A Basic Vegan Recipe

A colleague and dear friend of mine asked me about groups related to Vegan Cooking on facebook. I didn't know of any such groups, but thought I'd share some of my vegan cooking experiences.

Vegan eating can be very healthy, I understand and after trying it I thought I'd share this with my dear friends.

FIRST:
Catching a vegan is not at all difficult. Simply go to a park or stand out side of a food co-op and set up a snare trap, using a piece of tofu as bait. You should catch a good sized vegan in about an hour or so.

SECOND:
Preparing your Vegan is also easy. Some are drinkers, so if you get 'em good and lit first, the rest is easy. From here, if you follow any basic butcher's method for preparing a cow or pig, it's about the same except for the arms, which can be cut more like the wings on a chicken.

THIRD:
Follow any of your favorite beef or chicken soup and stew recipes, using the vegan as the meat. Like a cow or chicken, vegans are herbivores so the meat is good and tender.

1 Large onion, minced
3 tblsp of minced garlic
1 stalk of celery, finely chopped
salt and pepper to taste
8 oz can tomato sauce
1 cup green peas (frozen or fresh)
1 cup chopped carrots
2 tblsps of gluten free corn starch
1 lb of chopped vegan
16 oz can of pinto beans
cup of noodles or rice

Cracker Jack Journalism At It's Best

Geekdom Pt 3A: The Urban Geek

The 5 train station just outside of Co-op City.

One of my original folk-tales, "The turtle, The Snake and The Drum" is rooted in a couple of experiences I had as a high school student. It was the 1980's and I went to Music & Art High School (now LaGuardia High School of the Arts), which was first in Harlem and moved downtown to Lincoln Center when I was a junior. I lived in Co-op City, which is way up in the Northeast Bronx, so the trip to school was a two hour commute by bus and subway.

No subway came into Co-op, so we had two choices: ride the BX 26, 28 or 30 across the Bronx to the D train at 205th or Bedford Park or try your luck with the Baychester Ave foot-bridge and catch the 5 train at Baychester Ave station. It really was a matter of trying your luck as this bridge, which crossed I-95, was notorious for muggings. As I mentioned before, this was the 1980's when muggings and robberies were a rather common occurrence, and deciding to be one who would not be handicapped by fear, I often tempted

fate and on only two occasions, fell victim to muggers. Of course, being a Geek, I treated such experiences as learning experiences; thus the next several times I faced robberies, I was prepared and escaped unscathed.

The infamous Baychester Ave foot-bridge

In those days, as I may have mentioned before, I carried a viola on my shoulder. I wore glasses and used to alternate between wearing a black beret and a Kangol grouser contorted into the shape of a pork-pie hat. Neither was the fashion of the time, so I was a bit of a target for the less enlightened. One such afternoon, I opted to take the 5 train home instead of the D, since I was coming home late from a rehearsal and was by myself anyway, I figured it should be cool. I got to the bridge, and a guy appeared from behind the pillar. He had a knife and told me,"run yo' shit..." I started to take the viola off of my shoulder, and in a single motion smashed the would-be mugger in the forehead with it rapidly and repeatedly until he dropped the knife. When he was down, bleeding I un-sportingly kicked him in the kidney, the back of his head and ran around to the other side to kick him in his chest and mouth, then I ran like my tail was on fire. I never saw him again, and doubted that there'd ever be retribution. I mean, who is going to tell their boys they got beaten down with a viola case by some geek?

Beautiful sound... deadly case.

It is unfortunate that Hollywood has perpetuated the image of the Geek/ Nerd as the easily conquered weakling and victim.  Even worse, as most teen movies take place in the suburbs or boonies, where even the cool kids are pretty corny. One thing that I've earned to be true for folks of my generation, heralding from New York, Philly, Chicago, Detroit and parts of Los Angeles; regardless of socio-economic background, all city kids are street kids by default. The ability to navigate the streets of your city and all of it's pit-falls was once a part of everybody's existence.Yes, I frequented libraries, but I had to use the streets to get to them.

Even more unfortunate, the average person buys into the media image of the geek and like any true beta or cool kid, they tend to deal with their assumptions over realities. For example, the guy who tried to rob me was about four inches shorter then I was and weighed in at about 20 or 30 lbs less then me and had even let a couple of folks ahead of me pass; but his assumption was that I would be an easy mark. I also doubt that most viola players think of their case as a weapon, but there were a couple of occasions where it served as a wonderful defensive tool, especially when trying to get on the subway.

The urban geek has a street smarts that sometimes can go beyond street smarts, into straight diabolical and sadistic. Not merely for the pleasure of undoing and humiliating your attacker (although let's face it: a cruel laugh is a plus), but in the pure Machiavellian sense of setting an example. of what can happen to a person if they mess with the wrong person. I think of early 90's subway gunman, Bernard Goetz who while being mugged, shot his four attackers.

Another factor in geekdom, especially American geekdom, is the issue of ethnicity. While geeks come in all ethno-cultural groups, the socio-political dynamics of race often play into how geeks develop. As I mentioned before, America is a society and culture that has embraced mediocrity and locked it into the consciousness of many as the aspiration of the average American. Add the marginalizing effects of American racism to the equation and you end up with ethno- cultural groups that internalize oppression and with it, embrace mediocrity as the pinnacle. In the consciousness of the internally oppressed the cookie cutter images of achievement create a limited and rather unimaginative set of aspirations for the urban middle or lower middle-class Black or Latino geek that their white counter-parts don't deal with. These factors lead to one of several outcomes, which will be addressed in Part 3B "Geeks In The Hood"

Just Another Day...: Desensitized In The Age of Terror

So many unsolved cases...

The bombing in Boston was an awful thing to happen. The death of three people and loss of limbs and injuries sustained by the 170+ other victims of the bombing was awful. As a parent, I pray for the

family of Martin Richard, the same way I pray for the family of Trayvon Martin, or the family of Tiffany Moore who was killed in 1988 in front of her building by a stray bullet. The bigger issue: What happened to Martin Richard was an isolated tragedy, while what happened to the Trayvon and
Tiffany are epidemic crises that we have been trained to ignore.

Going on Facebook, I was struck by the number of my friends who survived the bloody and violent eras of Dorchester and Mattapan (which continue, but not quite as bad as back in the day), who got caught up in the media hype around this tragedy, without even a hint of irony about the ack of public attention or mourning of the countless lives lost to violence in their own neighborhoods. The most ironic was the pontification of a woman who graduated from Fordham University without even noting the war-zone like qualities that permeated the neighborhoods surrounding Fordham U from 1973 to 2000.

Ted Landsmark being stabbed with flag in Boston, 1976

To point out that the deaths, injuries and trauma of people of color in this country are not even worth mentioning, let alone cause for a public outcry (Trayvon Martin didn't even get into national press until he went viral on social media) is something that anybody with eyes and a consciousness has to acknowledge. Only the senseless death of white people is worth media attention; and the mourning of the losses are to be felt by all. I get it: the rest of us do not matter. Both Seth McFarlane and I get it.

The part that I don't get is the buy-in by the by those who should know better. But when you consider that despite education, and a semblance of intellect, a lot of these are the same people who proudly and happily help trend name brands and tv shows in their tweets and Facebook status' free of charge to the corporations and conglomerates benefiting from their volunteerism, we see that the negative impact of slavery and dehumanization has taken deep roots into the Black American psyche.

These are the true descendants of the slaves who cried at the side of Massa's death-bed and cast their own dead into open graves with lime powder to cover the smell, and little other effect. In short these are people who have settled into having no value. To them, an entire city full of memorial murals to children and teenagers, and memorial walls to carry the name of the dead (mostly under the age of 21) are sad. The fact that their children can't play in the street for fear of being shot is sad. But the stories fed to them on the media are "tragic." To some, and even more frightening, death, even tragic and sudden death, is just a part of daily life. People are born, people die and if you're lucky, it's not your turn... yet.

It was an early autumn/ late summer morning, and I was supposed to start a job at a media company that Tuesday. For some reason, for the first time in about ten years my back went out on me that Sunday evening and was not much better by Tuesday morning. It was supposed to be my first day of work, and I had to call in. How embarrassing. I left a message, telling them that if I was not there by 11, I'd call back. I went back to bed for an hour or so... time that I should have been making the long subway ride from the Bronx to Brooklyn... Then I turned up the radio, hobbled into the bathroom and took a hot shower. That's when the first plane hit the WTC tower. I thought it was a morning show gag until they announced the second plane hitting the tower and the radio signal went out. If I had taken the subway that morning, I would have been under the World Trade Center on my way to my first day of work.

It was an awful day, earth shattering, life changing, the cause of much change in New York City and the rest of the country that would shape the course of national events for the years that would follow. However, for a lot of us who had grown up in urban areas and inner cities during the late 1970's and early 80's the horror of these events were not quite as jarring as they were for others. You see, unless we lost a friend or family member in this horror, or just escaped it ourselves; like many survivors of war, it was just another horror for us to get passed and keep moving. Past trauma untreated can often create a level of callous that is beyond most people's understanding.

While movies and the media would have you believe that urban crime and violence were limited to poor, dysfunctional inner city dweller, the fact of the matter is that these experiences permeated social and economic class. Even your middle-class urban kids found themselves as witnesses, victims and in some occasions, perpetrators of violence in the post Nicky Barnes era of urban America.

By 1981, it was rather common the hear about somebody getting shot, stabbed or killed over such serious offenses as: stepping on somebody's sneaker, looking at somebody the wrong way, looking at somebody at all, looking in their direction and them thinking you looked at them, dressing too nicely, not having any money during a robbery, having the wrong girl or guy like you, (which was also the cause of several contract killings at the time. A 12 year-old could be hired to do a hit for $10).

By 1983, the crack war added a new and even more bizarre serious of events and elements of street events. People getting their sneakers, coats and designer clothes stolen at knife or gun point and sold for $5, as well as situations of crack heads brokering gang rapes to raise money for their fixes. The rise in street crime helped create almost two generations of couch potato, video game playing urban youth who could not go out to play until they were teens, for fear of them getting caught in the cross-fire of some stupidity.

It was 1984. I had just bought two slices of pizza and a drink from the window of a pizza shop and was standing there eating it when I heard a "pop" and a girl a few feet from me screaming. The guy next to her had been shot in the head by a passer-by who apparently strolled off down the Harlem street after he did it. The police eventually showed up, and the EMTs collected the body for the morgue. To my knowledge the killer, nor the reason for the killing were ever discovered.

When I got to Boston in 1986, the stories coming out of the Roxbury/ Dorchester/ Mattapan are were even more atrocious than the things I was seeing and hearing about in New York City. Murders, robberies, random beatings and  the deaths of children caught in cross-fire were a remarkably common occurrence. I even know about an abandoned car that sat for months under a train trestle in Dorchester with a dead body in it, repeatedly called in about and repeatedly ignored by local police until election season came around (I'm sure it was just a coincidence). Meanwhile, scores of children and parents passed this vehicle to and from school for months.

Happy Land after fire and the tree in front.

It was a cool night on March 24, 1990 when I was in New York for spring break. A bunch of my friends from home and I decided that we were going to hang out that night, with all of us now being old enough to legally get into clubs. One of my friends had the great idea that we should go to a club in the South Bronx called Happy Land. When we reached the front door, a couple of us had mis-givings about going in.  One of my friends went in to check out the scene. By back started to itch really badly, which was usually a sign of danger. As I began to scratch my back on a tree, conveniently located near the entrance, I became adamant that I was not going in; offering the option to go into Manhattan and the Music Factory over in Chelsea. A couple of my friends, familiar with my itchy back premonitions decided that going to Manhattan was probably the move. Our friend came out of the club, trying to get us to go in, noting that there were a number of fine women in there. We told him about our alternate pan. He protested. He protested all the way to the train, all the way into Manhattan and sulked in the club. The next morning, as we were catching the train home, we saw the headlines on the paper, "87 Die in Bronx Club Fire". Yep, it was Story Land, and the fire happened hours after we left, the fire was started by some guy who was mad at his ex-girlfriend who worked in the club, and most of the folks died because the fire exits to the club had been chained and pad-locked... We all looked at each other, took a deep breath and kept it moving.

I think of the millions of people racially profiled and harassed by law enforcement, including own experiences, and after being man-handled, bruised, personal property and clothing damaged by over-zealous cops who discover that they have the wrong person, or find nothing, arrogantly tell their victims that this was done for their protection. I think of Emmit Till; Chavis Carter, who according to Alabama police out-did Houdini by being able to shoot himself in the head, while wearing handcuffs in the back of a police cruiser; Edmund Perry, an honor student at Exeter Academy, who was gunned down by a New York cop in an alleged robbery attempt; and my cousin, David Hendricks, a fisherman who was killed by sleep- deprived and notorious racial- profiling Mashpee policeman in a traffic stop, and I'm numb.


The fact of the matter is this: what made the Marathon Bombing a true tragedy int he American psychie is that suddenly, the average person can't feel safe in downtown Boston. Random killings and injuries from senseless acts of violence should only happen in the inner cities. The big difference, the killers from the Marathon have been apprehended within a few days, while the killers of countless children, men and women in the same city have and will continue to go unacknowledged by the media and unsolved by the powers that be. For many of us of Gen X, it's another day.

Geekdom Pt 2 - Geeked In The Aquarian Age

It was January of 1993. I was in New York on winter break from film school, and down in Tower Records on 4th Street in the east village. I had just discovered the income enhancing joys of grant writing for hire and feeling kinda flush, finding a bunch of preferred cassettes (Yep, I said 1993) on cool kids from middle school. One who's wrath against geeks was rather random. In my case, it was an attack on my wardrobe and the lack of designer names on my clothes. I remember he had several pairs of shoes (British Walkers, I believe) and sneakers (suede Pumas) in different colors that matched the colors in his outfits. His shirts were Chams (complete with the little plastic aviator worn on the top button). Most of my clothes came from Alexanders and Sterns, Macy's and Bradlees and any other long- gone, middle-class department stores that money-savy parents bought clothes for quickly growing kids in. He was
sale. I proceeded to the check out line and who's manning the register but one of the
waaaay to cool to buy clothes in department stores back in the day.

It was my turn in line. I stepped up and placed my purchases on the counter. He looked at me quizically, with that "I know you from somewhere..." look, that dissolved into a look of recognition, followed by one of slight embarrassment. Not looking up from the register, he asked, "didn't you go to 181?"
"Sure did." I replied, as I handed him my gold American Express card.
"What do you do now?" He asked, still not looking me in the eye.
"I'm in film school up in Boston."
"Film school. What are you going to do with that?"
I paused a second to let me mental response of "More than you're doing here." run through my brain, and said, "I dunno, probably go out to California and write for t.v... I seem to make my money writing.." grants of course.
I asked what was up with him. It seems he had started college on a sports scholarship and somehow flunked out in his sophomore year, and was still trying to figure it all out. Lacking a mature sense of mercy, I replied "Well, Bill Gates did the same thing." The rest of the exchange was pretty unremarkable except the discomfort that it caused him was evident.
I know it was a cheap shot, I know I could have used cash, I know my comments could have been less cutting, and the older and more mature me feels bad about doing it; but the 24 year-old me felt on top of the world.

The coming of age for the geek is an amazing thing. It starts to kick in around the age of 20 or 21; when your chronological peers start to mature and expand and suddenly, you're not so much strange as you are insightful.  It's an age where the cache that the cool kids and the beta kids floated on starts to lose it's steam and they are now suddenly called upon to step up their game into adulthood, and real life situations.

You see, the irony of childhood and adolescence is that it's a time of learning to live inside of a box and within a frame work; the very things that true geeks are bad at, because often times we see more possibilities than the social framework allows for. You see, your popular kids often become the doctors, lawyers, investment bankers, politicians and other socially acceptable status positions.
Occasionally, you'll see a cool kid or a beta rise to one of these posts; but generally their existence seems to be more a case of do or die. Due to the fact that they have a limited concept of success as well as the routes to success. Of course, coming of age for the geeks of Generations X and Y has an added boost and added challenges that can only be addressed by classic, outside of the box thinking.

 As we move further into the Age of Aquarius, we move into the age of reason. An age where it's no longer who you know, or even what you know, but how well you know how to use what you know. In other words, we ave moved into the age of the geek. There are certain indications of this, as older geeks pave the way. For example, back in 1990, I attended a party of the Harvard Black Law Student Association, where I remember  an awkward and lanky looking guy in a black Member's Only jacket (the official jacket of 80's geeks who were trying to look cool) holding court in a corner of the lounge just outside of the dance area. Despite his rather awkward ways, he was pontificating in such a manner that I jokingly asked one of my friends, "What's up with Leroy Howell, III over there?" People called him Barry... he was a geek... and now he is the president of the U.S... and obviously... still a geek.

To be continued...

GEEKdom Pt 1

Some of the GEEKS Among us

The other day my son told me that a girl in school called him a "Geek." Obviously, this was rather upsetting to him as it would be to any 4th grader. Now, allow me to say this: he comes by it honestly as
both my ex-wife and I qualified for the title throughout most of our lives. In fact, I often proudly proclaim that I've been representing 'Geeks With Swag' since 1982; the year after I realized that the "Cool Kids" don't define me, and I began to develop and brand my own style. Geek is an inherited trait.

Yes, by standard definition, he is a geek. Unfortunately, it's hard for a child to understand that there is nothing wrong with being a geek. The world moves forward because of geeks and always has. My poor son is a kid with a highly advanced vocabulary, wears glasses, possess a very sophisticated sense of humor, likes to read, prefers pretend games in the school yard to sports, is somewhat socially awkward, and often leaves adults in shock or stitches after engaging in conversations with him. At the age of seven, he set his sites on attending Harvard.

I explained to him that the mediocre are the superficial leaders of the social order, especially in school. They are the ones who create the social categories, of which there are generally 3 or 4:

"Daria" MTV's '90's Champion of Geeks. 

Popular Kids - Often earn good grades, part of honor societies, dress well and are liked by the cool kids. Often, popular kids are really geeks with a cloaking devise. Our political types generally come from this pool.
Cool Kids - Alpha types who are not the best grade earners. In fact they are often at the bottom of the grade barrel, but they often excel at sports or have been able to effect an image and social skills that make them popular. Their glory years are usually over by their late teens or early twenties.
Beta Kids - The followers of the Cool kids. They dress and act according to the standards set by the Popular and Cool kids; and are often the enforcers of the social order.
Geeks - Ironically, these kids are often Alpha types, have a different way of socializing and have interests that are outside of those of the 'norm', which makes them threatening to the social order and therefore targets for the (remarkably insecure) Cool and Beta kids. Ironically, they often have friends (even if occasionally clandestine) among the Popular kids.

Cool Kids and their Beta minions often get agitated when the Geeks begin to organize into their own social groups and are insulated from the influence of the Cool kids. When the cools and the betas realized that not only are they not being envied and admired, but they are meaningless and rebuked by the Geeks, the reactions range from shock to anger; thus deepening their senses of insecurity. One such cliche of geeks coined the popular Geek motto "Olim Mihi Faciet" which loosely translates to, "One day you will work for me."

Reppin' Geeks With Swag Since 1982

Intellect has never really been something that has been valued or admired in American society, as it has
been culturally set into the American psyche that intellectualism is less favorable. Intellectuals bear such tags as "dweebs," "nerds," "geeks," "spazoids," and a host of other names that made my middle school years such a treat. Americans are culturally taught to favor mediocrity, saving the competitive or ambitious senses for sports, careers, and a myriad of minor achievements. When children do well in school, we call them smart; without recognizing the irony of standardized exams and the preparations for them are akin to a mouse running through a maze for a piece of cheese. The Pavlovian- like conditioning to response to stimuli promotes in the box thinking and approaches. The child who remains unchallenged or un-engaged by traditional efforts at education are left to fall by the way-side unless they have a parent sharp enough to recognize that the goal is for their child to receive an education that will ultimately serve them; not simply for them to do well in school. Ironically, your natural intellectuals often fall into two categories: the ones who can thrive in the maze and rise to the ranks of A.P. and honors classes; and the majority of untapped genius who hang in the "B-" quadrant of the pool.

Intellectualism in America had about a 30 year window. Due to neglect on the part of the social guardians, We began to see it surface under President Eisenhower; where the counter-culture began to grow in size and stature. Under President Kennedy, we saw it actively encouraged and expand; continuing under President Johnson's watch. Nixon tried to push it back into the underground; Ford was ill equipped to address it at all, Carter tried to give it a boosts, and the Reagan administration should receive their proper place in history as the administration that ushered in the dumbing down of America. Let us remember: it was under Reagan's administration that school lunch changed drastically and a hamburger with relish and ketchup, fries and a non-dairy milkshake constituted a fully nutritious meal of the four food groups (Meat, vegetables, dairy and grains).

In short, if I were going to pin-point a year that the "Dumbing Down of America" was put into effect, I would have to say it was 1981 and through careful cultivation and patience, took 20 years to really start to kick in. This however, leaves the up and coming generations of Geeks to basically become a loosely associated guerrilla force to combat their detractors.

Meanwhile the advice I gave my son about the next time somebody calls him a Geek? "I'm not a Geek, you're just a pathetic bottom feeder trying to feel like you matter." I admit: it's a Geeky answer, but what else could you expect?

To Be Continued...

The Road Forward in Vancouver: 3

This morning I slept late. I made it all the way to 6:30am before I got up. YAY! The fog is starting to lift outside and I can see the mountains and the bay off in the distance. Vancouver is a rather pretty city. It's like a combination of several cities from back home in the east. At times I could be in downtown Manhattan, or the outskirts of Providence (which despite it's reputation, has a definite charm to it).

One thing however, the city apparently doesn't have a mayor like Guilliani or Bloomberg as there is a deep street and homeless culture to the city, the kind that I haven't seen in New York since my early 20's. Having been to the supermarket here and seen what folks pay in rent, against the unemployment rate, I can understand why there is such a homeless population in downtown. I went for a swim and had a toasted bagel for breakfast. Today was the first day of rehearsal for the now 'SOLD OUT' performance of "The Road Forward" all of the cyber planning and discussions culminated with al of the players in the same room.

Troy Slocum is a sound and tech man among sound and tech people. Troy is the man who made it happen so that I had a viola (with rosin), and midi controller for my workstation when I arrived on Monday. A cab ride to the rehearsal space and I walk in to find a keyboard set up, plugged in and ready to go for me when I arrived.

Thanks to James Brown, and George Clinton, and Babatunde Olatunji, and James Spruill, I'm a big believer in the practical and spiritual applications of "The One" in music. For non musicians reading this and scratching their heads, "The One" is the first beat of a measure in music. In most musics evolving from the African Diaspora, it's the beat that is emphasized and ties all of the instruments together, rhythmically. In my band leader's notebook, I have "The ONE" in big letters to remind myself that as a band, we all must be on "The ONE" I finally met the other band members today and they are incredible musicians as well as very nice people. As a group building jam, our warm up song is "Pass The Peas" by Maceo Parker. A great tune to pull folks of different styles together as the musicians are rock, blues and NDN country players, as we al locked onto "The ONE".

We rolled through some of the other songs for the show and 

It was a long and productive day for us all. I'm so glad to be in on this project and can hardly wait for the performance!

The Road Forward in Vancouver: 2

In case you didn't know, "The Road Forward" is a remarkably important piece on many levels. For one thing, it's only the second time in history that a musical by and about First Nation's people is being staged, and the first one which happened in the 1990's was such a disaster that First Nation theater people and companies were afraid to try it again... until now. So here I sit, looking out at the evening sky-line of Vancouver, from the 23rd floor, knowing that one way or another, I am a part of First Nations theater history.

4:22 am I spring awake. To my body, it's still 7:22 am; about the time that I get up to get my son up and ready for school each morning. The sun isn't even close to up yet, but I'm up and ready and waiting for the morning shift to come in so I can get them to give me the correct room. Don't get me wrong, this is a fantastic hotel and the room is lovely, but need a kitchen to flex in. Troy, the wonderful sound man was able to acquire a midi controller so that I wouldn't have to try to negotiate mine onto the plane and through customs. This one is the 61 key version of my 49 key system at home. I set it up and start running a few ideas and riff on my system, answer a few e-mails, and go back to bed.

Around 8:30 am, I call downstairs to arrange my room change. The sweet sounding young woman on the other end, initially tries to convince me that I can stay in my room and that there are wonderful restaurants in the area. I ask her if she can eat out every night for two weeks on her salary, or if it's healthy to subsist on microwaveable food for weeks at a time. I also point out that the production company paid for me to stay in a room with a kitchen. She makes arrangements for me to move to a room with a kitchen. I give a call down to Jennifer to see if she wants to grab breakfast, but she's on her way to Market Place IGA, a local supermarket to stock up her fridge.

IGA, seems to be a chi-chi foo-foo kind of place along the lines of Whole Foods or Food Emporium, with lots and lots of organic products. Makes me wonder where my fellow poor people shop. I also find that I owe a major debt of thank to the New York Public School system of the 1970's and '80's when they started teaching us the metric system and how to do conversions or I would have been at a complete loss at the deli counter, as I ordered by 100g of smoked turkey.

We had a production team meeting in the hotel lounge this afternoon. It was cool to finally see everybody in person. Theater people, music people, sound people and me in the role of being a music theater person who can do sound. I suddenly had the feeling of being a link pin or sorts; as I understand both the intensity of the theater personality and the aid-back flow of the music folks. I guess one of the reason I got into the playwriting and production end of theater because being laid-back as a writer doesn't seem to bother people as much as dealing with a laid-back director or actor. Marie explained what the process would be for ensemble development for the whole cast, musicians, actors and singers. Sounds like it going to be a fun process and it all starts rolling tomorrow morning. I also found out that the play is already sold out, which is unheard of for Vancouver. As Jennifer put it, "No pressure though..."

As the meeting closed and folks were leaving, I decided a little adult beverage might be the thing to go with dinner. Here, I showed how much of a New Englander I am when I asked if anybody knew of a package store in the vacinity. They al looked at me, Marie verbalizing the puzzled looks, "a what?" I replied, a store that sells beer and wine... in packages. She directed me to such a store, basically around the corner from the hotel.

Looking in the refrigerator case, skeptically starring at a 750 ml bottle of Flip Flop Mascato for $11 (I think they're bugging when they want $7 for a bottle of it at home), I suddenly realized that the 2 litre bottles of what I thought were soda were actually hard ciders!!! Anybody who knows me knows that I'm all about hard cider, especially cider proudly bottled in BPA free plastic.

So, tonight I'ma hit the pool, make some dinner, and enjoy some cider. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow morning, the reharsal for history begins.

The Road Forward in Vancouver: 1

FINALLY!!! I'm in Canada!!! You see,  back in September, I got a call from my good friend and fellow native musical artist, Jennifer Kreisberg about a project up in Vancouver that she was working on with our other buddy, the amazing actor, writer, and director, Michelle St. John; and their need for a band director and arranger who did contemporary native music, but with a funky, "Sly Stone/ Stevie Wonder edge." For some reason, my name came up.

The project, a multimedia performance piece with music called "The Road Forward" by playwright, Marie Clements. A version of the work had been presented at the Winter Olympics and the big, international PUSH Arts Festival was going to be an opportunity to showcase a full-length version of the show. Gee, let me think... a chance to collaborate with and perform in a first-of-it's-kind, First-Nations (more accurate then "Native Americans") musical? Sh-t Yeah!!! My tasks: collaborate with Jennifer Kreisberg in creating music for Marie's song lyrics, lead the band, and perform as an actor and singer..... right up my alley!!! Coming off of a collaborative project where I ended up being the playwright, producer and chief promoter, (WETU in the City) it was nice to be a part of a team where I only had to focus on the artistic works.

The first hurdle of collaboration was the distance. Jennifer lives way down in Connecticut, Michelle is in Toronto and Marie is in Vancouver. Taking a page from Gilbert and Sullivan, who wrote their operas by postal service (because they didn't get along), we did a lot of the collaboration via mp3s and e-mail. People can say what they want about the Orwellian aspects of the Internet, however, it is an amazing tool for artist collaboration for artists who live many miles apart. Jennifer would record a vocal part, send it to me; I'd figure out music to go to it as well as a basic band arrangement and send it back. She would record her vocal to the track and there it was: a show score via e-mail. The plan was that we would spend two weeks in Vancouver putting the show together and perform it as a part of the festival.

Time flew by and here I was, Monday morning walking into the United terminal with my luggage and carry-on bags. After the general degradation of the TSA check at Logan Airport, a 4 and a half-hour sardine can flight to Denver and one with much more room to Vancouver, I got into Canada around 9:00PM PST (Which means it was midnight by my internal clock). It's funny, it was easier coming through customs into Canada then it was leaving Boston.

The Vancouver airport is quite beautiful. A very modern building of stone, steel and glass, but as you walk through the exit area, you are greeted by traditional, fist nation's aesthetics, something that I doubt that the airports in Boston or Rhode Island would ever do, as in the states, native heritage is reserved for a picture or two in chamber of commerce pamphlets.... I digress. In spite of Canada's mis- treatment of Native people and the reaction of my relations to this, via Idle No More and related movements have brought these issues to international attention. Yet and still, the basic issues of human respect that are completely void in US culture, are pleasant to see.

Jennifer was coming yesterday as well, but her plane got grounded due to the fog, so she ended up arriving the same time that I did, which was cool and meant that Michelle only had to come to the airport once. I was glad to see the two familiar faces when I got in. As we got to Michelle's car I was presented with a viola case... my old friend... something that (by Jennifer's insistence) I'll be playing in the show. My first time playing one in public in about 23 years.

We checked into the hotel and got settled. I was supposed to have a room with a kitchen, but they gave me a room with a sink and a microwave... a mistake that would have to be corrected in the morning. Meanwhile, the immediate need was for food. The wonderful man at the front desk directed me to Davies St, a short walk from the hotel, chock full of "mom and pop" eateries. Armed with some Canadian money that I changed over in the USA (by the way, never use Citizen's Bank to change currency, they are a total rip-off with their 12% surcharge), and an iPod, I was on a mission. 

Vancouver was covered with a thick layer of fog,. The red and blue neon lights of the restaurants, clubs and shops along Davies St, piercing through the vast, milky fog tinted orange by the street lamps, against the soundtrack of my iPod and spurts of Monday night passers-by gave the otherwise quite street a certain sense of excitement. The presence of a falafel and donner kabob shop was a welcomed sight, as it brought back fond memories of the all-night falafel place on McDougal St in Greenwich Village from which I got dinner after many a late- night gig at Cafe Wha? or The Baggot Inn, back in the day. Ahhh, back to my room, eat some dinner, watch "Bye Bye Birdie" on t.v. and off to bed.

A Life Lesson From Ice Skating:

Sometimes, it's less humiliating to fall...
then it is to fight to keep your position...
As it all goes from sad
to amusing
to sad again

When you fall, you can get up again
and keep going
'cause if you paid attention to why you fell
You won't do it again
Because you learned something
If not you will the next time
or the next time
or the next time...

End of the World Post-poned Due to Rain

It's Official: The Mayan's saw their shadows, so the end of the world isn't coming today... oh, wait, I think I have my superstitions mixed up...

Okay, I really have to address Euro-centric arrogance as it relates to the Mayan calendar. I love how folks like to say that the Mayan calendar is off, and the shifts to the Gregorian Calendar. Check this out: The Byzantine/Gregorian Calendar updated the so-called Western calendar, recognizing that the earth takes 365.2425 days to complete a trip around the sun. The Mayan estimated 365.2420 days which is actually more accurate (Current solar calendar is measured at 365.2422). 

For those completely not up on your math, leap year factor actually leaves a .0012 - .0020 lag, which leaves us with two conclusions: 1) The date 12-21-12 as the estimated end date is based on modern calculations of the calendar and is thus accurate, and 2) the calendar calendar system would have to reset itself after 5,125 solar years, as that is the point when the earth would reach the exact same spot it was at on what would have been Aug 13 in 3113 BC(E). Next class, we'll discuss how metaphor is the language of the ancients (and the presents), as the obtuse fade into oblivion. 

 

Time to Break Out The Calendar

It's 12-21-12 and if you're reading this, you're probably still alive (or living the reasonable fact-simile that you call a life), I'd advise you run and grab that note that you left on your boss' desk; and apologize to the secretary for slapping her across the ass, exclaiming that all you want at the end of the world is a handful of her... meanwhile, there are a bunch of Mayan cats someplace enjoying casual Friday and saying to each other, "time to break out the new calendar..."