Party Jungle

Pincers

These are the hot dog days,
natural, less studied
whose calculated misbehavior
is a picture of true boys
crowd into the back seats
feet that make toe-dancing
sleeping porches, scrambled eggs
pork chops and pincers,
a moat, a throne
gone to the circus
and certified the clowns.

(for JCRW)

For Jill

Sometimes, the tough heart

Isn’t hardened from without

But cauterized from within

A fire there burning

So hot, so madly

It simply crusts over

And looks hard

To the impatient eye.

Yet for those willing

To stand firm

Bound to the earth

By faith in what

You know must be there

The reward, now uncontained

Is a tender stampede

Of all you wished for.

Morocco with Red Oxx

God as my witness, I thought it could fly

The world of film and television is hardly glamorous, more grinding than anyone outside the business can realize. However, one bright point in the grind is that it is hardly ever predictable. Rarely are two days ever the same and you'll never know what you may be asked to do. In 1994, for example, I was working as a writers'/producers' assistant on the Children's Television Workshop show 'Ghostwriter' and the writers decided to do an episode centering around a lost bird. For plot devices I cannot recall, they decided that we needed a Palm Cockatoo.

Having grown up in Australia and being slightly wonky on cockatoos, I patiently tried to talk the writers out of this choice. "Can't be done," I explained, "the Palm Cockatoo is indigenous to an isolated corner of Australia and is on the endangered species list." In typical show business fashion, it wasn't their problem, it was mine. I not only needed to find one in the U.S., I needed to find one for rent and figure out how to travel and house it in NYC for the shoot.

This was 1994. The almighty internet was only beginning to awaken and not really a viable option for research. I had to work the phones. This led to a host of amusing phone calls with zoos, animal parks, animal wranglers (including the fine folks at Jack Hanna) and so. No one had a Palm Cockatoo for hire or could even give me a lead, but it did not stop the folks on the other end of the line from trying to convince me to swap out the Palm for one of the animals they did have in-house including a penguin and, inexplicably, a mandrill (It was in the phone call where I was offered the penguin that I learned that 80% of penguins live in temperate waters. I made a joke about keeping said penguin in a cooler on set and I was set straight on this point.)

Eventually, somebody gave me a lead about a parrot park in Florida (where else) that had a Palm Cockatoo. Even though they had one I was skeptical that they would allow it to be used as on-screen 'talent' in a kids' show, but it turns out money talks. The next trick was finding a hotel that wouldn't mind such a feathered, endangered creature to hole up in. Turns out the answer is (was?) the Mayflower Hotel on the UWS. These are the things that you learn in such a gig.

The Palm, whose name eludes me, worked out well except for one scene. The action called for the bird to fly to its perch. I'm guessing the handler must have been out of the room at the time for when the cameras started rolling my my friend Dickie, the stage manager, tossed the bird in the air expecting nature to do the rest. Not so much. This endangered (and highly insured bird) did a total tuck and roll and came to a thud on the concrete studio floor. It's wings had been clipped and flying was no longer an option. Thankfully the bird sustained little damage and the partially ruffled creature finished out the scene and left the next day.

Thank You, Ma'am

I've waxed elsewhere on this blog about the inherent power of photographs as metadata for storage of memories. This power can be stored in other objects as well. For example, business cards. I've just been sorting through a stack of ancient business cards and I came across one for Gordon Adams in Philadelphia. Gordon was a friend of mine from the ninth grade in Northern Virginia. An odd, but very pleasant fellow of an artistic disposition, by some unknown means I reconnected with Gordon in 2000 when we were filming with James Brown in Philly.
I only have snapshots of recollections from that experience but I do recall that the last night we were in Philly, whereby Gordon came by and gave us an eclectic driving tour of the city well into the early hours, was one of the more unusual nights of my life. It started back in the hotel where for reasons unclear the production staff were quaffing champagne in our room. We decided to pay the production office a visit before departing for the evening. (Perhaps hitting up the petty cash ATM for 'gas & tolls' for the following day's drive home.)
We all jumped into the elevator with our flutes of champagne, dressed for an evening on the town. For our friend Mike Vernola, this consisted of a black polyester bowling shirt bedecked in flames and leather, fingerless driving gloves. Sure enough the elevator stopped and a group of suits got on. Mike raised his champagne flute, "Good Evening, Ma'am. Good evening Gentlemen." The suits passed around amused looks in the elevator like a naughty magazine and when they got off on the next floor, the woman amongst him gave him an alluring assessment and a sincere "Nice look." Mike raised his glass again, "Thank ya Ma'am." And we went about our night.
I wish I could remember more from the evening, but I have only two recollections. The first is that we arrived at the spookiest stone prison on the outskirts of town, somewhere past midnight. We stepped out of the car for a smoke and our friend Craig sprinted away in the darkness for no apparent reason. He returned about 20 minutes later having completed an entire perimeter run of the prison. Years later, I'm still baffled. And then around 3 a.m. we cruised the Liberty Bell, to stand outside, smoke, and watch the documentary video through the glass as it looped on into eternity.

Liberty

Sadly, Americans have forgotten who we are. We were founded and largely populated by immigrants driven from our homelands for daring to practice faiths that differed from the majority. To in turn, despise and suppress a minority faith for any reason – including the sins of their former countrymen – represents a serious blow to the American experiment.

The people that wish to harm the United States aren’t simply trying to destroy our buildings, our property and our lives. It is more sinister and more abhorrent than that. They are trying to separate us from our Enlightenment.

How are we choosing to fight repressive nations and cultures? By repressing our own citizens? By stooping to the level of our enemies? If you listen to the discourse and positions being taken around Park51 and many of the arguments since 9/11, that seems to be what we are intent on doing. As Americans in the truest sense of the word, we are better than this.

Liberty is the sibling of Love. It is not logical. It is very far from safe. Contrary to popular contemporary belief, Liberty does not guarantee success, security or happiness. It may even hasten our material demise. Liberty is that delicious risk that wells up from the bottom of your stomach. It only guarantees a journey on the unpredictable path steered by the crosscurrents of Free Will, Chance and whatever Divine Wind fills your personal sails. The route is unknowable to you or anyone else but you know in your heart you are supposed to embark.

And like Love, life is meaningless without true Liberty.