julia" and Julia Child's fascinating memoir "My Life in France," I was already well-prepared and quite eager to see how writer-director Nora Ephron brought these two stories to the screen (and, frankly, if Meryl Streep and Amy Adams teamed up to do a movie based on the Periodic Table of the Elements, I would probably get in line). I'd never actually been to Boston before -- we tried to go once during a family vacation, but the serpentine freeways ultimately defeated us -- so this sounded like a prime opportunity to get a glimpse of the city as well.

Getting there from the Vineyard is astonishingly simple and not terribly expensive. Take the ferry from Vineyard Haven to Woods Hole and you can catch a shuttle to the Peter Pan Bus Lines terminal, where you can board a bus that takes you to Boston's South Station in about 90 minutes. Consulting Yahoo! Maps, I found the AMC Loews Boston Common, where the screening was scheduled, was only a couple of blocks from the bus depot. Although I'd need to get an early start to make it there by 2 p.m., I decided I would make the trip.

Curiously, it is much easier to make your way to Boston, which is a good 70 miles away, than it is to get to the outer limits of Falmouth, which is much closer. I had been eager to see the new Stephen Frears film "Cheri," which stars Michelle Pfeiffer in a role that's already prompting possible Oscar talk. It opened last week at the Regal Nickelodeon in Falmouth and I had been sorely tempted to go, even though my legs and feet have only recently made a full recovery from my last misguided journey to the Nickelodeon (see the "Friday Getaway" entries for the specifics on that). As it so happens, "Cheri" was also playing in Cambridge, only a few miles from the Boston Common and, when I checked the schedule, I found I could easily make the 4:40 show of "Cheri" and still get back to South Station in time to catch the 7:00 bus. So there was another incentive.

The forecast for Boston called for only a 20 percent chance of rain, so I looked forward to a pleasant day of wandering around, getting a nice lunch and seeing a couple of films. As I left this morning, Vineyard Haven was enveloped in a delicate layer of fog that seemed more along the lines of a heavy mist. It was as thin as the first bursts of steam from a tea kettle; it parted as easily as a beaded curtain.

On the ferry, the TVs were tuned to the "Today" show, which was still fixated on the same subject it was covering when I last took the ferry almost two weeks ago: the untimely death of Michael Jackson. This morning's undoubtedly enlightening updates came from alleged biographers who had cranked out quickie cash-in books about Jackson's final days; "Today" then devoted several minutes to the mystery of what happened to Jackson's former companion Bubbles the Chimp. Glancing at the screen, I thought, "Is there nothing else going on in the world today?" This is the kind of story that would once have been squeezed in at the end of a newscast to fill a minute of leftover airtime. Instead, it was a centerpiece.

All the Peter Pan buses have names that tie into the James M. Barrie book: Tic Toc Croc, The Three Children, Hook's Disbelief, Make Believe, etc. The coaches themselves are a far cry from the shuddery Greyhound buses I used to take back and forth between Kalamazoo and Grand Rapids in the first years I was in college. Those buses always smelled of stale smoke and ashes, and they were nerve-rattlingly noisy. The air in the Peter Pan buses had the faint aroma of candy -- perhaps Skittles? -- even though I didn't see anyone eating anything. The passengers were practically stone-silent, quite the opposite of the Greyhound gang, which gave you an earful of their conversations and arguments, whether you were eager to eavesdrop or not. I used the hour and a half to start Tom Perrotta's novel "The Abstinence Teacher" and listen to my ever-reliable iPod as it shuffled through the 21,000-plus songs in my library.

The skies were clear and bright when the bus left for Boston. Unfortunately, the meteorologists missed their mark today; within an hour, I was watching plump raindrops race each other diagonally across and off my window, and by the time we arrived in Boston, the storm was in full swing, regrettably.

The rain in Boston is similar to the wind in Chicago: It shows no mercy. Instead of a leisurely pre-screening stroll to find a lunch spot, I settled for a roast beef sandwich to go from an Au Bon Pain counter located in the station's food court. While the walk to the theater from South Station wasn't far, by the time I was even halfway there I was already drenched and the paper bag containing my sandwich was starting to feel like a handful of soggy toilet paper. Thankfully, as I turned on to Tremont Street, where the theater is located, the shower suddenly stopped and I managed to get indoors before the bag finally fell apart.

I had arrived more than an hour before the screening was scheduled to start and yet there were still about 50 people in line ahead of me: Bostonians apparently take that "arrive early" line on the screening passes seriously, and I felt like a complete straggler by comparison. While eating my sandwich and waiting for the theater to open up for seating, I had a chance to admire the Boston Common complex, which is opulent in a way only big-city cinemas can be. It's multi-storied, with wide hallways to accommodate weekend crowds and an overhead mural made up of memorable quotes from the movies. The decorative poster cases featured vintage one-sheets that were hauntingly familiar from the years when I worked for AMC ("Dick Tracy," "The Pelican Brief," "Boyz N the Hood," "Aladdin" -- I played 'em all, back in the day). After a month of visiting the, uh, charmingly quaint Vineyard movie houses, it was a great relief to be in an actual theater, with spacious screens, comfortable seats and digital stereo.

Since "Julie and Julia" doesn't open for another month, I shouldn't discuss it in detail, although I will say it was very enjoyable and both Streep and Adams are wonderful in it (and no one will mistake it for their previous collaboration, "Doubt"). I'll also offer these words of warning: First, you will probably want to go out for French food afterward, and second, Streep's dead-on mimicry of Child's distinctive, swooping voice is so superb you may find you want to try out your own Julia Child impersonation on the way out. Say it with me: "Bon appetit!"

Alternate Aquinnah sunset

2009-07-06T09:39:00.000-04:00

This is the July 4th sunset at Aquinnah from the other direction, in case you want to see the contrast. Absolutely breathtaking.

If it's Saturday, this must be Martha's Vineyard

2009-07-06T08:48:00.000-04:00

I haven't had any visitors since I got here a month ago, so I was excited when Dan and Amy called to say they wanted to take the ferry over from their home in Providence for July 4th. My only worry was that the weather might take a turn again, but that was not the case: The skies were achingly blue and sunny and the temperature was perfectly warm without being truly hot.

At any rate, it was the kind of weather that brought out everybody. While trying to do some shopping early in the day, I was astonished by the crowds on the streets and in the grocery stores. I stopped in the Priority Market in Oak Bluffs to pick up some sun-screen and a sandwich and from the jam-packed aisles and the tangled check-out lines you would have thought everyone was stocking up for a hurricane instead of just picking up a few picnic supplies. An absolute madhouse.

Since I didn't think Amy and Dan would be doing any grocery shopping, it seemed like a day custom-designed for a seven-hour tour around the island (they arrived on the 2 p.m. ferry and had to get back on the 9:30). I wanted to show them a little of everything since they hadn't seen the Vineyard before.

The big advantage to having been here for a few weeks is that I have picked up a few bits of trivia and some historical background on a few of the attractions. So I could tell them, for instance, about the history of the Flying Horses carousel or last year's July 4th fire that destroyed the Bunch of Grapes bookstore in Vineyard Haven (it's been rebuilt and just held a grand opening party).

We managed to hit most of the major points, although by the time we headed to Edgartown to see the holiday parade, the police had closed off the street to traffic and we couldn't get anywhere near it. They'd also blocked the road to Katama, so I couldn't show Dan and Amy South Beach (which I later heard was extremely crowded anyhow, so we probably didn't miss much).

But they did get to see all of Vineyard Haven and Oak Bluffs. Dan and I actually rode the Flying Horses, which seems to move much faster when you are aboard it than it does when you're just watching it. Dan was very adept at collecting the rings that were being dropped down, although neither of us managed to get a brass ring, so no free rides. We had some wonderful oysters at City Ale and Oyster House and I showed them the lobster ice cream at Ben & Bill's, although they chose not to sample it (probably wise). Instead, we got some ice cream from Mad Martha's in Vineyard Haven, which is justifiably famous for its homemade frozen treats. Dan had never had a lobster roll, so I took him over to The Net Result; he seemed very happy with their version.

As the sun was setting, I drove them out to Aquinnah to catch a glimpse of the famous clay cliffs. Many of the locals say that Menemsha has the most beautiful sunsets, but I think Aquinnah gives it some strong competition. Looking out over the water, we saw electrifying shades of orange and luminous yellow, and the bottoms of the clouds were brushed with bright burgundy. The lighting brought out all the shadings in the cliffs, which looked even more majestic than usual.

But the real surprise came when we turned around and looked back toward the island itself. The sky had taken on a peculiar look, almost as if it had been painted. Gazing up at the clouds, you might have thought you were staring at an enormous antique china plate, carefully touched up by a craftsman. It was milky white, with a pale rose-colored streak running through it and puffy, ivory clouds frozen in mid-air. Soon the skies would be filled with fireworks, of course, but these sights were every bit as impressive as any pyrotechnics could ever hope to be.

Busy Friday

2009-07-05T10:33:00.000-04:00

From the first day I came here, I have been crazy about WMVY, the local radio station that plays a lively mix of new music from semi-obscure artists and favorites from R.E.M., Neil Young, Jackson Browne, Fleetwood Mac and Vineyard residents such as James Taylor and Carly Simon (I don't know that Joni Mitchell has ever lived here, but she also gets plenty of airplay). It reminded me of WIDR-FM, the "alternative music" station of Western Michigan University. I wanted to help out at WMVY, even if it was on a volunteer basis, because it seemed like the kind of organization that has really connected with the community; you hear the station playing in businesses and restaurants everywhere around the island and their bumper stickers (with a distinctive blue lobster emblem) are equally hard to miss.

So after meeting with program director PJ Finn last Wednesday, I was invited to drop in and put my talents to use -- not behind a microphone -- but in the office. I helped assemble packages to send out to donors in the station's recent fundraising campaign (some would receive mugs, others baseball caps and a couple wanted MVY tote bags) and worked on organizing material for a quarterly report. The station staff couldn't more helpful or likable, and it was a delightful morning.

Then I was off to the Playhouse to usher once again. I'm getting quite good at it, if I do say so myself, and I moved easily from organizing the concession counter to helping patrons and seating latecomers. "Fly" is in its final days, and the show is even sharper and more effective than it was when it opened (these are not the kind of actors who decide to kick back and put on the cruise control once the critics and their friends have seen the early performances). It is still doing sell-out business -- as I predicted it would -- and getting sensational word-of-mouth. The next production, "Walking the Volcano," is now in rehearsals.

Once the show was out, I walked over to Grace Church for the Friday afternoon lobster roll festivities. Business is booming there as well; according to their posted chart, last Friday they sold over 900 of their delicious mini-dinners. And why wouldn't they? To get a jumbo-sized sandwich, a bag of chips and a medium-sized drink for only $13 around here is a real bargain.

Now that I had my lobster roll, it was almost time to leave for the Island Community Chorus concert at the Tabernacle in Oak Bluffs. Anna Marie, one of the house managers at the Playhouse, is one of the altos in the chorus and had invited me to the concert. I was also looking forward to seeing the Tabernacle, which I had only glimpsed from a distance as I was driving through Oak Bluffs. It's an impressive structure built in 1879 that looks something like a gigantic, ornate gazebo with stained-glass windows and dozens of rows of bench seating: It sits in the middle of Trinity Park and it's open on all sides, which encourages passersby to drop in. As its name suggests, the Tabernacle was originally built to host "revival meetings" and religious services, but you don't have to be an evangelist or a faith healer to perform there anymore.

The chorus performed an assortment of selections, including a spiritual, some Broadway favorites and even "Stormy Weather," which director Peter Boak jokingly noted was inspired by the June conditions on the Vineyard.

Thankfully, storms were nowhere in the vicinity on this particular evening. In fact, there had been so much sun during the day on Friday that the aftermath of Thursday's torrential downpour was all but erased. Good riddance, I say!

Couldn't stand the weather

2009-07-02T21:02:00.000-04:00

There's a joke in Michigan that if you don't like the weather, wait 15 minutes; the same line is used around here with "Martha's Vineyard" in place of Michigan. It's actually an accurate assessment of what goes on in the skies, though. Cloudy or rainy mornings will suddenly give way to abundant sunshine and warm breezes. On the flip side, days that begin beautifully can quickly turn into chilly, windy afternoons, followed by nights of driving rain.

Even before I opened my eyes this morning, I could hear showers outside and the distant rumble of thunder, which doesn't exactly inspire you to leap out of bed and launch yourself into an exciting new day. Once I got up and started working, however, the precipitation stopped and it seemed as if the day was going to be overcast but dry.
But Mother Nature had one of her mood swings. Shortly afterward, the rain came back full-force, splashing down onto the unpaved road in front of the house and turning it into a muddy miniature river. For an encore, the restless skies let loose with grape-sized hail that clattered down the roof and cluttered up the patio. It didn't last long, but it was still enough to put my nerves on edge: I had a car that was severely damaged by hail several years ago, and it ranks as one of my least-favorite weather conditions.
Needless to say, I was greatly relieved to walk outside after the storm and find that the hail had not left so much as a mark on my Prius (the thought of trying to find a body shop around here is a scary concept indeed). When I got in the car to meet my co-workers for lunch in Oak Bluffs, however, I realized that even though the storm had subsided there were still challenges to be dealt with. The roads on the island are narrow and sometimes tricky to travel even at the best of times; cover them with several inches of water, and you've got a mess on your hands.

Getting around downtown Oak Bluffs was like running a watery gauntlet. Puddles had turned into shallow ponds that were too deep to walk through and much too wide to step over. The sidewalk that runs through the park by the beach was partially submerged, forcing me to move onto the grass, which was thoroughly soaked as well. Pedestrians around here regularly walk right alongside cars and trucks, but not today: Anyone who got too close might have been accidentally drenched by a wave of dirty water as a vehicle tried to make its way through the soggy streets. If there's a drainage system in Oak Bluffs, it's not a particularly reliable one.

But within an hour, the sun had abruptly returned, a bit timidly at first and then with more vigor. By the time Scott and I arrived in Vineyard Haven to start our Thursday distribution rounds, it was actually getting warm and I left my coat in the car.

While the water began to dry up, the storm had taken its toll on at least one Vineyard Haven business. The Bunch of Grapes bookstore, which has been open for only a couple of weeks, was forced to shut down for the day when a lightning strike on the building zapped their computers. One year ago, on the Fourth of July, the original Bunch of Grapes store burned to the ground when a fire spread from a neighboring cafe into the bookstore. The owners have rebuilt and have a splashy grand re-opening party planned for Saturday.

"Maybe this time next year, we should all just stay in bed with our covers up over our heads," cracked one of the employees as she explained to a disappointed would-be customer why the store was closed.

Rainy-day cinema

2009-07-01T23:37:00.000-04:00

I freely admit that I have been spoiled by having spent so much time in state-of-the-art digital-projection theaters with outstanding sound, gel-filled seats that surround you and stadium-seating designs that always give you a clear line of sight. But now I am spending time in a place where getting the picture in focus and the sound up to an audible level are major challenges for the theater staff. I have now visited all three of the island's movie theaters and they could only be considered state-of-the-art if we were living in, maybe 1965?

Not that the Capawock in Vineyard Haven, the Island in Oak Bluffs and the Edgartown 2 (guess where) don't have their charms. Obviously, the Capawock and the Island were built many decades ago, and their slightly ragged but impressive exteriors are classic small-town cinema. The single-screen Capawock is cornbread-yellow, with dark green trim and apple-red highlights. The Island, which is also a single screener, is custard-colored. (Its sister theater, the Strand, which opens Sunday, is chalk-white with cornflower-blue highlights.) Both theaters were built with almost no lobby space whatsoever: When you walk through the doors, you are literally only a couple of steps away from the theater seats. The concession stands are among the tiniest I've ever seen, although they seem to serve the patrons well enough.

The Edgartown 2, which has a distinctly '70s feel to it, is located inside a mall, and has been tucked away on the second floor. You walk up a flight of stairs to get to it, passing beneath a jumbo-sized poster from a 1966 Frank Sinatra/Verna Lisi heist thriller called "Assault on a Queen." The Edgartown has a larger lobby and concession counter than its sister cinemas, although a good usher could easily sweep up the area in five minutes.

Each Edgartown theater seems to have approximately 200 seats; the Capawock holds slightly more than that; the Island looks like it could accommodate somewhere around 350. None of the theaters has an overwhelmingly large screen or a sound system that envelopes you in crystal-clear digital stereo. The Capawock and the Island have a two-projector system: They split the feature into two reels, with an easy-to-spot changeover midway through the movie (you can tell because the second half often starts out of frame or out of focus, requiring adjustment). During quiet moments in a film, you can frequently hear distracting rattling and rustling around in the projection booth, or, in the case of the Island, which must have paper-thin doors, chatty concessionists. The conditions are slightly better at Edgartown, which at least seems to have some sound-proofing (or maybe a window that separates the booth from the cinema).

Anyhow, the theaters show movies but they don't exactly showcase them. Dismayed by a sudden burst of heavy rain that came out of nowhere as I was in the vicinity of Edgartown, I parked the car and fled to Edgartown 2 to see what was playing. I had my choice of "Up" (which I had already seen) or "Ice Age 3: Dawn of the Dinosaurs." I liked the first two "Ice" movies well enough, so I opted for "Dinosaurs." It's playing in many theaters in digital 3D; the Edgartown 2 is not one of those theaters, however. The presentation was passable, with decent sound and a reasonably sharp picture.

The movie itself was enjoyable enough, although the series is getting to the point of "what else can we do with this concept?" and there's a faint air of desperation floating through the storyline and the animation had a slightly sloppy look to it, which was surprising since the film has been in the works for quite some time. "Dinosaurs" also incorporates one of the most irritating trends in animated films: using moth-eaten 1970s or 1980s hits for cheap laughs. In this case, Was Not Was' "Walk the Dinosaur" gets dusted off, and Gilbert O'Sullivan's "Alone Again Naturally" (which is sure to be playing regularly on Hell's Muzak system) gets a quick rewrite for a joke that did not get so much as a giggle from the sold-out audience I was sitting in. (Expect the trend to continue, since two of the trailers that were shown before "Dinosaurs" -- "Aliens in the Attic" and "Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakuel" -- also prominently featured moldy oldies.)

The now-familiar characters are back, including Manny the Mammoth (voice provided by Ray Romano), Diego the Sabre-Toothed Tiger (Denis Leary), Sid the Sloth (John Leguizamo) and Manny's mate, Ellie (Queen Latifah), who is now pregnant. Ellie and Manny's dreams of domesticity inspire jealousy in Sid, who steals three eggs from an icy cavern and announces he is starting a family of his own. Unfortunately, he has robbed the nest of a maternal T.Rex, part of a colony of prehistoric predators that has taken shelter in a subterranean jungle that Jules Verne might have dreamt up. When the mad mother shows up to collect her babies and take them back down below, she nabs Sid as well, and his friends must venture into the depths of the earth to rescue him.

The plot of "Dawn" is interrupted every 15 minutes by visits from the acorn-obsessed squirrel Scrat, who must now contend with a scheming female counterpart who alternately flirts with him and beats him to a pulp. These frantic interludes are actually welcome diversions from a story that takes its time getting started. Bringing in Simon Pegg as a gung-ho Jungle Jim-type named Buck is also a welcome addition.

By the time "Ice Age" got out, the storm had passed and I headed to Oak Bluffs to meet my co-worker Zach at the first show of director Michael Mann's "Public Enemies" at the Island. The film is the latest telling of the now-75-year-old story of how federal agent Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale) pursued celebrity bank robber John Dillinger (Johnny Depp) across the Midwest. "Enemies" spends far more time detailing Dillinger and his world than it does on Purvis, however, which makes you wonder whose side Mann and the screenwriters are really on. Do they see Dillinger's downfall as a tragedy? Perhaps the balance shifted to Dillinger when Depp signed on to play the role; the actor is so effortlessly charismatic and magnetic that Bale can't hope to compete. The two only share the screen briefly, but when they do Depp completely overwhelms Bale (who, admittedly, has a somewhat thankless, one-note role). The criminal is far more compelling than the crimefighter and, even though "Enemies" is well over two hours long, we leave knowing much more about Dillinger's personality than we do about Purvis'.

Still, there are many admirable aspects of the film, including a first-rate performance by Marion Cotillard (the 2007 Oscar winner for "La Vie en Rose") as Dillinger's faithful and feisty lover, Billie, a coat-check girl who cast aside her law-abiding life to become part of the underworld. Billy Crudup is also right on the money as J. Edgar Hoover, whom the film presents as a self-promoting puppet master who seems to be sitting on some seamy secrets of his own.

Mann stages several superb sequences, including a fascinating, funny episode in which a barely disguised Dillinger casually strolls through the Chicago Police Department and no one gives him a second look. The finale, set inside and outside Chicago's famous Biograph Theatre, is also a powerhouse piece, as Dillinger sits spellbound at a showing of "Manhattan Melodrama" (Mann does a great job of contrasting the looks of "Manhattan" star Myrna Loy with Cotillard, which helps explain why Dillinger can't take his eyes off the screen), while Purvis and his men set their trap around the cinema exits.

Perhaps fittingly for a movie set during the Depression, there were some depressing moments for the Island audience. The sound during the pre-show program was painfully garbled and the focus was fuzzy. Things improved slightly when the feature started, although it seemed like the sound head of the projector was a bit dirty or dusty: The music was clear enough, but some of the dialogue sounded as if the actors had peanut butter in their mouths. It didn't help that the theater staff started jabbering loudly almost as soon as the film began and, thanks to the flimsy doors, their conversations were sometimes easier to hear than anything Dillinger or Purvis said. It's a rare night when audience members are telling the ushers to shut up!

After about half an hour, Zach got up and left, never to return; he lately sent me a text message that the sound problems were driving him nuts and he got his money back. Of course, almost as soon as he left, the projectionist seemed to figure out what was wrong and the audio suddenly improved dramatically.

It's also interesting to see that the Island apparently ignores the rating system altogether. "Enemies" is rated R, but the cashier didn't bat an eye about selling tickets to unaccompanied kids who were clearly several years away from 17. "Probably because you never know who might be the child of a celebrity who'll pitch a fit," I remarked to Zach. Given their hit-and-miss presentation, I'm sure the Island gets enough complaints without having to hear from the fussy famous.

Deep-fried deals

2009-06-30T23:10:00.000-04:00

You hear plenty of talk about the high prices on the island, and it's not without merit. If you want to go out and spend $100 on a dinner for two, there are many restaurants around here that could easily make that happen (and probably still leave you somewhat hungry on the way out). There are no fast-food chains anywhere to be found around here -- not a single McDonald's or a Burger King or even a Taco Bell -- and many places close down by 9 p.m., which puts a crimp in late-night dining.

But there are some wonderful bargains to be found, if you keep your eyes and ears open. I had heard from my co-worker Scott about The Net Result, a seafood place just on the outskirts of downtown Vineyard Haven. He said the food was terrific and the prices were quite reasonable, which definitely piqued my curiosity. He wasn't kidding. It's a combination take-out restaurant/fish market, with one counter for meals (and sushi) and another for fresh-off-the-boat filets, clams, shrimp, etc. that you can take home and fix yourself. In between the counters is a large tank in which dozens of live lobsters are displayed for your viewing pleasure.
The Net Result is staffed by an energetic team of cooks and chefs, many of whom look like college students. But they've been well-trained: Your food arrives quickly and with ample amounts of tartar sauce and lemon on the side (they also have vinegar packets for people like me who like to sprinkle it over their fish and fries). Their crab cake sandwiches are a mere $4 each and come equipped with a fat, perfectly fried crab patty, lettuce and tomato; for most people, I suspect one would be enough to make a respectable lunch. They also offer the traditional fish and chips meal, with three pieces of haddock buried beneath a generous portion of fries; it's $10, but it's a filling meal. While I can't imagine ever having a better fish and chips meal than the ones I've had in London, The Net Result knows how to put together a delicious basket.

The seating is all outside, at picnic tables that are thoughtfully covered by umbrellas. The tables are also under surveillance -- by some little birds who eagerly await any dropped crumbs or abandoned leftovers. They're feisty, but not obnoxious. Like many a household dog, they make their presence known and then lurk on the sidelines to see who's feeling generous.

On the other end of Vineyard Haven is Sandy's Fish & Chips, which has a similar set-up and equally outstanding food. At Sandy's, there is only one lengthy counter, with one side for take-out and the other for shoppers. It must be a neighborhood staple, since the cooks and cashiers tend to greet customers by name.

The fry cook seems to know the regulars so well, she can predict their orders. One afternoon, I overheard her challenging the guy who was taking a pick-up order for a fish sandwich over the phone. "Ketchup, lettuce and onion," he had told her, but she was skeptical. "Mac's getting lettuce?" she said. "Are you sure it wasn't mayo?" Oh yeah, the cashier realized, it was supposed to be mayo. The fry cook went back to preparing the sandwich with a satisfied look on her face: "Yeah, Mac getting lettuce: I don't think so!"

Friday Getaway, Part II

2009-06-29T20:19:00.000-04:00

My original plan had been to catch a double-feature, and I got to the Regal Nickelodeon just as "My Sister's Keeper" was starting, so I saw that one first. It was well-acted and delivered all the heartbreaks you would expect (although I understand it takes major liberties with the novel from which it was adapted), although oftentimes I found myself wishing director Nick Cassavettes had had more faith in the actors to carry the material instead of slathering so many songs on the soundtrack that were programmed to tell us which emotion we should be feeling at any given time. I had also expected it to be more of a courtroom drama, since it's about a young girl (Abigail Breslin) named Anna who sues her parents (Cameron Diaz and Jason Patric) for "medical emancipation": Basically, Anna has been used as -- to put it crudely -- spare parts for her leukemia-stricken sister, Kate, all her life. Now, when doctors want to remove one of Anna's kidneys to donate to Kate, Anna refuses, even though she loves her sister deeply. The provocative legal questions are more or less brushed aside in favor of domestic drama and a teen love story.

Anyhow, the movie got out at 2:30 and "Tyson," the next film on my list, wasn't scheduled to start until 4. Plenty of time for a late lunch. Except that the Nickelodeon is in the middle of a wildlife preserve, and there are literally no other businesses around. At all.

I started walking down the road, sure I would find some kind of cafe or sandwich shop -- nothing. To top it off, by the time I realized this, I must have already been about a mile away from the theater. And this was the time when the granite-colored sky finally decided it was time to let loose with a few raindrops, which forced me to make a quick decision. If the rain really started up, I would be drenched by the time I made it back to the theater (where there was nothing to eat except popcorn and candy); if I went on ahead, I might find some place to rest and maybe get something substantial to eat. So I went on. "Tyson" would have to wait.

Not long afterward, I caught sight of a gas station -- with a Dunkin Donuts in it, thank you, Lord -- and that, of course, was the exact moment the shower came to an abrupt halt. Dunkin's lunch menu is limited to say the least and I had ample time to read it since the woman working behind the counter was engaged in a bitter, long-winded discussion with her mother (a customer) about what constitutes proper child care and how many hours of sleep a working parent deserves and which of the cashier's friends qualify as acceptable babysitters in the mother's eyes. Both women were speaking in shrill, rather loud voices, but even though there was a manager nearby they did not quiet down and he did not intercede to suggest that maybe this was the kind of confrontation that should take place at home, not in a ersatz restaurant.

The mother finally gave up and left. I ordered a grilled cheese flatbread, which didn't seem like too much of a stretch, but from the expression on the cashier's face you would have thought I'd demanded she whip up beef Wellington. With sandwich in hand, I returned to the road, convinced I could walk a little bit further and shave a few more dollars off that cab fare.

I've made smarter moves. About 10 minutes later, while I was walking along a woodsy stretch with no houses or businesses whatsoever, the rain made an unwelcome return and it was a mite more insistent than it had been before. If this had been happening on the island, I might have summoned up the courage to stick out my thumb to one of the passing cars. Unfortunately, I was in the real world, where hitchhikers are barely one notch above swine flu carriers and panhandlers. So I picked up the pace, navigating around crushed plastic cups, used diapers, discarded gloves, a faded and ton-up copy of "What Daddies Do Best" and other random rubbish strewn along the shoulder.

The rain did stop, although I was no closer to a commercial district. Instead, I saw farms, forests and a couple of clusters of pre-fab housing communities that looked as if they'd been designed for the Stepford Wives to move into; one group of almost identical houses, all painted a watery gray and trimmed in white, was downright eerie and I wondered how many of them were sold since every driveway was empty and every yard utterly barren.

I used the Google Maps feature on my phone to check if I was going in the right direction to get back to the mall. Affirmative: Only four more miles, it told me. Now you hear "four miles" and you think, "That's not very far." And it's not, if you are in a car on a bus. On foot, it's an entirely different experience, especially when there is nowhere to stop and rest along the way. I kept trying to convince myself there would be a place just around the next bend in the road; instead, I found more of the same.

By the time I reached the rather meager-looking highway the mall was on, I calculated that I was already more than two-thirds of the way back. What cab driver is going to go out of his or her way to pick up someone who's only going to travel a mile anyhow? No point in stopping now.

I reached the mall and made it to the trolley at 4:40, which gave me 20 minutes to shop before departure back to Woods Hole. I needed an external hard drive and some recordable CDs for my computer and I knew these items would carry a much heftier price tag on the island than they would in Falmouth. So I once again ventured into WalMart -- wishing I could wear a bag over my head -- and found the items (admittedly at very reasonable prices). I boarded the trolley and started another bumpy ride back to the Steamship Authority. My legs were throbbing a bit, although my two-and-a-half-hour walk had saved me nearly $30 and had certainly warmed my legs up for the full week's worth of walking I will be doing at the Toronto International Film Festival in September.

How far exactly had I gone? I consulted Google Maps again and found that, with one accidental detour thrown in, I had plodded along for close to eight miles. That's almost as far as Martha's Vineyard is from the mainland. Thank goodness I do not have the power to walk on water -- although it would save me ferry fare.

Friday Getaway, Part One

2009-06-27T19:01:00.000-04:00

To celebrate the end of my third full week on the island, I left it. I decided I would go over to Falmouth (on the mythical "mainland") to do some shopping and see some movies. Imagine finding actual sales on items I need, or theaters that play something other than "The Hangover," "Year One," and "Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen." And it was all just a ferry ride away.

Ah, but the things in life that sound so simple often turn out to be trickier than you expect, and that was certainly the case with my little Friday getaway.

The complications began even before I got on the boat in Oak Bluffs. Because I didn't know how long I'd be gone, I knew I should find a 24-hour parking space, just to be one the safe side. The nearest one turned out to be almost a mile away from the Steamship Authority office, where you buy the ferry tickets and go on board. I'd left early to catch the 10:45 ferry, but finding the parking space took much longer than I would have expected and by the time I parked, it was 10:35. So you can picture how quickly I had to hustle down the sidewalk. I bought my ticket ($7.50 for one-way) and was the very last passenger admitted. The ticket-taker at the gate had to radio down to the ferry crew: "Last passenger. Running. Green striped shirt. Blue hat." They were waiting as I hurried down the slanted wooden planks of the passageway and onto the boarding ramp. I was out of breath as I handed my ticket stub to the guard. "You don't have to hurry anymore," the woman assured me. "You made it."

But you never really leave the island if you bring along your iPod: Only minutes after I walked to an upper deck to get some coffee, the voice of Carly Simon, one of the Vineyard's most notable residents, was purring in my earbuds, singing about "anticipa-a-tion." Soon afterward, "He Lives in You" from "The Lion King" turned up in the shuffle mix, which made me think of taking my niece Rachael to the Wharton Center in East Lansing to see the show three months ago as a birthday present. It was hard not to feel a little sad at the memory, since it made me realize once again how far away everyone is now.

The Vineyard Fast Ferries, as they are known, are anything but floating cattle cars. They're actually extremely comfortable, well-equipped and spacious boats, with hundreds of chairs, dozens of restaurant-style booths, outdoor seating (for those who can stand the strong breeze) and a cafeteria that serves everything from tea and beer to clam chowder and hot dogs at fairly reasonable prices. They're equipped with wi-fi, so you can spend the 45-minute voyage surfing the Web while you're riding the waves. There are also large flat-screen TVs everywhere, although on this particular day they all seemed to be tuned to CNN, which had temporarily become the MJN (Michael Jackson Network) and was providing such gripping content as searing interviews with Michael Jackson impersonators -- this is what now constitutes "news" in America -- and tear-stained testimonials to Jackson's brilliance from Liza Minnelli and Regis Philbin. No wonder most people were finding other ways to occupy their time.

When we arrived at Woods Hole, I disembarked and found the "Whoosh" Trolley, which carries passengers north to Falmouth. My plan was to ride to the end of the line, Falmouth Mall, do some shopping, and then take a cab to the Regal Nickelodeon Theaters in North Falmouth; according to an online mapping site, it was a short ride.

I had no problem catching the trolley. Enjoying the ride was another matter. The Whoosh looks sweetly quaint when you get on board, like a conveyance of 100 years ago, with brass poles, green and gold paint and bench-like wooden seats. With no padding or cushioning whatsoever on those seats, however, you are guaranteed to feel every bump and pothole on the way to your destination. I was reminded of the similarly cute-looking train that takes you around the Detroit Zoo; it has flat wooden seats as well, and if you ride for more than a few minutes you begin to feel as if you're being paddled. I was grateful my Whoosh trip whooshed by in about 15 minutes, before bruises and blisters had time to form.

The Falmouth Mall turned out to be a mall in name only. It's essentially a supermarket, a WalMart, an exercise studio, a hardware store, a tobacconist's shop and not much else, so my hopes of a real shopping trip quickly came crashing down around me. I haven't shopped at WalMart since I read Barbara Ehrenreich's expose "Nickel and Dimed" several years ago, in which she went undercover as a WalMart worker to show how callously the company treats its employees. I was so disgusted by her revelations that I cut up and threw away my Sam's Club card, which had gotten a lot of exercise in earlier years.

But it's not only WalMart where you get "nickel and dimed," as I found out when I went to the supermarket to use a cash machine. I inserted my card, punched in my PIN and then received a cherry little message that the bank providing the machine would charge me $2.75 for this transaction. I immediately hit "cancel" and collected my card. Unfortunately, I did need cash; equally unfortunately, that was the only bank machine I saw in my vicinity.

So I swallowed my high ideals, gritted my teeth and strolled into WalMart, where I bought two pens for $2 with my debit card, which then allowed me to take an additional $60 back in cash. Forgive me, Ms. Ehrenreich -- and that wasn't even the worst thing I did that day.

Looking at the clock, I realized I'd better find a taxi to the theater if I wanted to catch a double-feature (I was planning to see "Tyson," because I've heard it's terrific, and "My Sister's Keeper," because I like Cameron Diaz and Abigail Breslin and I hadn't seen a good tearjerker in ages). Getting the cab was a snap, and the driver turned out to be a delightful woman in her 50s who was eager to discuss all the movies she had wanted to see (and missed) in theaters during the last six months: "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button," "The Reader" and "that one with the comeback guy," which I correctly guessed was Mickey Rourke's "The Wrestler." She also wanted details on "The Hangover" and "Up," and I assured her she'd probably have a great time at both.

Although the conversation was lively enough, I still found it peculiar that it seemed to be taking much longer to get to the theater than my trusty little downloaded map seemed to indicate. There was a reason for that. The site that provided me with the information had screwed up the address of the theater. It was not just around the corner, it was a good six miles away, and by the time we pulled into the parking lot of the Nickelodeon, the fare was up to -- cringe -- $23.

But what can you do in such a situation? as the British say, "In for a penny, in for a pound." Or, in this particular case, about 15 pounds or thereabouts.

More to follow...

Michael's legacy

2009-06-26T08:03:00.000-04:00

I was listening to the early albums by the Jackson 5 last night, and I was struck by the genuine emotion in the pre-teen Michael Jackson's voice. You get the sense he really believed the songs he was singing, that he was truly committed to the sentiments in the lyrics. There's a semi-obscure ballad from that period called "Maybe Tomorrow" that I found particularly fascinating, in which Michael reflects,"You are the song that I sing, you are the four seasons of my life. But maybe tomorrow, you'll change your mind, girl. Maybe tomorrow, you'll come back to my arms, girl."

It's a song suffused in a strange kind of hopeful anxiety: Yes, my love is gone, but there's always a chance that if I just keep telling her how much she means to me, she'll be back.

"Maybe Tomorrow" was recorded when Michael was around 12 years old, so it's doubtful that he was pouring a lot of first-hand experience into those words. Yet, near the end, when he builds up the intensity and pleads for a second chance, he's so on-the-mark he was obviously tapping into something that was close to his heart.

That was Michael Jackson in the first 25 or so years of his life, the performer who sought self-expression through his craft, who found the release for his pent-up emotions in music and dance. Look back at the first Jackson 5 records and marvel at how this child effortlessly delivers number after number, whether it's a tender moment like "I'll Be There" or a dance floor workout like "How Funky is Your Chicken?" It's pure talent and bonafide energy.

And I think that's what Jackson lost somewhere along the way, after he'd made "Off the Wall" and "Thriller" and become the most celebrated artist on the planet.

At a certain point, it was no longer about delivering the goods, musically and performance-wise; it was about topping what he'd done before, going another step further, breaking some new record, selling more product than anyone else. Any artist that follows that course is not heading for greater glory: He or she is stepping onto the downward spiral. No actor wins the Oscar year after year, no novelist always gets the Pulitzer Prize, no painter will ever be all the rage forever. Tastes change, styles evolve, and what was once startling and innovative quickly becomes mainstream and unexciting.

I was a big fan of Michael Jackson as a child and kept following him through "Thriller," but after that? I got a press pass to see the Jacksons' "Victory" tour in Detroit at the Pontiac Silverdome in 1984 and, even in a venue that had no business hosting concerts (the sound bounced around the stadium so violently that my sister and I were often turning to each other to ask, "What song do you think this is?"), Michael Jackson had no problem captivating the crowd with his combination of slick choreography and polished professionalism. At the same time, the performance was so calculated and precisely timed there was no spontaneity, no real joy in it. Behind the razzle-dazzle was nothing, except commercialism. You couldn't buy a poster of all the Jacksons together, for instance; you had to buy an individual poster of each of them. (And much as I wanted to proudly hang Tito in the living room, I held on to my wallet.)

To a generation that wasn't around to bear witness to the Jackson 5, or "Off the Wall" or the mania that surrounded "Thriller," Michael Jackson is primarily a punchline to sleazy jokes. They may know his songs, but they know a whole lot more about his bizarre behavior, bogus marriages, the obsession with maintaining some vestige of youthfulness through increasingly eerie plastic surgeries and the way he steadily changed himself from a black man to a chalk-colored androgyne with a freakishly tiny beak of a nose.

One of my friends posted the following on Facebook: "In his first 25 years, he gave us some great music, which we've still got. In his last 25 years, he gave us little but bizarre TV clips of him wearing a surgical mask and acting inappropriate with kids. I'd call it a wash."

Unfortunately, that's just about right. Comparing Jackson's music of the late 1980s and 1990s to "Thriller" and "Off the Wall" is like putting Kraft Slices alongside brie. The songs became background music for elephantine music videos that cost almost as much as feature films and became progressively more laughable as Jackson kept "refining" his looks and indulging in tributes to himself that would have made even the vainest diva blush. Everything seemed geared toward keeping him in the spotlight. When his music was no longer selling, Jackson sold himself, spilling out teary confessional tales of a traumatic childhood and betrayals by backstabbers. He might have found more solace if he'd told these things to a good psychiatrist instead of Oprah Winfrey and a network TV audience.

He got the attention he craved. But he no longer had anything to say or anything new to offer. To the under-25 set, Michael Jackson is a carnival freak who dangled his baby off a hotel balcony, walled himself up in a private playground and had a peculiar attraction to little boys. To understand why anyone cared about him in the first place, you have to turn back the clock a quarter of a century, back to a time when perhaps the singer really did believe in his song, at least enough to make the audience believe that he believed in it.

Farrah's legacy

2009-06-25T14:17:00.000-04:00

What sad news about Farrah Fawcett, who died of cancer earlier today. She will always be remembered for her appearances on "Charlie's Angels" and for her legendary swimsuit poster, of course. But Fawcett should also be celebrated for the courage and fortitude she displayed when she decided to establish herself as a serious actress in the early 1980s, half a decade after her days as the world's best-known sex symbol.

Often hailed as an "overnight success," Fawcett was anything but. She had arrived in Hollywood at the dawn of the 1970s and toiled in bit parts in movies and TV shows and did many a commercial in the years before she took the world by storm as Jill Munroe, the most outgoing and vivacious of the Angels, in 1976. While "Charlie's Angels" and that classic poster made her a household name, they didn't assure her any sort of staying power. Nor were producers pushing aside Jane Fonda, Jill Clayburgh and Meryl Streep in their rush to give Fawcett (then known as Fawcett-Majors) world-class movie roles. When she wasn't filming an "Angels" episode, she could be found doing guest shots on husband Lee Majors' series "The Six-Million Dollar Man" or playing for ABC on "Battle of the Network Stars." Suffice to say Fonda, Clayburgh and Streep probably weren't losing any sleep over that kind of competition.

In the spring of 1977, then-Fawcett-Majors shocked fans by announcing that she would not be returning for the second season of "Angels." Critics quickly divided into two camps: those who thought the series would expire quickly without her, and those who thought she was committing professional suicide.

"Angels" not only survived, it thrived: When Cheryl Ladd was brought in (as Jill's kid sister, Kris), ratings actually went up. Meanwhile, Fawcett-Majors found herself in a precarious place. Hoping to make her mark in movies, she signed on for a trio of projects -- "Somebody Killed Her Husband," a comic mystery with Jeff Bridges; "Sunburn," a caper comedy with Charles Grodin and Art Carney; and "Saturn 3," a sci-fi thriller with Kirk Douglas -- none of which brought in much at the box office. To settle legal battles with the "Angels" producers, Fawcett-Majors was forced to make multiple guest appearances on the show in the third and fourth seasons, which must have felt like salt in the wound.

By 1980, her career was in dire straits, but rather than fade away Fawcett turned her circumstances around. She had separated from Majors, who had reportedly tried to call the shots in both her personal and professional life, in 1979; they would divorce in 1982. Pushing her aside her glossy/fluffy image, Fawcett sought out serious, often disturbing material, such as the doomed wife in the well-reviewed TV mini-series "Murder in Texas." She then made the leap to off-Broadway, replacing Susan Sarandon in the hair-raising assault drama "Extremities," in which she played a woman who turns the tables on a would-be rapist and insists on exacting revenge. She would later reprise the role in the film version of the play.

"The Burning Bed," a harrowing made-for-TV drama about an abused wife who kills her husband in self-defense, cemented Fawcett's comeback, drawing a huge audience and netting her an Emmy nomination. Although she would occasionally dabble in film, Fawcett found her strongest showcases on television, playing opposite Colleen Dewhurst in "Between Two Women" and winning another Emmy nomination in 1989 as a troubled woman who shoots her own children in "Small Sacrifices."

Ten years after the industry had written her off as a has-been, Fawcett was an established actress with solid credentials. In retrospect, it's fascinating to see how many of her projects centered around characters who were fighting back (as in "Extremities" or "The Burning Bed"), fighting for justice (she played the title role in "Nazi Hunter: The Beate Klarsfeld Story") or simply fighting for respect (in "Between Two Women," she plays a wife who is repeatedly snubbed and mocked by haughty mother-in-law Dewhurst, yet she's ultimately the one who takes charge when the mother-in-law faces a medical crisis). That kind of drive and determination must have struck a chord with Fawcett, who had weathered so much bad publicity and ridicule in the years after "Angels." She kept trying until she silenced the skeptics and put herself exactly where she wanted to be.

She may have lost her battle with cancer, but in my eyes Farrah Fawcett will always define what it means to be a survivor.

A different angle on the island

2009-06-24T11:23:00.000-04:00

One of my This Week on Martha's Vineyard co-workers, Zach Dionne, also has been blogging about the island experience and I'm sure you will enjoy his perspective on the wonders and the weirdness around us. Check him out here. He's been here three weeks longer than I have and he has two other jobs besides the newspaper, so he's quite immersed in the scene while I still feel like I'm slowly adjusting to it. One of his workplaces is Mediterranean, where I will be dining this evening; the other is The Book Den East, which is a great place for used and out-of-print titles. I went in there one afternoon and emerged 30 minutes later and about $30 poorer. Had I stayed longer, I could easily have destroyed my summer budget. I suspect if I worked there, I would wind up doing the same thing my fellow employees and I used to do at the long-defunct Repeat the Beat in Royal Oak: trade in our paychecks for store credit. (I am happy to report I did manage to get some of my money back, albeit 14 years later; I traded in a large batch of old Repeat the Beat promo CDs at a used-CD store in Kalamazoo and collected nearly $300 for my trip.)

I scream, you scream, we all scream for... lobster ice cream?

2009-06-24T10:29:00.000-04:00

"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen," moaned a mother, as she steered her children away from the ice cream counter at Ben & Bill's Chocolate Emporium in Oak Bluffs. The young man behind the counter had a different opinion. "It's actually my second-favorite flavor," he said. "The trick is to let it melt in your mouth because it has pieces of butter in it."

Not to mention little chunks of lobster. Yes, there is a lobster ice cream.

It's not terribly surprising when you consider you can get lobster gazpacho or lobster quesadillas at area restaurants, and lobster rolls are everywhere you turn. This is also an island of ice cream addicts, as evidenced by the traffic at Mad Martha's, Vineyard Scoops and Ben & Bill's.

But I wonder how many customers are daring enough to try a dessert that looks like innocuous vanilla with a few peculiar red streaks running through it? The signage on the counter flatly states, "Yes! There is (sic) REAL lobster pieces in the ice cream." How often do you see a come-on like that? I was too curious to pass up the opportunity.

As the employee said, it turns out to be heavy with butter. That's the first flavor you taste: rich, salted, frosty butter. Then come the little chunks of lobster, which -- no big shock -- taste exactly like frozen lobster. If someone took your lobster dinner, threw away the shell, pureed it all together and put it in the deep freeze for a few hours, the result would probably taste similar to lobster ice cream.

It's odd and a little disorienting, although it's perfectly edible (and, with apologies to that miffed mom, there are a lot more disgusting menu items out there) and, I suppose, it could grow on you over time. It must have some sort of local following because the clerk said Ben & Bill's has had it "forever" and that it's experiencing a little extra notoriety right now because it was recently written up in one of the local papers.

One scoop was enough to satisfy me since it leaves behind a dry, salty aftertaste that reminds you that what you're eating isn't actually sweet. But it's definitely a unique taste experience, and one that could not come from anywhere except Martha's Vineyard.

Three days of rain

2009-06-23T10:59:00.000-04:00

If there is one thing that everyone around here can agree on, it's that the weather has been unusually lousy lately. The skies have been overcast, the wind has been coming in in fierce gusts and rain (or some sort of misty, mystical demi-rain that seems to be native to this island) keeps drenching us. It's extremely tiresome to deal with, especially since the high winds have ripped branches down from the trees and, apparently, even pulled sailboats out of the water. It has also shut down part of the ferry service to the island (which, I am told, is a common occurrence) and it is said that many of the people who have made it over from the dock in Woods Hole have arrived with their stomachs tumbling like clothes dryers.

I had hoped to take the ferry back to the mainland to do a little shopping and maybe see a movie or two, but Sunday was awful, Monday was worse and today looks highly unpromising. It's times like these when you really are reminded that you're in a remote location. I often feel cut off from the rest of the world in a pleasant sort of way -- the usual rush-rush pace of life is not something you feel here at all -- although it can also be a bit frustrating, too. Jumping off and back onto the island is not inexpensive, for one thing. It's $15 round-trip on the Woods Hole Ferry for a single passenger; if you feel the need to take your car with you, it's $150 round-trip.

If you don't take your own transportation, you will be relying on trolleys, shuttles, buses, trains and cabs. If you want to go to a major city, like Providence or Boston, you will need a combination of them to get you where you want to be and, if you can't make it back to Woods Hole in time to catch the last ferry, you can add an extra $100 or so to your trip because you'll have to stay in a hotel and wait for the 6 a.m. boat.

I had an invitation to a Monday night screening of the Cameron Diaz/Abigail Breslin movie "My Sister's Keeper" in Providence. I've never been to Providence, so it sounded like fun -- until I started planning how to get there. Watch the cost add up:

First: I have to catch the Vineyard Fast Ferry to Quonset Point in North Kingston, Rhode Island. That will be $69 round-trip.

Then, a choice: I can either call a cab to take me into the heart of downtown Providence ("That would be $55" for a one-way fare, according to the cab company rep I contacted, or $110 round-trip), or I can jump on a Rhode Island Public Transit bus ($3.50 round-trip), which will take me the same distance -- in approximately three and a half hours.

The screening was to start at 7 p.m., so let's guess it would be around 9 p.m. by the time I would get out. But the last ferry back to the Vineyard from Quonset left at 4 p.m., so I'll have to stay overnight. A visit to Priceline reveals that hotels within a five-mile radius of the theater would run between $90 and $200. If that option doesn't appeal to me, I can see if I can find a cab willing to drive me the approximately 70 miles from Providence to Woods Hole. But even then, I will miss the 9:45 p.m. ferry and have to stay over in Woods Hole, where the cheapest hotel rate is $118.

So my jaunt to Providence would have cost me at least $200, any way I figured it. And that's before you add in meals. As you might guess, I stayed home (even though the film got a very favorable review in The Hollywood Reporter). I spent Monday night running around Oak Bluffs with my co-workers Zach, Anna, Scott and Jessica, and I didn't even spend $20, which is quite impressive considering we stopped at Back Door Donuts to pick up some freshly baked treats from the MV Gourmet Cafe and Bakery. They've got a clever set-up. After the bakery closes, the staff goes to work baking tomorrow's goodies. But for those who can't wait until sunrise for something sweet, the bakers have taken out the top screen from their screened-in back door and they happily sell you some of the items they've just made. The bakery is celebrated for its sprawling apple fritters, which are too large to fit on most dinner plates (I got one last week and it was like eating a small continent). Order them at your own risk: They are certainly wonderful, but they will leave you with incredibly sticky fingers and a sugar rush that lasts for hours. The bakery has a limit of six apple fritters per customer; if anyone on this planet tried to eat six of those creations in one sitting, he or she would need a swimming pool full of coffee to wash it all down.

Where the streets have no name

2009-06-20T21:59:00.000-04:00

I keep hearing warnings that the traffic gets horribly congested in July and August, when the vacationers pour in. That's very believable. The roads here are not built to accommodate many vehicles -- I've yet to find anything wider than two lanes -- and they're not designed for convenience. In some places, it seems almost as if they were afterthoughts or necessary evils. The streets that run through many of the neighborhoods are one way and so narrow that you almost hold your breath anxiously if there are parked cars on the side. There's simply no room to spare.

At the same time, you would be hard-pressed to find drivers who are more courteous or considerate, sometimes to a fault. Instead of "driving defensively," as so many of us have been taught to do, the Vineyarders drive deferentially. They are happy to share the road (even though there's little road to share). They rarely keep two hands on the wheel because they need to have one hand free to wave to fellow drivers to signal that you're welcome to make that turn or to signal to pedestrians that it's perfectly OK to cross in front of them. "Who's in a hurry? Not me!" they seem to say. Or "I know I've got the right of way, but you go ahead. Please turn left in front of me whenever you feel like it."

There are almost no traffic lights on the island (I've found exactly one: on the bascule bridge connecting Oak Bluffs and Tisbury, and it's been green every time I crossed) and the speed limits range between 20 and 45 mph; most places are in the 30-35 mph range. The roads can be quite sinuous and curvy, with sharp turns and, particularly outside of business areas, hidden driveways. So getting around can be challenging. You have to keep a sharp eye out for the speed limit signs, which change regularly and, frustratingly, are sometimes semi-obscured by leafy tree branches.

But you can look all you like -- even borrow Superman's X-ray vision, if you like -- and you oftentimes will not find street signs. They just don't exist. Trying to use MapQuest to get around the island is almost futile because it will tell you to turn at a particular street and, unless you know exactly where it should be, the odds are excellent you won't find it. I have begun to think that when U2 wrote "Where the Streets Have No Name" they might have had Martha's Vineyard in mind.

The situation becomes even more complicated after dark because streetlights are nearly as rare as traffic lights. If the sun goes down and you're not near a town, you might want to think twice before starting off on a long walk or even a bike ride, unless you have been blessed with the eyes of a cat or an owl. There are areas that are really pitch-black, unless a car comes along. I have talked to people who've had to use their cell phones as makeshift flashlights to see what's in front of them. Yes, the lack of lights does mean that island residents get a rather spectacular view of the stars on a regular basis -- the Milky Way really glitters above us here -- but I've also heard from drivers who were scared out of their skin by the sight of a cyclist or a hitchhiker suddenly popping up out of the darkness.

There's another thing you should know: Hitchhiking here is perfectly acceptable, even commonplace. If there are laws against it, no one seems to be particularly keen to enforce them. Hardly a day passes when you don't see someone (often a teenager or someone of college age) sticking out his or her thumb to a passing driver. And yes, people happily stop and offer rides. It's all completely foreign to me, since I grew up watching movies like "Diary of a Teenage Hitchhiker," in which rides with strangers inevitably led to danger. On Martha's Vineyard, however, they're more likely to lead to Vineyard Haven, Edgartown, Oak Bluffs or the nearest bus stop. The word is that even sometime Vineyard resident James Taylor has been known to offer help to hitchhikers, so who am I to criticize?

A day of deliveries, an evening of ushering

2009-06-19T08:38:00.000-04:00

In addition to writing for This Week on Martha's Vineyard, my co-workers and I also get to deliver the paper each Thursday. We've been paired up to cover a particular area of the island and drop off copies to the businesses that distribute it. In my case, I work with Scott to blanket downtown Vineyard Haven, which, thankfully, is not that large. Basically, it's a main street and a few spots down by the dock where the ferries come in.

There was a certain amount of suspense Thursday because the sky kept darkening and the wind would swoop in, bringing with it the threat of rain; considering we make our deliveries by hand, that would literally put a damper on things. The barista at a coffeehouse I stopped in assured me that the forecast said the rain would hold off until evening and, thankfully, she was right. Even though the overcast skies never disappeared, there was no precipatation until long after we'd finished our chores. As you can see from the photo above, readers seemed to be eagerly awaiting the issue; personally, I think my extensive list of seasonal fundraisers was a big selling point.

Thursday evening was spent at the Vineyard Playhouse, where I had volunteered to usher for the final preview of "Fly," a play by Ricardo Khan and Trey Ellis. It's a superbly performed drama based on the experiences of the Tuskegee Airmen, the African-American fighter pilots who overturned a lot of misconceptions when they went into battle in Europe in World War II. The script addresses not only the racism they faced from their white instructors on a remote base in Alabama ("This ain't 'The Wizard of Oz,'" one officer snarls at an aspiring pilot. "There ain't never been and ain't never gonna be no flying monkey.") but also the tensions between the men themselves, who came from all over America and had their own stereotypical ideas to overcome about other regions and other lifestyles. A self-assured, strutting Chicagoan in a zoot suit dismisses one of his fellow candidates as "country" until he finds out the man is actually from Harlem and trained on an airfield on Long Island that Charles Lindbergh once frequented. A flyer who comes from the West Indies and speaks with a strong accent is nicknamed "Coconut." Eventually, of course, such differences and discriminatory attitudes had to be put aside as these men prepared to work together in combat.

The Playhouse is an intimate, 120-seat venue, but director Khan and choreographer Hope Clarke use the limited space to maximum advantage, making us feel the claustrophobia the men must have experienced in those stuffy living quarters and classrooms and in those cramped planes. One of the show's many inspired touches is the use of a tap-dancing griot (a West African poet/storyteller/historian) who occasionally serves as a chorus to voice the men's unspoken feelings and anxieties, but more often enhances the mood of the moment by using his fast-moving feet to simulate the sound of an airplane engine coming to life, a stopwatch ticking away, a train chugging down the tracks, a nervous heartbeat, etc. It's the opening show of the Playhouse's summer season and I suspect it will turn into a word-of-mouth hit.

Ushering was generally a breeze (I only had to "relocate" one slightly confused gentlemen who had settled into the wrong seat -- the seat reserved for me, actually -- and needed to be directed to the other side of the house) and the Playhouse staff could not have been more cordial and helpful. One of my duties was to make the coffee that was served prior to the performance and everyone seemed to like the way I made it, which was a relief since, as many of my friends and family can attest, that is not always the case.

Menemsha: A place for seafood and sunsets

2009-06-19T07:30:00.000-04:00

On Wednesday, my newly arrived co-worker Anna -- just in from Ohio State University -- and I traveled to Menemsha for the afternoon. Menemsha is primarily a fishing community located on the western side of Martha's Vineyard -- in the Up-Island region -- and if you don't like the smell of fresh seafood, I would advise you to keep your distance. Lobsters, clams, shrimp, scallops, crab: They are all here and all in abundance. Your nose will tell you that as soon as you start walking around.

As you might expect, Menemsha has a couple of markets that sell these delicacies practically right off the boat. Larsen's Fish Market, which is the most celebrated of the bunch, sells the raw fish on one side of the store and has a little kitchen on the other side where they will cook your catch of the day. But there's no seating inside (with the lines Larsen's attracts, there's no room for tables or booths) and there's no traditional seating outside, either; if you want to eat on the spot, you have to sit on one of the crates or boxes that are set up just outside the store.

The situation is similar at Menemsha Fish Market, which has a sizable tank of live lobsters, as well as the omnipresent lobster rolls. Anna had not yet sampled a lobster roll, so she tried one and said it was delicious. I selected one of their stuffed clams, an actual clam shell (about the size of an average hand) that's been filled with a buttery mixture of minced clams and shrimp and baked. The salesperson also offered a sample of their lobster bisque, which was rich and silky smooth, exactly the sort of soup you'd like to have on a chilly December night. The Fish Market also has a lobster gazpacho on the menu, although they were out of it at the time of our visit; I definitely want to try it when I go back. After Anna and I got our food, the clerk mentioned there was seating out back, and he was technically correct: There were a few benches down by the docks, which was what seems to pass for "seating" in a Menemsha bistro.

Menemsha's other major attraction is a rather rocky beach, which is renowned for its magnificent sunsets. Let me quote this posting from the MV Obsession blog:

"It’s the sunsets... that draw many people to Menemsha. They are spectacular and it is by far the best place on Martha’s Vineyard to experience them. People come with chairs, blankets, wine, food and loved ones… or just a camera. Applause sometimes rings out as the sun disappears behind the cliffs of Aquinnah."

Anna and I could not stick around for the sunset, unfortunately. But we did spend some time on the beach, which did indeed look like a perfect place for sunbathing, particularly if you stay on the sand and don't walk out into the water, which was chilly enough to numb your toes in a matter of minutes. Near the waves, you will find rocks of all shapes and colors, some of them so exquisitely smooth and shiny you would think they had just come out of someone's rock tumbler.

Clinging to the boulders that extend out into the water is a thick, lush growth of kelp that sways gently in the current like leaves on a tree wave in the breeze. The color is an almost unearthly shade of green that looks artificial at first glance, almost like some sort of submerged Astroturf or plastic plants that have been dumped in the sea. But there's nothing phony about it, or about anything else in Menemsha, a place that is exactly what it looks like, nothing more and nothing less.

Bulgaria's answer to Tom Cruise

2009-06-17T00:01:00.000-04:00

Every so often as a journalist, you wind up walking right by a great little story. So it was this afternoon when I was in Oak Bluffs, taking some photos for a restaurant profile. I was on my way to the eatery when I happened to see a young man behind the bar at Sand Bar flipping bottles through the air, a la Tom Cruise in "Cocktail." When that terrible movie came out 20 years ago, my roommate Susan was a bartender and she wanted to kill the people who'd made the film 1) because she was furious that she paid full-price to see such a lousy piece of cheese; and 2) because she was constantly badgered by patrons to "do that stuff they do in 'Cocktail,'" namely juggling bottles and glasses for the customers' entertainment. "Do they know how much alcohol that wastes?" Susan would ask. "And then people complain the drinks are so expensive!"

Nash, the bartender I saw today, says he doesn't generally juggle the bottles in the bar for that very reason. He prefers to use the prop bottles he has on hand. You've got to give the man some credit: His act certainly would get your attention.

Nash -- "That's my American name," he explained to me -- is one of the many foreign students who have come to Martha's Vineyard to work during the summer. You see them everywhere and they literally hail from all over the world. Nash comes form Bulgaria, and it's the 24-year-old's second summer on the island. He explained that he took second place in a drink-mixing contest in Bulgaria last year "and first place in the Absolut competition," he added. He's already a seasoned world traveler, but he seems quite pleased to have found a place at Sand Bar, a funky, very casual restaurant-bar located on the water.

"They hired me here for these special skills," he said. "They want me here all the time. I work 24/7. I work seven days a week. This is my place."

That would seem to put a crimp in the sun-and-fun department, although Nash disagreed. "I don't start until 1 (p.m.), so I can go to the beach in the morning," he told me.

He'll undoubtedly be showing off his skills Thursday night when Sand Bar hosts what he calls "an all-Bulgarian party: Bulgarian servers, Bulgarian bartender, Bulgarian DJ."

I've never been one for party-crashing, but I might make an exception in this case.

After getting Nash's story -- and the photos for my restaurant profile -- I met up with my co-workers Jessica and Scott in Vineyard Haven. Initially, we were all in the mood for something sweet, maybe a dessert of some kind. Our options were severely limited: The cupcake place Jessica wanted to check out had already closed. In this "pre-season" period (the "season," I am told, begins the July 4 weekend) many businesses seem to lock their doors before sundown; some are closed weekdays altogether.

We stopped in an ice cream parlor and looked at several dozen flavors before deciding we weren't in the mood. So we went across the street to Zephrus Seafood and Grill, which is adjacent to Mansion House Inn and Spa. We looked over the Zephrus menu and suddenly decided what we really wanted was dinner. Jessica had a bowl of mussels, Scott had a burger and I tried Zephrus' version of lobster macaroni and cheese. I had not noticed on the menu that it was supposed to be a lunch special, not a dinner entree, but the server said the cook was happy to make it for me. Unlike the dish served at Sidecar Cafe, Zephrus uses penne pasta. At Sidecar, the lobster is blended into the white cheese sauce; at Zephrus, generous chunks of lobster meat are scattered on top of the pasta, so it looks as if the chef prepared the macaroni and cheese, sprinkled the lobster on top of it and then (as they do at Sidecar) covered the combination with toasted bread crumbs. Although I'm sure it would have made a great lunch, the portion I was served was more than enough for a hearty dinner.

Afterward, we decided we did want a little something sweet after all, so we split a cookie plate, which included three offbeat items: an oat cookie with a little dab of blackberry jelly in the center; a soft and rather large sort of gingersnap; and some fat little chocolate cookies that had a hidden surprise inside: a zesty kiss of chili powder that burst through the sweetness in a most tantalizing way.

All that you can't leave behind

2009-06-16T15:21:00.000-04:00

I thought I had done a reasonably good job packing for a three-month trip. I brought along most of the essentials: my computer, several pairs of jeans, my camera, notebooks, enough toiletries to stock a bathroom, shoes for all occasions. But I confess that somewhere along the way during my extremely drawn-out moving process I must have bugged out, or something. I keep finding items I meant to put in storage. (Placemats? Who brings placemats with them on a trip like this? Oh, that's right -- I do, apparently.) On the other hand, I've realized I left behind things I intended to bring.

For instance, I have hanging in my closet nine pairs of white (and off-white) pants. How many people even own nine pairs of white pants? Who knew I did? (Not I!) But there they are, waiting to be worn. And, just in case Michael Phelps is around and I feel the need to impress him, I brought six bathing suits in an assortment of colors and patterns. There may be another one hanging around, waiting to be discovered: The yellow one I bought on Mackinac Island 13 years ago has yet to surface, but I sense its presence.

These strange circumstances came to my attention yesterday when I was talking to the house manager at the Vineyard Playhouse about job possibilities and she asked if I could usher at Thursday's show. "Do you have a white shirt and black pants?" she asked. Immediately, I replied that I did and went to the closet to confirm it. The black pants were right at hand (and if she'd needed me to wear white pants...) and the white shirt was -- hmmm. It had to be in there somewhere. Who would travel without a white dress shirt?

Answer: The person who made room in his luggage for half a dozen bathing suits and placemats.

So when I went into Oak Bluffs this morning for an interview, I had to make a quick detour into a clothing store to find a white shirt, even though I would guess I own at least as many white shirts as I do bathing suits. But when they are in a storage space almost 1000 miles away, they don't do me much good.

Anyhow, when I was in Vineyard Haven today I made a fascinating discovery at the Waterside Market, a cozy eatery located midway down Main Street. I haven't really eaten breakfast at any of the local restaurants yet: I tend to save my appetite for lunch or dinner. But I saw a corned beef hash special on their menu board and decided I'd give it a try. To be honest, I wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary. But this was not the corned beef hash I am used to at all.

The Waterside cooks shave corned beef into little bite-size pieces and mix them into raw hash browns, then fry the mixture together and serve it with eggs. The result has much more of a pronounced corned beef taste than your typical hash, which usually involves corned beef and potatoes being mashed together into a chunky spread before going on to the griddle. This is another one of those ideas I'm definitely going to try out at home later.

Speaking of homes, some people have asked for a picture of the house where I am staying. Here it is. Isn't it stunning? It was just completed last year. My portion of the house is in the upstairs area where the windows are open. It's located in between Vineyard Haven and Oak Bluffs in a beautiful woodsy setting.

There's a lagoon across the street (that's what it's called anyhow). I only found this out when I was telling someone where I lived and he said, "Oh, you're by the lagoon." I said, "I am?" And yes, I am.

Crab-less Katama

2009-06-15T19:34:00.001-04:00

Only a few miles away from the swanky streets of downtown Edgartown is the sprawling beach at Katama, which could easily be mistaken for Southern California. Unlike many of the other beaches on the island, Katama is wide and spacious and, when you look out into the distance beyond the waves, you do not see the mainland. Katama is not on Nantucket Sound or Vineyard Sound: It's actually on the Atlantic Ocean. Gazing out into the distance, you see nothing except ocean and sky.

The waves here produce foam that looks like liquid rock candy mixed with cappuccino froth: dense and crystal-white and sparkling. Above the sand you'll see thick fields of tall grasses and those ever-present wildflowers that seem to spring up wherever they can. Signs warn of the dangerously strong current, and they're not kidding. If you step just a few feet out into the water, you'll begin to feel the pull of the current around your ankles. This would not be a place for beginning swimmers to try their luck. I wasn't tempted to dive in, either; after walking through the surf, my toes were already tingling from the water's chill. One brave soul did take the plunge for a few minutes while I was taking pictures (if you look carefully, you will see his silhouette in the picture at the top). He told me the water "wasn't too bad, really," but I decided to stay on the sand anyway.

The general consensus seems to be that Katama takes its name from a Wampanoag word that means "crab-fishing place," although there wasn't a crab to be found on Katama this particular afternoon. There weren't even dried-up, sun-bleached crab claws or pieces of shells, which are a common sight on other beaches. If this is a truly some sort of hotspot for catching crustaceans, you'd never guess it.

What a perfect place this would be for a little late-evening star-spotting, though. The sky over Katama is glorious enough in the sunshine, as the many shades of blue blend together overheard and wispy clouds loiter lazily above the water. At night, it must be a dazzling sight.

Almost forgot

2009-06-13T22:46:00.000-04:00

Here is the Edgartown lighthouse itself. I was so moved by the Children's Memorial, I almost forgot to share the photo with you.

I cover the waterfront

2009-06-13T20:40:00.000-04:00

The weather was mostly overcast and rainy Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday and the extended forecast promised more of the same for Saturday. So when I awakened this morning to a blast of sunshine in my window, I wondered for a moment if I was still dreaming. Thankfully not, and even better, the sun decided to stay all day, which made this a perfect day to visit the beaches and check out the coastline.

There was a Chamber of Commerce-sponsored event going on today called the Lighthouse Challenge, in which participants were dared to visit all five of the island's lighthouses over the course of one day. It wouldn't be impossible to do: The one at Gay Head is a bit out of the way and the one at Cape Poge is actually on Chappaquiddick, but the other three are all within a few miles of each other. I saw the one at Gay Head on Monday and I was curious what the others were like. But I did not want to pay the $99 fee to join the Challenge, so I decided to make my own trip around. I would have failed the Challenge: I only saw two of the four I needed to see. Even so, it was a gorgeous day and I wasn't in any hurry to get anywhere.

The lighthouse at Edgartown looks almost like a sculpture from a distance. It's rather on the puny side as lighthouses go. It's easily accessible from a sandy path that runs through a field of wildflowers and out onto a rocky footbridge that leads you out onto the little island where the lighthouse is located. The lighthouse is surrounded by a Children's Memorial, dedicated to all the babies whose lives ended shortly after they began. It's a project by Rick Herrington and the Martha's Vineyard Historical Society that was dedicated eight years ago. Many of the bricks in the platform around the lighthouse bear the names of children; in some cases, the babies did not live long enough to be officially named and the brick simply says something like "Baby T Honor." Fragments of shells are scattered around the area, rattling slightly in the winds coming off Edgartown Harbor. It's striking because it would be so easy to miss. I might not have noticed it myself if it hadn't been for the explanation in a display case near the lighthouse.

Visitors are welcome to tour the Edgartown lighthouse for a $5 admission fee, but I didn't go in because it looked like it wasn't much more than a spiral staircase leading up to an observation deck. The real scenery of note was down on the ground.

In contrast, you can't even get close to the West Chop Lighthouse, which is located on the outskirts of Vineyard Haven. Locked wooden gates and stern warning signs greet passersby. It's under the supervision of the Coast Guard (and Homeland Security, according to the signage) and they're not playing host to anybody, apparently. But that's in keeping with the atmosphere of the West Chop area, which is awash in expensive homes, private drives, private fishing docks, private beaches and that sort of thing. It's jaw-droppingly gorgeous and at the same time very "look but don't touch -- in fact, don't even look for very long, if you don't mind."

To wrap up the day, I had planned to seek out the lighthouse in Oak Bluffs just before sundown. I ran into two obstacles. One, I couldn't find the lighthouse, even though I drove up and down the coast. Two, when I finally thought I would settle for getting out of the car and getting some nice sunset shots on the beach, I realized I had left my camera at home -- I had been downloading some pictures and I'd forgotten to put it back in my bag. So I had to settle for snapping a few shots with the cell phone camera. Yes, even in a low-resolution format, the sunsets here are pretty ravishing. The one this evening looked as if the clouds were trying to mimic the wavy waters beneath them.

Will the real lobster roll please stand up?

2009-06-12T18:21:00.001-04:00

Remember that lobster roll I showed you last Friday? Please forget it. It's nothing but a fake, according to the good people at Grace Church in Vineyard Haven, which serves up hundreds of lobster rolls every Friday evening (almost 600 last Friday, according to their sales chart on the wall).

"Some people make them with lettuce and stuff like that," one of the hosts told me. He made a sour face. "These are the real thing." One of his co-workers seconded that sentiment: "These are the best lobster rolls you'll find on the island," she said, proudly.

They are certainly worth waiting all week to get your hands on: It's a fresh-baked bun (sort of similar to a hot dog bun, but slightly more spacious and with more of a curve to it) that's overflowing with shredded lobster. There may have been a touch of mayonnaise mixed in to hold the meat together, but if there was, I couldn't tell. No celery. No lettuce. No shallots. None of the other "inauthentic" fillers used to pad out lobster rolls at other places.
The sale starts at 4:30 p.m. every Friday during the summer, and I was glad I showed up early: Within 15 minutes, there was a quickly growing line of hungry people.

Just down the street from the church is a bed and breakfast known as The 1720 House. It's an attractive building in its own right, but what really caught my attention as I was walking past was the driveway. At first glance, it looked like chopped-up tree bark scattered all over the place. Who'd use something like that on a driveway, I wondered? Well, not the people at The 1720 House anyway. Upon closer inspection, I realized the driveway was actually covered with ground-up shells, which, considering the property's close proximity to the beach, would surely be easier to come by than gravel.

By the way, the weather here has been so gloomy that islanders seem to feel a compulsion to apologize for it. "It's never like this, really!" one man assured me. Another told me this was "not like June at all." It's not as if I was planning to blame the natives for the seemingly inescapable gray clouds and frequent bursts of rain, although it's reassuring to hear that this is merely a fluke. A little sunshine would definitely be welcome sometime soon.

Here's something that happens to me regularly when I am out of town: I am stopped on the street by other out-of-towners who seem to think I'm either a local or Mr. Information. It's occurred several times in London (and boy, are the tourists surprised when they hear my very American accent!), in New York, in Los Angeles, in Toronto. So why shouldn't it happen here? And today it did. An apparently thirsty gentlemen asked me where he could find a good wine store in Vineyard Haven. Aha! A trick question! "Vineyard Haven is a dry town," I explained. "You'll have to go to Oak Bluffs or Edgartown. But both of them have several liquor stores." He nodded and went on his way and I felt really proud of myself for a few seconds for being able to give accurate instructions. If anyone needs to know where to find alcohol on the island, please track me down and I'll set you straight.

The second time around

2009-06-11T22:08:00.000-04:00

Twice in one week is probably too much. But I was in Oak Bluffs this evening and I couldn't resist the Lobster Macaroni and Cheese at Sidecar Cafe. Happily, it was every bit as delicious this time around. Even better, I had my camera with me this time so I can show you what it looks like. If only I could make this photo Scratch-N-Sniff, but technology defeats me. Sidecar is a wonderful little place with very friendly service and delightful little bonuses, like the free white bean spread, olive plate and crostinis that came with the meal.

Was the meal the highlight of the day? Perhaps so. I awoke this morning to the unwelcome sound of pounding rain outside my window. The weather has been overcast and grim the past couple days, so much so that I've overheard salespeople and managers complaining that it's starting to cut into their business because everyone is staying home. Initially, the extended forecast promised a sunny weekend, but now it looks like the threat of rain will be hanging around (thunderstorms are predicted for tomorrow morning).

During a break in the rain, I ventured out to West Tisbury to visit a store called Citrine, which is one of the places being spotlighted in a piece I'm doing on exotic fashions. I didn't choose the story; it was an assignment, and I vowed to make the best of it, even though it was not something I would have picked for myself. Citrine turned out to be a little eye-popper of a place, with an impressive array of scarves and beads in any color you could dare to imagine. The helpful young woman on duty there gave me plenty of information and I managed to get back to my computer and file my story before my noon deadline, so that was a plus.

Later in the afternoon, I dropped by the Vineyard Playhouse in Vineyard Haven when I noticed the doors were open. Although their first production, "Fly," doesn't open for another week, some of the Playhouse people were busy getting items ready for a tag sale that will be taking place on Saturday. They're selling off many of their props and stock items that they don't have room to store anymore, and several of them looked quite nice. I think I now have plans for Saturday morning, in fact.

To wrap up a mostly mundane day, I dropped by Stop-And-Shop, one of the island's grocery stores. Months before I came here, a knowledgeable friend had warned me, "Wait until the first time you go grocery shopping..." and she was accurate: Prices on some of the items are, well, let's just say a bit startling. You have to remind yourself that you are not in a place where trucks can deliver day or night. Almost everything is brought over on a boat and the lucky consumer gets to bear a portion of the transportation costs. So laundry detergent that would have cost me no more than $5 in Portage goes for almost $7.50 here (ouch!) and a bottle of Absolut that would have been about $20 at most Michigan party stores is closer to $24 here. But there are still some bargains to be had, as I found tonight when I got 20 yogurts for only $10. I also noticed a box of Celestial Seasons tea cost just about the same at Stop-And-Shop as it would have at D&W in my old neighborhood.

There are also other surprise savings outside of the supermarket. Several of my co-workers and I went to the Capawock Theatre in Vineyard Haven Tuesday night to see "The Hangover" and paid a whopping $5 apiece for our tickets. No, it was not "twilight bargain" time: The Capawock regularly shows movies Mondays through Thursdays for this price. Apparently, the theater had been shuttered for many years until 2006, when the Hall family, which owns the property, re-opened the doors. I don't know how they fare on a regular basis, but the Tuesday night "Hangover" was sold out (the theater has about 300 seats by my guesstimate) and this evening's show of "Up" seemed to be bringing in a healthy crowd as well. The family also owns what I guess is meant to be called the Strand Theatre in Oak Bluffs, although the missing letters on its signage make it the Sand Theatre; it's apparently only open in the summer.

Words to live by

2009-06-10T23:04:00.000-04:00

That's right: Take your stupid sandy feet home and clog your own drain! We don't cotton to such shenanigans at Oak Bluffs beach!
This sign is in one of the bathrooms outside the Steamship Authority office in Oak Bluffs. I don't like to think of myself as the sort of person who goes around snapping pictures in public restrooms, but I could not resist getting a shot of this memorable message.
I spent a fair amount of time in Oak Bluffs today, looking at clothes for an article I'm doing on exotic fashions. Oak Bluffs has several shops that specialize in unusual attire from around the world, such as Glimpse of Tibet and Third World Trading Company.
But the real "news" came when I stopped to chat with a guy outside an Irish-themed bar not far from the beach. In the midst of our conversation, we were joined by an elderly couple who happened to be passing by and shared what the wife said was "inside information" about the rumored visit of the Obama family to Martha's Vineyard in August. She had talked to a friend who knows a family with whom the Obamas are friendly, and this contact assured her that the Obamas are not going to be coming. It seems the Secret Service checked out the island and decided it would be extremely difficult to secure, so they've advised against a visit.
This would be a heavy blow to the many merchants around the area who have prominently placed Obama-themed T-shirts, books and artwork in their storefront windows. But they may not have to weather the disappointment at all; it turns out the Obamas are not vacationing here -- unless they are.
"They still might show up," the woman said because there's always the chance they'll work out some sort of arrangements with security after all. So basically, nothing is set in stone, although she added that there has been so much speculation about the visit that it's apparently made Obama's people very nervous (and the island businesses very excited).
A little word of advice to the Obamas, in case they do decide to drop by: Please don't wash your feet in the bathroom sinks. Sand clogs drains, you know.

North by Southwest

2009-06-08T22:48:00.000-04:00

If you are in New York and someone tells you they are going upstate, you can reasonably assume they are heading in the direction of Buffalo or Albany. If you are in Michigan and someone tells you they will be vacationing upstate, you might guess they are heading for Petoskey, or Traverse City, or possibly the Upper Peninsula. But when someone mentions going "upisland" around here, they are not going north -- they are probably heading west to Chilmark or Aquinnah or one of the other regions of the island that are quite unlike Edgartown, Oak Bluffs and Vineyard Haven. Head a few miles outside of the "popular" parts of the island, and you will find yourself very much in the countryside, surrounded by dense, vibrant forests and traveling along roads that are sometimes lined by stone walls that were obviously built centuries ago (keep in mind that the island was populated long before the United States of America even existed).

The initial point of my trip upisland was to visit a performing arts camp called The Yard; I wanted to see if it might be possible for me to teach classes there to make a little extra money, since part-time job prospects around here do not seem to be panning out. I got the jobs list from the Chamber of Commerce today and started going around to businesses on the list to put in applications, only to find everyone was "pretty much set" or "full up right now." Frankly, I haven't really had to look for work in more than a decade, and so it doesn't take much of this to discourage me.

Anyhow, The Yard sounded like a wonderful alternative. It's in Chilmark, which is about 12 miles (and, because of the low speed limits around here, about half an hour's drive) away from where I'm living. The drive out was quite pleasant and very picturesque, especially if you are fond of winding, sinuous roads that are shaded by huge old trees and dotted with houses that double as businesses: yoga studios, antique stores, farm markets, etc. Unfortunately, when I got to The Yard, there was no one around in the offices. There was what appeared to be a dance class in progress in one of the outlying buildings, but I didn't want to disturb anybody. So it was clear that unless I wanted to hang around and wait for class to be dismissed, this was not going to be the day to land a teaching position.

Well, I decided, if I've come all the way out here I might as well see what's around. So I went for a leisurely drive through Chilmark, out into Aquinnah and out to one of the far western points of the island, where the Aquinnah (or Gay Head) lighthouse stands. On my way to the lighthouse, I stopped off at Lobsterville Beach, which made for a delightful detour. It's a sandy stretch of oceanside that's cunningly concealed from plain view by a barrier of tall grasses and clusters of distractingly lovely flowers. In fact, the scent of the wild roses in the breeze was absolutely intoxicating.

The roses themselves are currently in full bloom -- as if that seductive aroma weren't enough to tell you -- their petals a color somewhere between a deep, rich pink and a delicate shade of purple inside each blossom is a tiny ring of yellow. The flowers closer to the beach seemed to be slightly darker than the ones near the road, although perhaps that was just a trick of the light. I couldn't help but be reminded of the quote from Alice Walker's "The Color Purple": "I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it." God can rest assured anyone who passed Lobsterville Beach would notice these ravishing roses, as well as the long-stemmed daisies that stood nearby, shuddering slightly in the light wind.

I walked down to the beach and quickly found something I couldn't believe. It was a rock that could easily have passed as a cheddar cheese roll in any bakery. The coloring and texture were uncanny. I picked it up and rinsed it off in the surf (accidentally soaking my shoes and socks in the process, but what do you expect at a beach?), and its layers of red-orange and tan glistened in the sun. I used to collect rocks as a child, a hobby I was reminded of last week when I was packing up my apartment and found a plastic chest full of various fossils and curiously shaped stones I had saved over the years. Finding this brought back happy memories.

Then I was off to the lighthouse, which was not far away. Apparently, the lighthouse is open for tours later in the summer, although it was not today, so I had to take my pictures from a fairly great distance. Even so, what a majestic sight it is, sitting serenely atop the ruggedly beautiful clay cliffs that drop off into the water. There are four other lighthouses on the island, and I will make my way to each one of them before long.

Near the lighthouse is a collection of restaurants, snack bars and gift shops. Although I wasn't terribly hungry, I was intrigued by the Aquinnah Clam Chowder, which I had heard is a local recipe. It's slightly thinner and has more of a "clammy" taste than the New England chowder most of us are used to (and it has very little in common with Manhattan clam chowder). The broth is almost clear until you stir it up; then you find the clam meat, the cubes of potato, the bits of minced onion and other chowder staples deep beneath the surface, like little sunken treasures.

Heading back from the lighthouse, I took note of how many roads and drives along the way were marked "private." In sharp contrast to Oak Bluffs or Vineyard Haven, where the houses are generally packed fairly tightly together, rural residences are generally situated on large plots of land. Another eye-catching novelty: Keep an eye out for mailboxes decorated to look like sea creatures. I saw a lobster, a shark and a whale, and I'm sure there must have been others. Those country folk may crave their privacy, but at least they have a stylish sense of humor, too.

Even rice has gone green...

2009-06-08T22:10:00.000-04:00

The Green Revolution has obviously gone south of the border, if my dinner tonight is any indication. I ate at a restaurant called Zapotec in Oak Bluffs, which claims to serve authentic Mexixan recipes, and who am I to say they don't? But I've sat down to many Mexican meals in my day and I've never heard of "green rice."
"Would you like white or green rice?" my server asked. "What is green rice?" I asked. She explained that it's white rice that's been tossed with lime juice, cilantro and a few other spices. Color me tempted. I ordered the green rice and was immediately pleased with the slightly tangy combination of the lime and the cilantro; quite often, I barely touch the rice at restaurants, but this was a treat and I fully intend to serve it at home one of these days.

Sunday night in Vineyard Haven

2009-06-08T10:20:00.000-04:00

No, that's not a painting: It's an actual photograph of a Sunday night sunset in Vineyard Haven, located just to the west of Oak Bluffs. It's a community with a detectable down-to-earth attitude. There's none of the "let's party" atmosphere of Oak Bluffs, that's for certain. This is a far mellower environment.

Its streets are lined with bookstores, drug stores, a fudge emporium, a grocery store, Beetlebung (which serves delicious, creative pizzas and an assortment of teas, coffees and other beverages) and a sweetly old-fashioned movie theater that shows the latest films at impressively reasonable prices: If you can get away on a weeknight, you can see "Angels and Demons," "The Hangover" or "Land of the Lost" (but really, why would you want to see "Land of the Lost"?) for a mere $5, about half what you'd pay at most cineplexes. Although I haven't stopped in yet to see what the interior of the theater is like, I certainly plan to do so in the near future.

Vineyard Haven also has a sprawling combination inn/workout facility with a stunning indoor swimming pool you can see through the windows. I didn't want to shock myself by looking at the prices for memberships, but I would certainly be willing to shell out a little money to swim there, if nothing else.

If Edgartown is sophistication and Oak Bluffs is come-as-you-are, Vineyard Haven seems to be somewhere in between, perhaps a little more working-class and unpretentious. It's also the first part of the island most people will get to see, since it is the primary dock for the ferries and boats that come over from the mainland. This was where I arrived on the car ferry Thursday night, although by the time I got here it was dark and I didn't have a chance to see very much until Friday afternoon (and then it was raining, which wasn't exactly desirable for a peaceful stroll).

Is there life after lobster rolls?

2009-06-07T22:20:00.001-04:00

Two foods are almost inescapable on Martha's Vineyard: lobster and ice cream. Thankfully, no one has tried serving both at once (unless Mad Martha's, one of the premier homemade ice creameries, is experimenting with a diabolical new flavor). Still, you could probably close your eyes, walk 12 paces in any direction in the business districts of Edgartown, Oak Bluffs or Vineyard Haven, and the odds are excellent you'd wind up within arm's reach of a place that served ice cream or lobster.

Saturday evening, I was sightseeing in Oak Bluffs when I nearly walked into a sign that had been set up outside of Sidecar Cafe and Bar. "Lobster Mac is Back!" it announced, and evidently this was bigger than the return of McRib a few years ago. Three women who happened upon the sign gasped and gushed with excitement and dropped in to take advantage of the special -- they'd obviously been regulars at the restaurant, since the staff seemed well-acquainted with them. I hope they enjoyed their bowl of lobster macaroni and cheese as much as I did: What an inspired combination. The chef had tossed generous chunks of lobster meat with an exceptionally creamy macaroni and cheese (made with all white cheeses, so it didn't have that unearthly yellow color we often associate with mac and cheese) and topped the dish with a dusting of toasted bread crumbs. It was served with a side of tender, subtly seasoned asparagus and a small salad of greens. If I don't go back for more one of these days it will be because A) Sidecar has gone out of business, or B) because I have been thrown into a maximum-security prison that does not permit days trips for fine dining.

But man cannot live by lobster alone, can he? So, when I returned to Oak Bluffs Sunday afternoon, I bypassed the assorted seafood houses and headed to a quiet-looking cafe/bakery called Slice of Life (their motto: "We love food"). On their sign, a robust tomato, a garlic bulb and a pear -- that sounds like the set-up for a joke, doesn't it? -- are lined up. I love all three of those ingredients, so why not drop in?

I did not find any one dish that combines tomatoes, garlic and pears (that might be as hard to digest as lobster-flavored ice cream, come to think of it), but I did find something even more intriguing: the fried green tomato B.L.T., an astonishing and hearty sandwich made with applewood smoked bacon, basil mayo, arugula and thick-sliced, perfectly prepared fried green tomatoes. It's served on toasted rosemary bread, and the meal smelled so splendid when it arrived that I almost hated to eat it. If one of the Slice of Life chefs came up with Fried Green Tomato B.L.T.: The Fragrance, I would happily spray myself with it daily.

The gingerbread ghetto

2009-06-07T21:18:00.000-04:00

If Edgartown seems a bit stately and upscale, Oak Bluffs is its far more casual, let-it-all-hang-out neighbor. I kept hearing that Oak Bluffs was the island's "party town," and I've found no evidence to suggest otherwise. There are bars and live music and liquor stores everywhere. You can find Irish music, '80s cover bands, acoustic, karaoke -- pretty much whatever you'd like to listen to at any given time.

But the town's real attraction -- at least for those who don't crave a stiff drink or two -- is its entrancing architecture, primarily the eye-catching "gingerbread" houses that line many of its streets. They're painted in the kind of festive colors few homeowners would dare to play with: bright pink, neon blue, sea-green, etc. And many of them are outfitted with charmingly frilly accessories, including lots of bric-a-brac, towering gables, widow's walks and, in some cases, front porches that you could use to store an aircraft carrier. I jokingly wrote down in my notebook that I was "adrift in the gingerbread ghetto," but these homes are wonderful to admire and, as far as I could see, exquisitely maintained by their owners.

At the center of Oak Bluffs, just behind the "Welcome" signage, is Flying Horses, the country's oldest operating platform carousel and a certified National Historic Landmark. It was apparently built in 1876 for New York's Coney Island and was brought to Martha's Vineyard in 1884. It was acquired by the Martha's Vineyard Preservation Trust in 1986 and has been painstakingly restored. It's not a traditional merry-go-round, since the horses remain firmly in place throughout the ride (they "fly," but they don't bounce up and down). The challenge for riders is to try to catch the rings that drop down a chute that's off to the side of the carousel; if you're skillful enough to snag one of the brass ones, you get a free ride. I didn't get close enough to see for myself, but I was told the manes and tails are made of actual horse hair and that inside the glass eyes of each of the horses you can find a small carved charm in the shape of an animal.

Oak Bluffs is also a beach town. There's a nice stretch of sand just behind the stony walls that separate the road from the water, and there's also a ferry station. Move out to the edge of Oak Bluffs and you'll find mostly undisturbed beach settings that are quite a change from the tone of the town itself. Wildflowers bloom everywhere and they're so pretty you might be tempted to pick a bouquet. Don't try: Most of them grow on vines and stems covered with menacing-looking thorns that could tear your fingertips to shreds. I decided I'd take pictures rather than souvenirs.

Edgartown in the rain

2009-06-06T00:21:00.000-04:00

Since I managed to get everything set up in my room after I got in last night, I had planned to spend the day sight-seeing and looking for an interesting part-time job, since the prices here are, as you might suspect, a bit steep: I bought a Lobster Roll for lunch, a sandwich consisting of lobster salad on a lettuce leaf, rolled inside a bun -- it was $13.95. (And it came with nothing more than a skimpy bag of potato chips; I mean, it was delicious, but still...)

But the weather was not entirely cooperative. I awakened to overcast skies and light rain, which was not what I was hoping for. While it wasn't a storm by any stretch of the imagination, it was not exactly conducive to a leisurely stroll. I waited a couple of hours to see if it might let up; it seemed like rather non-committal rain and I thought maybe it would roll away eventually. No such luck. Like that chirping cricket that hides in your room and keeps you awake all night with its persistent chirp, this shower was not going to disappear. And, I decided, it was not going to keep me at home.

So I got in the car and headed for Edgartown, one of the island's several mini-cities. It's a charming place, with glorious old New England architecture. It seemed as if there was white paint everywhere I turned. Finding a parking space was only moderately difficult -- I have been warned that that's not going to be the case in a few weeks -- and soon I was wandering through the narrow streets, which seemed to be full of boutiques, ice cream parlors and sandwich shops. If you go hungry here, it's because of lack of money, not lack of restaurants. I had lunch at Edgartown Deli: a fish sandwich with fries and some hot tea. It was $11.95, which seemed a little steep for the portions served, even though the sandwich was quite good.

Then I started looking around for "help wanted" signs. There was one in an ice cream shop, although I didn't go in. There wasn't one at the library, but I stopped in to see if there were any openings: no luck. The librarian did, however, point me to the classifieds in one of the local papers ("There's loads of stuff in there," she promised, although her idea of "loads" is somewhat grander than mine, apparently). I saw an ad for counselors at a youth arts camp, which sounded like it would be fun, so I called the number and left a message.

Meandering around the town I discovered the local cinema, which is quite unlike the megaplexes most of us visit. It's got a grand total of two screens, for one thing, and even though it is playing many of the newest titles, you can't always see them whenever you want. I could, for example, see "Up" and "The Hangover" on Friday, but if I had wanted to check out "The Hangover" on Saturday night -- and what better night to see it? -- I would have been faced with a choice between "Angels and Demons" or "Land of the Lost" instead. "Up" would still be playing at matinees on Saturday, although on Sunday it would be off the schedule in favor of "Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian." But "The Hangover" would be back on Sunday, as they so often are in life, wouldn't you say? The theater runs something similar to a repertory schedule, which means if you want to see a particular movie you'd better do some pre-planning.

On the way out of town, I stopped at Aboveground Records, which is an amazing little independent music store with a dazzling selection of CDs (used and new), vinyl, DVDs and even a few cassettes in one corner. It also handles audio accessories, so I was able to buy some blank CDs and a snug little protective cover for my new iPod. Aboveground reminded me so much of Repeat the Beat in Royal Oak, where I worked for two years and I thought I'd ask for an application in the hopes of maybe landing a job. Unfortunately, the manager said they're filled up and I should check back in a month or so. Disappointment! But, ever the optimist, I will stop back, hopeful.

The great escape

2009-06-05T19:54:00.000-04:00

The challenge: Get from Portage, Michigan to Martha's Vineyard, Massachusetts -- 967.20 miles, according to Mapquest -- in 24 hours. I was sure I could do it. Long drives didn't worry me. After all, I had a Prius, which meant I wouldn't have to stop for gas very often, and I could take along a bag of snacks to distract me from the siren-like call of all the fast-food dens of iniquity that would be lying in wait along the way.

I failed: I arrived 26 and a half hours after I started. Alas, if only I'd been able to avoid the temptation of that hotel swimming pool. And that McDonald's that beckoned me away from the Massachusetts Turnpike.

But considering more than 16 of those hours were spent on the road, going from Michigan to Ohio to Pennsylvania to New York to Massachusetts and then on to a car ferry that took me from the mainland to the island, I couldn't beat myself up too much. Besides, the pool was really refreshing, and if I hadn't loosened up my muscles during that half-hour swim (plus 10 minutes in the jacuzzi) I doubt I would have had the stamina to complete the trip in a little more than a day.

I left Portage at 7 p.m., about eight hours later than I had hoped. Prior to my departure, I had called the Steamship Authority in Woods Holes, Massachsuetts to book a reservation for the car ferry on Thursday. I had hoped for something late; the only opening they had was at 6:15 p.m., unless I wanted to catch the 6 a.m. ferry Friday. I took the Thursday night reservation, confident I'd make it somehow.

I was born in Columbus, so I am hesitant to criticize anything Ohio-related. But the Ohio Turnpike is one tedious drive: miles and miles and miles of vaguely pretty farmlands and endless sky, with occasional exits to tiny towns full of what I call the possessive eateries: Wendy's, Chili's, Bennigan's, Applebee's, etc. I guess Bob Evans doesn't technically qualify for inclusion in that category, but it sounds like it should and there were certainly several of those as well. I didn't reach Cleveland until almost midnight, but even cloaked in darkness it was such a happy change of pace from what I'd been seeing for the past few hours.

Then came the Pennsylvania Turnpike and the New York Thruway, which almost made me nostalgic for the opulence of Ohio. I will say that even though the New York Thruway is generally less than exciting from a scenic standpoint (until you get to the impressive forests and rugged mountains outside of Albany), the road itself is in remarkably solid shape. After spending so many years on the lumpy patchwork quilts Michigan calls freeways, it was a refreshing change to actually travel for hours on relatively smooth, carefully maintained pavement.

At 2:30 a.m. I finally decided to take a break. I was in Fredonia, New York and I thought I was about at the halfway point of my trip. (I was wrong, but I didn't figure that out until the next morning.) I checked into the Best Western Dunkirk & Fredonia Inn -- apparently both towns insist on claiming a piece of this particular establishment -- and walked into a room that was decorated in a style that might be called Abstract African Lite. It looked as if a designer saw "The Lion King" and said, "Yes, something just like that -- but a little less, uh, ethnic."

I suspect there might have been a clash of opinions on exactly what direction to take the inn, since the exterior of the building was adorned with mock Greek frescoes of bunches of grapes. Perhaps Dunkirk argued for Greek and Fredonia pushed the African agenda; perhaps we'll never know for certain.

Anyhow, the morning breakfast buffet was laid out in an area overlooking the hotel pool and spa, so while I was munching on my Belgian waffle and sipping some orange juice I could see that lovely, empty pool just waiting to be utilized. So after breakfast, I ran back to the room and changed into my bathing suit and enjoyed a peaceful, revitalizing swim, followed by a quick plunge into the violently bubbling hot tub.

By the time I got back to the room, my body felt invigorated, as if I'd had a tune-up. I think I heard a few of my muscles quietly apologizing for all the grief they had given me earlier in the week. The state of detente would not last long. Those same muscles would be cursing me all over again by the end of the day, after I had pushed them to take me all the way across New York and Massachusetts in a mad race to get to the ferry (along the way I called the Steamship Authority and managed to change my reservation from 6:15 to 8:30, which turned out to be a wise choice).

The day was as suspenseful as any Hitchcock thriller as I kept checking my AAA TripTik to see how many miles I had left to go and then struggled to calculate how long the trip would take, based on my average speed and the traffic conditions. If I didn't stop for a real meal or get lost at any point along the line, it looked like I would make it, although there literally wasn't a moment to spare. If it had been possible to drive with my fingers crossed, I might have tried it.

Everything was going perfectly most of the way. I had filled up the car just as I was leaving Fredonia and, because of the 55-65 mile per hour speed limit on the Thruway, the Prius was getting magnificent mileage. I enjoyed the extra fruit I had purloined from the continental breakfast table and passed the time listening to National Public Radio (when I could find it), Canadian rock stations and an enjoyable set of eclectic material from the University of Rochester radio station (when no NPR outlet could be found), and CDs of Japanese electro-pop (when I ran out of other options).

But not long after I crossed into Massachusetts, about seven hours into the journey, it felt as if my energy was draining away at an alarming pace. My head began to feel heavy, my arms started stiffening up and my stomach, not satisfied with a diet of leftover fruit, dried strawberries and Smarties, began to growl. Should I give up and get a good night's rest and continue on Friday morning? I seriously considered it for a few minutes. Maybe I was pushing myself to ridiculous extremes that I would regret later. Maybe it was time to eat something substantial. Or just rest: I had only gotten a little more than five hours of sleep the night before because I went to bed so wired that it took me much longer to fall asleep than it should have.

But then, salvation appeared: a "service plaza" with a McDonald's. I pulled in and ordered a Filet-O-Fish meal and a lemonade. If they gave me the extra burst of adrenalin I needed to get to that ferry at Woods Hole, wonderful. If not, I would check into a hotel, crash for the night and start fresh tomorrow.

McDonald's worked magic, although a rather weak sort of magic. I had barely enough power to make it to Woods Hole, although I was yawning and rolling my shoulders quite a bit along the way. But I rolled into the docking area and boarded the ferry at 8:15 p.m., exactly nine hours after I left Fredonia and just in time to see a stupendously lovely sunset. Glorious streaks of deep purple and magenta appeared in the twilight sky, a ravishing reward at the end of an arduous day.