Crabs on the rampage

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!

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?

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.