Bostonian Bus Buddy

Boston is such a fabulous city, so walkable and so easy to ask for directions. Last night I was transfixed on filming the full moon illuminating history in places like the Boston Commons, Beacon Hill and Granary Burial Ground, so much so that I missed chow time and reluctantly swallowed a Quarter Pounder whole, courtesy of a walk-up window at Mickey D's. You'd think a city this big, especially restaurants in the North End, would cater to night owls on empty stomachs but I found that Irish beer and a game of billiards is the only substance offered after midnight.

Today, I didn't let the sunshine distract me from finding food at a wonderful little colonial gem on the Wharf. Having wrapped on 4 days of video assignments I wallowed away in a tall cup of New England Clam Chowder without greasy fries. But following a late lunch it was time to board the Red Line outbound for Alewife Station and then hop the #62 Bus to Lexington. I had it mapped out and was ready for an adventure using public transportation. In Boston public transportation is the best way to get to know the locals and save precious parking fines.

On the bus I met Richie, a self-described 'good samaritan' in his early fifties who once saved 2 kids from being abducted. "When I saw this big guy trying to take those kids, I jumped on him and wrestled him to the ground", said Richie. "And ever since then I've tried to help anyway I can". Then Richie pulls out a phone card for 10 minutes of free airtime and hands it to me. "Here, I want you to have this".

"Oh, your very kind Richie but give it to someone who doesn't have a cell phone", I request. He tucks the phone card back in his satchel and goes on to recount some of his life's stories and opinions on war in a muted Boston accent. I can tell he's slightly tormented by his short time in the Army and admits that he doesn't talk much about it.

"Do you know that angels are among us?" asks Richie. I knod softly knowing that my new VA Hospital friend is about to confess some deep thoughts and I'm undoubtedly going to miss my stop because of it. And I do. I stay onboard to the end of the busline because Richie is an interesting guy and even if what he's telling me has nothing to do with Boston, I like a friendly face with interesting tales to tell. He too appreciated the company and bid me farewell with a hug and a worn out black ink pen hopeful to see my name in movie credits one day or better yet back on the bus tomorrow....

Bumming around Boston

I'm back in 'Bean Town' working this week as the Yankees battle the Red Sox in NYC. Legal Seafoods, Boston oldest and best known seafood restaurant was packed to the rafters when Boston's David Ortiz homered to deep right prompting dozens of customers to jump from their booths and cheer. Janet and I sunk low in our seats - she's a Texan smitten with Jeter and I'm new to the entire baseball seduction, but loyal to the Yanks. Prior to ordering a tasty cloudy pale Old Salt Ale (salt on the rim like a margarita) Janet and I found our to the New England Patriots Gillette Stadium where security was tight due to tomorrow's game with the NY Giants. We needed some attractive exteriors shots and the best sun shone brightly from the gated area so we pushed for clearance and... well, let's just say we got what we needed but not before causing needless consternation. Tomorrow, it's off to Boston's Fenway Park where one of the last hand-operated scoreboards in the Major Leagues is still in use. I'll make sure to make off with plenty of shots of this beloved and oldest of all MLB stadiums in the country. In fact, this year marks it's 95th.

A Land of Illusions

A giant size sleigh, reindeer meat and a huge red mailbox filled with thousands of Christmas letters convinced me that Greenland is the official North Pole of dear 'ol Saint Nick. But please don't tell your kiddies that Sony chowed down on Rudolph's barbequed hind quarters the second day she was there. 5 days have passed since coming home but I'm still feeling nostalgic as well as a little spooked by my many strange encounters in Greenland's barren but beautiful land.

It was an encounter with a mysterious mirage that's left me curious. Let me explain:

One morning we boarded a small fishing boat to traverse several miles through super dense fog also known as 'fairy fog'. It was damp and cold and most of the passengers huddled inside the Captain's quarters to stay dry. I was determined to catch sight of a whale, if only for a few seconds, so I stayed on the bow aiming my camera wherever I glimpsed motion.

The fairy fog was so thick that Rudolph couldn't find his way through this soup. The Captain used radar, sonar and GPS to intercept floating icebergs in our path. Sometimes we had no choice but to blast our way through ice-laden mines that scraped the boat and scared us yellow.

That's when I saw it. Not a whale or shark or seal but a half submerged fishing boat much like the one we were on keeping pace with us from 20 feet ahead. There were no people aboard it but it was most definitely sinking and yet surprisingly still pulling it's weight through the water.

How could this be I thought to myself? Was this ghostly image just a figment of my imagination or might it be real? I looked around to see if fellow passengers were seeing what I was seeing. The only other 2 journalists were staring in the same direction without any regard for it. My eyes were glued to it as it continued to keep pace with us. Then it slowly lurched to the right, crossed in front of us and disappeared into oblivion.

Wierd. Very strange indeed. I decided wisely to never eat another piece of reindeer meat again after that.

Dogged by Directions

I just found out that 9-year old Rocco, my Peppertree rescue mutt is a water dog - meaning he's a retriever bred to flush and retrieve game from water. Yes, of course, now it makes sense. When I take him to doggie-paddle the Normanskill river on weekends he thrives being waterlogged for hours. He hurls himself from the car running full speed into the creek lapping it all up with the unbridled joy of like bringing a kid to an amusement park. But my pooch is a stubborn creature and obeying his new master when she beckons him to shore is like a really bad joke.

"Come here Rocco...come on...over here boy. It's time to go. (Pause) For heaven's sake get your wringing-wet smelly fur over here!" I finally holler.

But nothing makes my dog mind when he's knee deep in fresh warm water on a hot sticky day. And with two other Golden Retrievers to my left playing catch with their owner my efforts are in vain. These younger dogs are obviously obedient school grads trained to play nice and listen to directions. My dog was rescued from an abusive family when he was 7 years old so who knows what he's had to endure. I find both reasons and excuses for his unmanageable but loveable nature and hug him tightly when he finally succumbs to my pleas, wet smelly fur and all.

Greenlandic Glaciers

The mountain track before us was a rocky sandy desert and hiking and biking it would have been an off-road nightmare. But we didn't have time for that so we hopped aboard a monster jeep refitted with enough seats for 20 people. From Kangerlussuaq to our destination it was a non-stop bump-and-bruise fest before finally pulling up alongside this magnificent glacier. But despite battered tailbones and splitting headaches spirits were lifted upon seeing this 8000 year-old beauty. It's called the Russel's Glacier and Jorgen Larsen, Greenland's jeep driver and tour expert explained that though it might appear that it's growing, rushing meltwaters underneath are tearing it down. The melting icecap makes for perfectly healthy drinking water and we watched as two hearty backpackers collected chunks of it for enjoying outside their small tents. Tents here are weighed down with sandbags on each corner because Greenlandic winds are as stong as the winters are long. I'm sure that lying on soft desert sand is comfortable enough but I'll stick to hotels, hostels and the hospitality of my guests while here.

Wild Mushing Mutts

These are not your average Iditarod or Yukon Quest sled dogs. These are Greenlandic hunting dogs and they can howl like a wolf and growl like a bear when hunting seal and walrus in the wintertime. They undoubtedly come from a long lineage of wolf ancestry domesticated into the present-day dog. But it's August and that means all 5000 of them, (more than the population of Ilussiat) are chained to a leash no longer than a kid's jump rope. It's disheartening to see technologies like snowmobiles and ATV's replace the loyalty of this hard-working breed and I wonder why so many are chained if they aren't needed...

The extent that these dogs can endure harsh winds and long exposure in the dead of Greenland is proof they are a unique canine. The owner of the Artic Hotel in Ilussiat tells us that they have a very keen sense of hearing and smell.

"They are trained to return to their master when he or she whistles" said Eric, "that way, if the driver falls off the sled the dogs don't continue to run."

But dog-sledding is mostly recreational and so owners will keep, on average, 9-15 dogs chained behind their house. It looks inhuman to see them stuck to heavy medal chains living on barren rock with no grass, food or shade...but then again, I'm in a foreign land with foreign customs and traditions and the last thing you do when your a visitor is 'judge'.

Snap, Crackle, Pop

The settlement of Sermermiut is a unique archaeological find in Greenland. It's part of the Illulissat Ice Fjord and remarkably beautiful when the sun peaks out. This morning the sun did more than peak - she showered the ice glacier with light so spectacular I had a hard time focusing. The jagged mountainous terrian extended for infinity so much so it was hard to tell if the distant mountains were icebergs or billowy clouds. Snap, crackle and pop sounds of ice expanding pierced the silence and I was never so thankful for getting up at the crack of dawn and trekking for 3 miles to this one solitary spot.

I teetered my way from cliff to cliff exploring every vantage point, angle and dimension I could find. It was slightly slippery and a little chilly but nothing like the rain and wind from yesterday. To tell you the truth, I was too excited to even notice and let mini-me (my Sony camera) bask in the splendor of capturing highlights beyond anything I've ever shot before. Icebergs cast an undeniably spell over a new viewer, a spell that left my eyes burning from staring so long.

Ice Fjords

Just returned from a 1 hour hike through the rocky backcountry along the coastline overlooking Greenland's Disko Bay. The morning mist didn't burn off as expected and instead of a beautiful blue backdrop the ice-craters looked like they belonged on the moon. Every once in a while when we were super still and listening closely we could hear shards of it crashing and tumbling into the motionless waters.

Above the Artic Circle

A sunset overlooking Greenland's Ilulissat and Disko Bay, just above the Artic Circle, is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It took hours (roughly until 11pm) before it eventually melted into the deep blue shrouded in white sheets of low-lying fog. The object over my left shoulder is not a ship but rather an iceberg that will surely be gone by morning. The ocean surface is an ever-changing environment with icebergs vanishing like a magician's rabbit trick, never to be appreciated again. It's sad that thousands of years of traditions like dog-sledding, ice-fishing and seal hunting for the Inuit people will cease to exist in the near future.

"Yes, in 10 years the icebergs will be all gone" repeats the Artic Hotel's top cook in broken English. Last night we dined on cooked whale meat, reindeer, cod and barbequed chicken as it was prepared outside on a grill at Greenland's most sought-after (and only) 4-star hotel. Managing Director Erik Bjerregaard showed us 5 make-shift aluminum igloos available for staying in behind the hotel that overlook the sea. They were cramped but cozy and would make for a unique honeymoon experience for married couples. The amenties inside were emaculate - all Swedish, Danish and Philippe Stark inspired designed furniture with clean lines and crisp colors. I love places like this - so Ikea.

Oops - I'm late for another boat trip to an iceberg before it melts away. Stay tuned for more from tonight's adventures.

A Dash of Delicious

Yummy - reindeer for dinner and Greenlandic coffee set a fire with Kahlua and Grand Marnier on top. Yes, dinner last night made up for not seeing any whales...yet. It's time to board another 26-seater for northern Greenland.

Whistling for Whales

"There she blows!" yells one of the passengers aboard the small motorized tour boat we took on off the coast of Nuuk, Greenland. Everyone swings their cameras to the starboard side just in time to catch a few seals fooling us with their playful nature. We're on a whale safari today to see one of the many migrating whales that live here through the summer. Unfortunately, it's a little late in the season and most of them are roaming the ocean depths closer to Iceland. The weather is typical of Greenland - cold, damp, overcast and foggy. It adds to the mysterious moody feel of the hunting grounds between inlets.

2 hours of rain later and both my camera lens and me are soaked to the bone without a trace of a beluga or hunchback. I abandon the top deck of the tour boat and duck under the canopy to warm up with tea and sandwiches. Our guide has done well in preparing our lackluster activity by bringing a stash of candybars. Might Orca like dark chocolate I ponder....

Back on shore more disappointing turn of events. Our helicopter ride above the icebergs is canceled due to the Dutch Chancellor and German President coming to town today. The helicopter was needed to escort them around Southern Greenland to discuss politics. Being that we're in a country with so few extra helo's hanging around we are far less important than they.

Ah well, maybe dinner tonight will make up for it. I'm hoping for a deserving taste of whale blubber, the same kind that so many Greenlanders survive on and enjoy raw. Yes, raw. One of the photos above was taken minutes before a fishmen scarfed down a bite of it licking his chops all the way.

The bottom photo doesn't show it but their cemetaries always face the ocean. It's a tradition that preserves the idea that the spiritual world need a fantastic view to rest in peace.

Nuuk, Greenland

It took several plane trips, 5 to be exact, to make it to Nuuk, Greenland, the smallest capital in the world - no more than 15,000 inhabitants to be exact. From a difficult perspective of 10,000 feet I saw huge inland fjords the size of the Grand Canyon x 100. I gazed down at aqua-toned rivers and lakes so bright, clear and placid it was like peering into a living illustration of a children's coloring book. Dizzying mountain peaks in an infinite horizon of melting snow caps and rugged cliffs filled me with a sense of insignificance.

Here I am in a country so vast and impennitrable where global warming scientists from around the world are gathering to study invaluable information about the future of climate change and I think I making a difference using solar-powered windows and recycling plastic. It seems so unrealistic that I could be making any measurable dent in the problems that face this world in an area where carbon dioxide is having the most impact. But, I haven't even landed yet and need to stay focused on why I am here - mainly to write a human-interest story on the cultural experience of getting to know the Arctic, Inuit and Danish people and what they do to survive this merciless environment.

We flew in on a small 26-seater Dash 7 where half the plane was stocked with boarded up cargo. Landing on a landing strip no longer than a bowling ball lane we unloaded onto a tarmac of 55 degree temperatures kissing our cheeks and a hospitable sun showering down on us. Not liking heat or humid, I thought "this is my kind of weather" and "I could live here." The cool air smelled crisper and cleaner and more invigorating than I've ever experienced.

We boarded a bus with a local driver unwilling to help us with our luggage but no matter we're a self-sufficient group of 10 experienced, skilled and talented travel writers and we can fend for ourselves. We're staying at the Hotel Godthab in the heart of the city of Nuuk looking forward to 4 days of whale safaris, ice-hiking, helicopter rides to melting icebergs and dining on the world famous muskox. Internet time is hyper expensive but I'll do what I can to keep you informed of this magical place and the tough cultures that prevail here. Check back soon.

Paul Bunyon in the Flesh

Donning loose slippers, a straw hat and worn gloves from FDR’s Public Works Program of the 1930’s this strong-willed senior refuses to sway back and forth gently in a rocking chair like most retirees his age. Instead, he goes in searching for odd jobs that nobody else wants to do or that would cost a small fortune to have professionals tackle. Jobs like chainsawing dead trees down and ridding hornets and other pesky vermin from homes and garages.

His modesty made sure that I didn’t post a picture of his face and I can’t tell you his name but he’s 81 yr. old and can climb a tree higher than Tarzan and chop wood faster than Paul Bunyon. Shorter in stature and older in age he was the first member of his family to earn a Ph.D and go on to teach physics for nearly half a century. The secret to his longevity - he’s feisty, stubborn and determined to go on living as if senior prom is right around the corner.

When I saw him swinging an ax at my neighbors dead maple in stifling hot heat last week I rushed out a big bottle of water to him. Surely I thought he could use some refreshments and while I was there I would help load his van with logs the size of Rhode Island.

“Nope, thank you Little Lady but I don’t need any of that. And I use the law of physics to roll these logs into my truck so I don’t hurt my back. I’m doing just fine.” said the old man in a proud gentle voice.

I thought about it - who was I to argue with a man who survived this long without Poland Springs?

I stepped back and gave him room to let the sawdust and woodchips fly. Down came crashing branches, loose limbs and empty birds nests from a tree that was hit by lighting this summer. I staired spellbound at the old man as he hacked through burned bark and leafless limbs letting the pieces scatter on the ground. I thought about how much that tree had survived - years of change and instability not unlike the old man wielding the ax infront of it. Suburban development, natural disasters and little creatures that burrowed inside it were no match for the tree’s or the old man’s tenacity and perseverance. And rather than drink the water I offered he insisted that I take a pint of fresh-picked cherry tomatoes from his garden.

Without a name or picture the old man (and the tree) had unexpectedly shared an important life lesson in growing old - kindness and resilience.

I Vow to Videotape

Shooting weddings are a necessary evil for a single gal birthing a HD Production business in a sea of competition. And, because I’m no fan of gushy sentiment and sappy hallmarks desperate times demand desperate measures. So, when my buddy Ian of Wedding Combo set me up for a half a dozen or so this summer I knew I had to make some adjustments to my attitude and routine. First off, to get me in the mood for the happy couple (me bitter? no way) I treat myself to copious amounts of grease and sweetness.

“Make that a double rootbeer float topped off by A&W’s 100% U.S. Beef Papa Burger and curly fries please.” The waitress approvingly winks and rushes back to the kitchen with my order. Yessss… I feel better already. Minutes later I’ve shaved off 2 months of life-sustaining salads for a quick fix of happiness. I chug down the caffeinated concoction, wipe the vanilla dollop from my chin and feel satisfied with myself.

Like last weekend, tonight’s wedding is at the Fort William Henry Resort overlooking beautiful Lake George and the Adirondacks in the distance. Clouds look ominous but rain isn’t predicted and the bride and groom are relieved since the ceremony is sans roof. I mic the groom, toss together positions for both cameras and then jump into motion as the wedding march signals the start of bliss and harmony… or until the honeymoon ends (still not bitter).

“Do you, _____________, take this woman/man, _______________, to be your wife/husband…do you promise to be to him/her a loving and loyal husband/wife, to cherish and keep her/him in sickness and in health..”

As I brace for the right answer I feel my sacchrine-laced drug wearing off much too quickly. Usually Big Macs and Quarterpounders keep a smile stapled to my face until long after the cake-eating contest but tonight I’m feeling anxious. And then I know why. Out of the corner of my eye (with one glued to the viewfinder) a wanna-be guest with a crummy-little palmcorder is standing in front of my second camera. He’s totally blocking the wide angle view! Oh no! I loathe it when muggles interfere with the magic of the moment and intrude on my job. My stomach grumbles for a McChicken.

I try motioning to him to back off but to no avail is he budging. He bounces from right to left but never fully allows the second wide shot camera to do its job. Ugghh, so much for that.

And so goes another reality-driven moment in the world of wedding videography where, unlike cinema, nothing can be controlled, done over or even rehearsed. It’s as spontaneous as you get including the queasy stomach I got from sneaking a piece of wedding cake.

Community Gardens

Most of them grew up on farms in the deep south planting acres of okra, cabbage and collard greens. They spent their youth doing back-breaking work in seething temperatures learning about the importance of self-sufficiency and a diet ripe with home-grown vegetables. Gardening has been a way of life for them and though they are 70, 80 and 90 years old the small plots of earth they cultivate is a release from looking or feeling their age.

“Kids today are lazy. I worked so hard when I was 16…nobody works like that today” laments an 80-year Jamaican woman at Garland Court in Albany’s South End community garden.

She and other elderly generations are picking their fortunes of sweet tomatoes, string beans and hot peppers in a weed-free garden that they’ve nurtured for nearly 20 years. And rather than hording the harvest they share everything with their neighbors, hence the name Community Gardens. This is only one of 46 locations in the Capital District that’s keeping me busy today videotaping footage for a new series on WMHT called “It’s an Age Thing.”

The show has been a rewarding and energetic endeavor, especially when I get a chance to meet the busy boys of the USS Slater, a special doctor who treats inner-city West Hill patients for free and a Veggie Van that delivers fresh produce to low-income neighborhoods. The Capital Region is blessed with maturing generations full of ideals and principles that could go a long way in shaping the attitudes of today. All of you have to do is look no further than the Community Gardens of the Capital Region to know that.

Ice in August

Rainbows were a dime a dozen in July but it’s now August and dry as a bone. That’s not good for a brown lawn and an overworked air-conditioner. Two tulip trees in my front yard are sprouting dry dead leaves and Rocco, my Peppertree rescue mutt, pants so hard at night I have to wear earplugs. Where’s that furious forecast calling for an 80 percent chance of thunderstorms like Pittsburgh is battling right about now? And I just read on Reuters that flooding has increased from 60 to 100 per year in the last 2 years with some 70 serious floods registered in Sudan, Ethiopia, Myanmar, Philippines, Vietnam, Indonesia, China, India, Bangladesh, Nepal, Pakistan, Afghanistan and Colombia just this year.

But in a few short days I’m off to Greenland where I’m expecting more than my fair share of drizzling rain. Melting ice glaciers, river run-off and disappearing polor sea ice is the kind of precipitation that spells disaster for the world. It has something to do with thermohaline circulation, the Gulf Stream, salinity and the Great Ocean Conveyor Belt. I don’t claim to know all the facts but that’s when I can turn to friends at NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association) Dr. Rick Lumpkin and Dr. John Kermond. I met both guys while shooting the Semester at Sea documentary on the MV Explorer in 2005. Both scientists were aboard to deploy drifters and argo floats that measure ocean currents. It was a science that sparked my curiosity and understanding about CO2 levels. But the fickle nature of climate change is deeply complex and the phenomenon will largely leapfrog right over my viewfinder if I don’t do a little research beforehand.

Shout-Out to Stan's Sport Bar

Sunday's baseball game in the Bronx still puts a smile on my face and why not when two 9/11 firemen offer to pony up a round of Yuengling after the Yankees win.

Stan's Bar, across the street from the stadium was filled to the rafters with pinstripe-wearing fans, many that were too soused for conversation except our bleacher-creature friends seen here. The bleacher seats are strickly alcohol-free so anyone unfortunate enough to sit there usually races to Stan's for refreshments after. Following my debacle with 3 guards (long story) and tackling the afternoon traffic on the Major Deegan Expressway, I personally needed a pitcher to plunge into.

Stan's is your typical college-age watering-hole, ideal for cocky blowhards because the 80's music drowns out the obnoxious behavior. Stacy and I didn't venture far after saddling up to the bar minutes into the cramped venue. The firemen were standing to our left and launched into interesting stories about baseball, 9/11 and A-Rod. Seems so that Fred, the man on the left side of the photo above, sat next to the MVP, All Star player on an airplane destined for Seattle once. Way back in 1996, the young 20-something year old baseball prodigy leaned over and asked Jim and his wife to help translate an article written in English for him.

"The article was all about him and he couldn't quite read it because he's from the Dominican Republic" said Jim.

Fred beams with pride knowing he might be the only man in the entire bar to have met him, got his autograph and even taught him a little English. Way to go Fred.

Girls of Summer

Bastion of Homeruns

3 hours was suppose to be enough time to find Yankee Stadium, park and climb to the tip top of tier 10 for our seats but being that A-Rod curled his 500th career home run inside left-field yesterday, everyone and their brother were out scalping for tickets today. Traffic was notorious and price-gouging for limited parking was in full effect. But nothing could keep us from selling our stubs and miss A-Rod try again. And even though it didn't happen, another record was set when Hideki Matsui became the first Japanese-born Major League Baseball player to hit 100 home runs. Talk about timing, I'm barely a baseball fan of a couple days and I'm seeing history in the making. But I studied my stats last night and asked a whole mess of questions today so I'm fairly certain that I'll not have to feign interest the next time I'm in a bar with my buddies.

Focusing on the game despite excessive distractions like food, drink, music and rowdy fans proved difficult. Stacy and I were both hungry and the greasy snack scene included hotdogs, cotton candy, crackerjacks and an ice cold Fosters. All of which smelled surprisingly appetizing. So we whipped out ungodly amounts of moola and shared a legendary (some would argue indigestible) frankfurter. Food outdoors (regardless of what it is) always taste ten-times better when shared with a crowd of 55,000.

The next 2 hours a couple exuberant teenagers amused us by launching themselves into the air to cheer on their favorites. I snapped this silhouette shot of them at the height of their glory. Yes, the high-energy atmosphere was magical but before I could pronounce 'Abreu and Cano' the 7th inning stretch ended and it was time to go. In closing, everyones favorite blue-eyed crooner got the fans singing and swaying in unison...

These little town blues
Are melting away
I'll make a brand new start of it
In old New York
If I can make it there
I'll make it anywhere
It's up to you, New York, New York.

What a day!

Field of Dreams

Oh no - I'm off to see my first Yankee game at Yankee Stadium this weekend and I don't know the first thing about the 'Bronx Bombers'. In fact, baseball itself is as foreign to me as speaking swazili. I mean I know enough from my softball days in elementary school to smack a plastic whiffle ball, dart around bases, cross homeplate and celebrate with koolaid and hotdogs. Beyond that, I'm hopeless and that's inexcusable. The Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown is a short 2-hour trip west on Route 20 and Abner Doubleday, the American Civil War hero and supposed inventor of baseball was born right here in Ballston Spa.

The sport receives my utmost admiration because it boasts the mother load of all facts, figures and anecdotes. Fans that can recite from memory every score, swing, steal and strike of a Hall of Famer should be curing cancer with all that brain power. Little kids are notorious for memorization and I'm sure I'll be asking a 7-year to help explain what a RBI means and where to find the bathrooms at the "House that Ruth Built."

The game is Sunday against the Kansas City Royals so it's back to the books playing catch-up until then...

Preview Quebec

An article I scribbled for GoNomad when I was a super neophyte writer (only 2 years ago so not too much has changed) was published in Preview Massachusettes magazine this month. This is my second published (albeit shortened) article in print and I'm super thrilled.

GoNomad's first international assignment for me included glorious Quebec City, Canada during their annual summer music festival. This was before I was a freelance shooter so unfortunately Travel Shorts video had yet to be thought of. The 3-day sojourn from my busy tv job hooked me for travel and I left CBS shortly after. It was a great move despite my nerves bouncing about like popcorn kernals right before mortgage payments are due. It's a heady climb with no end in sight for swiping the credit cards but there's no doubt that I wouldn't have it any other way. You got a dream? Line your pockets with a years worth of jingle and go for it! Max and me did. Thank you always Max.

Intelligent Life

"The evidence that the earth is being visited by at least one extraterrestrial civilization is extensive both in scope and detail. In its totality, it comprises a body of evidence which at the very least supports the general assessment that extraterrestrial life has been detected, and that a vigorous program of research and serious diplomatic initiatives is warranted." - Dr. Steven Greer, Director of CSETI (Center for the Study of Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence)

I'm maintaining some late hours lately but the bonus is I get to listen to the BBC and avoid traffic jams at 2am. But it's nights like this, when the moon is out and rabbits are darting across warm pavement, that exciting things happen. Like a couple weeks ago when I was driving home from a late night edit session I had my first brief but identifable and conclusive sighting of a UFO.

I was rounding a bend in my development, almost home when I noticed it lingering just ahead. As soon as my eye caught sight of it though it went zipping across the night sky like a lighting rod. It was only a streak but it kept direction long enough for me to know that it wasn't a shooting star or some natural phenomenon. I would approximate that it was no higher than 500 feet above me and I couldn't quite tell if it had any shape or width to it. It was just a couple of dim lights blinking softly and then it stole away into oblivion - like a rip in the sky tore open and swallowed it whole.

It was a most riveting moment but nothing too surprising, shocking or scary. Rather it's spooky stuff like this that lends optomistic support to an intelligence far greater than our own. It would be wonderful to think that it supports univeral healthcare, loves the environment and can save us simple mortals from electing another cabal of war-loving henchmen.