Ruling the Roman Empire

The past few days have been purely exhausting and quite maddening at times. As expected there is virtually no sense of semblance shooting a documentary deep inside the thick walls of Rome. There's simply too many factors that can't be controlled. Sometimes it's been a no-holds bar, geurilla-style, shoot from the hip, kind of assignment. Other times there's direction and a methodology but all that washes away when fickle weather patterns turn blue skies to black and/or herds of tourists interrupt a shooting scene. Yellow caution tape is not allowed and curious on-lookers are a force to be reckoned with. This is definitely a learning experience especially when navigating ancient grid-less streets of Rome, both on foot and in a car.

Let me remind you that the cobblestone streets of Rome were built hundreds of years ago, long before man invented cars - at a time when only a horse and carriage were used. But, today, drivers are packed and parked like sardines up and down narrow one-way labrynths with no room for error. Restaurant tables spill onto craggy sidewalks within inches of a car bumpers and blaring headlights. Homeless dogs and cats roam graffiti-marked alleyways picking at empty leftovers and a free handout. None of the shops carry marquis so there's no way of knowing what they sell until you crack open a heavy wooden door and peer inside. Retail owners are kind and courteous but patience is a virtue exercised regularly and not because of the language barrier but because the pace of this country is far more laid-back than us. Again, the exception being driving.

Tomorrow brings more of the same with little time to rest, relax and retire for a massage or blog again. Instead of just being a travel writer and experiencing the best in food and culture and play, I'm knee deep in the politics and pressures of working 12-hour days in one of the oldest cities in the world. That fact is both mind-blowing and challenging at the same time.

The Temple of all Gods

The Pantheon is Latin for "Temple of all the Gods" and it's where most of our documentary shooting was done today with the assistance of two big Arri 6000 HMI's and one 33 foot camera crane as old as the Rennaisance. It took some surmising to film while traffic buzzed around us and authorities questioned the permits but the good news is the dolly shots captured the essense of both the Pantheon and the Church of St. Ivo. Surprisingly, police officers forbid red caution tape or cones from blocking traffic and pedestrians during filming so it's up to us to maneuver around the locals. This is not as fun as an assignment in the Eternal City as you might think...

Long back breaking days with 300 pounds of equipment and tourists venturing into every scene during filming. Okay, enough complaining - I saw the Vatican, the Forum, the Colosseum and where Julius Caesar is buried with more sights to gaze upon all week. Oh, but a fabulous Italian Masseuse would sure feel good right now.

When in Rome

I haven't been blogging but that's because... well, take a guess where I am for the next 3 weeks? This photo with the pantheon-like column in the center of my apartment should easily give it away. Not Greece, not Sicily, not Corsica but rather, yes, Italy! Every morning it's panini with fresh mozzerella, soccer on tv, smart cars on the narrow roads and wonderful trattorias in the evening.

I'm here to shoot a documentary all about the domes of Rome and the old Via Papale. There's a talented mix of LA film people, writers, directors and producers here making this historical HD project happen. Historical because this will be the first all high-definition documentary shot on the architecture, grandeur and beauty of Rome. Days are expected to be long and intense with little rest and nourishment - outside of pizza, pizza and more pizza!

Last night I enjoyed a wonderful fresh home-cooked lasagna take-out dish from a restaurant down the street. The owner spent 18 years in Long Island so felt an immediate connection when I began speaking English with her. She insisted that I eat for free and recommended that I come back the next night for Pasta Fagioli. The lasagna was too good not to return so I brought along 4 hungry guys tonight for the minestrone, ravioli, fettucine and of course, 4 shots of lemoncello with taramistu! We all stumbled back along the cobblestone streets deliriously happy.

Burning Man Bragging Rights

The Burning Man Festival takes place in late August early September in Black Rock Desert City of Nevada. Some might say it's todays equivalent to the original Woodstock but instead of music there's art, instead of rain there's sand and instead of it being a one-time event, it's held annually. Each year there is a radical art theme with theme camps, large art installations, crazy costumed people and of course the burning of Burning Man.

My ever-eclectic NYC friends Jennifer Drue and Tory trekked there for 8 days of self-expression, self-reliance and spiritual change. They have bragging rights to one of the most sought-after festivals in the world.

Jen and Tory (like everyone) brought their own supplies, food, water and tools to survive in the harsh environment of the desert. Since food and sundry items are not sold anywhere in Black Rock City when supplies were running low they were invited to join 25,000 neighbors willing to share.

The extremes in temperatures are also not for the meek. During the day temperatures exceed 100 degrees and by pre-dawn they drop to below freezing. This year three unexpected sandstorms kicked up by strong winds coated everything with inches of gritty grainy powder. The white-out wasn't pleasant but then again only the absolute hardy can revel in elements of surprise and inconvenience especially when it adds to the romance of man vs. nature.

Next year my friends are insisting I join them for collective survival on the desert playa. The explosions, fireworks and ritual of burning a large wooden effigy of a 40-foot person sounds amazing but it'll take some time getting used to the idea of sleeping under a blanket of dust, infrequent sponge baths and lines for porta-potties that stretch as long as the horizon.

Cellulosic Biofuels

Today is BLOG ACTION DAY and that means that bloggers around the web are suppose to unite to put a single important issue on everyone’s mind - the environment. The aim is to get everyone talking towards a better future.

While on the road (photo of I-95 from dashboard) in NYC, Connecticut, R.I. and Boston this week I'm reminded how much Middle East oil I'm consuming to get my assignments finished. I own a 2005 6-cyclinder Chevy Malibu that gets about 33 miles to a gallon on long stretches of highway. Today, I'm ripping up about 400 miles. My car is better than most but I can still do better. That's why it's time for me to wean my car off fossil fuels entirely. Therefore, I'm posting an interesting read from the writers at Wired Magazine's September issue. Several green proponents offer advice on solar, wind, biofuel, and other guilt-free energy alternatives for 2008. This one is called cellulose biofuels and it especially caught my attention.

"Powering our cars with lawn cuttings, wood chips, and prairie grasses instead of Middle East oil sounds like a fine idea. The problem is cellulose. Found in plant cell walls, it's the most abundant naturally occurring organic molecule on the planet. It would be a potentially limitless source of energy if humans can find a way to break the tough cellulose molecule down. Bacteria and other microorganisms use specialized enzymes to break cellulose down on the forest floor, lawns, fields, etc. In effect, the bacteria eat it. Cows, goats, and deer maintain a special stomach or stomachs to digest the molecule; termites have scores of unique microorganisms in their guts that help them process it too. For scientists, though, figuring out how to convert cellulose into a usable form on a budget has not been easy. Corn ethanol is easier to produce than the cellulosic kind (convert the sugar to alcohol and voila), but it only yields 30% more energy than is required to grow and process it — not really worth the trouble. Cellulosic ethanol found in easy growing species like switchgrass could potentially give 80% more energy than is required to grow and convert it. We could grow one billion tons of it a year and it is in our landfills also as leaf and sawdust waste. So even oil corporations like BP are putting scientists on the job in a race to pursue new research on cellulosic biofuels."

Rum Swizzle

Bostonian-native Jen used to vacation here every summer with her family but that was many moons before she could enjoy a dirty banana cocktail. I stuck to the famous island staple - the Rum Swizzle. Both were enjoyed at Bermuda's oldest pub and restaurant, The Swizzle Inn. Their mantra: "Swizzle Inn and Swagger Out". The drinks were heavenly and we even had a friendly gent join us for the celebrations. His story? Not sure. He probably was hoping to hang with two pasty white blonds who were far too busy to enjoy the beach this week. Following the Chocolate Mousse Pie Jen got to talking to a living breathing Soothsayer. She was heavily engrossed in the Boston Red Sox game when the Soothsayer walked in and crowds began buying him rounds of Rum Swizzle. Might he be able to predict the outcome of the Boston game so I could drag Jen away from the game and go to sleep already? Apparently not because she insisted on watching until the very last inning while our taxi cab waited patiently. They won, thankfully. Hours before our rendez-vous with the natives I snapped this glowing creation setting behind the Gibb lighthouse. That's where we are off to this morning for eggs and bacon. More later

Catnaps in Paradise

I'm back in Bermuda for another 4 days but this time rather than race around the hotel checking everything out I hurried down to the beach to catch some rays with my new friend. Just in time for Halloween a friendly black cat joined me for a catnap while the sun melted into the ocean.

As mentioned by our taxicab driver 99% of this island imports everything they need to survive; that includes gasoline at $7/gallon, expensive cars that are taxed 100% and even raw vegetables. Though this tiny fertile island can grow plenty of tomatoes, carrots, bananas, cabbage, beans and lettuce for themselves (only 6000 residents) during tourist season it's simply not enough. I don't suspect so when millionaires like Ross Perot and Michael Bloomberg have homes here and invite their entourage to join them every weekend. As well as the annual PGA tournament that tees-off here this weekend with guys like Jim Furyk, Angel Cabrera and Padraig Harrington.

The tummy is talking louder than my keyboard so it's off to enjoy a hearty dinner somewhere, preferably outside so I can listen to waves breaking and see stars shining.

Oldest Living Pilot in the World

Captain John Miller is the oldest living pilot in the country, if not the world, today. He's 102 yrs. old and still circles above his Poughkeepsie neighborhood in his 1969 Beechcraft A36 Bonanza. He's been flying since he was 18 years old, that's 84 years - practically since the invention of aircraft! In fact, as an impressionable 4-year old he remembers when aviation pioneer Glenn Curtiss set a world record in his "flying machine" called the Hudson Flier.

It was May 1910 when Curtiss flew from Albany to NYC stopping briefly in Poughkeepsie to refuel when little John first caught sight of Glenn as well as his own inevietable future. From that day forward John lived, breathed and dreamed about becoming a pilot just like Glenn. That day came true when in highschool he was given a World War I Jenny JN-7H Classic Barnstormer to refurbish (WWI had just ended) and practice his passion. Instinctively, he knew the aerodynamics and mechanics of the rudder, the wing dihedral and 4 ailerons and elevator. Fast-forward nearly a century and you have undeniably talented, brave and accomplished military and civilian Captain who has, perhaps, lived more time in the air than on the ground.

Having a fetish for all things that fly I couldn't get enough of talking with Captain Miller or burrowing through his collection of rare photographs and newspaper clippings. Years of navigating in an open cockpit with loud rotating blades has deafened most of John's hearing so I kept my questions to a minimum and let him recite his remarkable past and the memories he holds dear.

Be watching PilotGirl Productions team up with Shenise Productions in creating a powerful and dramatic documentary on John, Glenn Curtiss and the re-enacting of Glenn's triumphant trip down the Hudson with ace-historian and pilot Steve Doherty at the helm.

Freakshow on Foot

Due to traffic congestion and working overtime I missed my flight home not once, not twice but three times last night; the 4:30, 6:30 and 8:30pm. By 9pm I had no choice but to spend the night in Baltimore and hope for an early trip home. At the crack of dawn, I rushed to the airport to catch my Southwest plane. Any other day I wouldn't mind staying in D.C. over the weekend (this town rocks) but this morning I planned to run the Susan G. Komen '"Race for the Cure" 5K in Albany, with or without appropriate shoes, and was pumped up for the experience.

Half-marathoner Jen Joy picked me up at airport as soon as we touched down and beelined it to Washington Park. During the ride I slipped back into my old-mans Haines t-shirt and kacky green sleep shorts and wiped the crust from my eyes. My lame, overworked, undernourished and exhausted body was about to jog, run or walk 3.1 miles with 2000 competitive female athletes, all of whome probably trained for months. I wasn't even wearing sneakers but rather a bulky pair of clog-style slip-on Merrill shoes. Hello blisters!

10 years ago I was faster than a gazelle, twisting through turns tighter than a washcloth. Today, I lined up at the back of the pack hoping to blend in like I belonged. Could I do this? Karen and Jen are beginner runners but were counting on me to keep them motivated, strong, and focused.

The gun pierced the anxious crowd and slowly the herd moved forward. We ascended the toughest part of the course, a 33 degree pitch for the first half-mile at a slow steady pace. Being the photo-guru that I am, rather than listen to music to lessen the pain, I carry a camera in my pocket. I whipped it out at opportune moments to capture us moving like schools of fish through dangerous waters. Jen and Karen thought me a "freak" to deviate from the course for a shot of the pink ribbon tree but doing so helped alleviate the pressure. Actually, I liken my shutterbug nature to having a good time with a race I was bound to embarrass myself at anyhow.

Then about 2 miles in Karen started slipping back and Jen couldn't catch her breath due to allergies. Suddenly, I remembered why I ran in the first place. I was once a skinny 96 pound twig in my twenties that could light my legs on fire like afterburners on a jet just by flipping a switch in my head. So I said goodbye to the pack and gunned it home. I flew like the wind for the first time in a decade. My legs were back and like a crazy cartoon character running through midair, there was no stopping them.

Weaving, darting, jumping and hurling myself over potholes in the concrete I made the last mile in under 6 minutes or so it felt like. The finish line came much too soon for my liking but that bittersweet moment of exhilaration and triumph was back! I felt so alive, young and reinvigorated. This was why I used to run, not for the blood, sweat and tears but for the finish line. Ahhhh, a moment of jubilation and to think only an hour before I was vast asleep at 30,000 feet. What a strange life.

"Positive Affect"

TV journalist and author Deborah Norville writes a powerful book on gratitude called "Thank You Power". It's a great read and one that I could have written including adding another chapter from tonight's wayward misadventures. A nameless man with a big heart personally escorted me to my hotel after finding me wandering aimlessly for 3 hours through his Arlington neighborhood. Frustrations were running high and all other alternatives were exhausted including having the hotel security manager come looking me. He gave up 45 minutes into his search. So, I sat sulking in my rental car prepping the front seat for a long night when my guardian angel came along and got to me to where I needed to be in less than 2 minutes. He drove a green van with a lead foot and a halo around his head. It wasn't much but I insisted he take a tip when he successfully lead me into the hotel parking lot. Boy, was I ever grateful! My "positive affect" skyrocked as the dopamine receptors in my cerebral frontal cortex rushed in. Let this be a lesson for anyone who thinks Mapquest and their own sense of directional prowess can get them anywhere and while your at it, read the book.

Bouncing from Bermuda to Beltways

The echo of whomever spoke
I awoke and faintly bouncing round the room
That time and once again I'm bouncing around the room...

My favorite Phish lyrics speak volumes as I bounce around the country this week. Echos of Bermuda's ocean breeze, hungry seagulls and cresting waves are but a memory as I swerve to avoid becoming a major accident from shredded tire tread on the Washington, D.C. Interstate 495 Beltway. It's rush hour on one of the top 20 busiest highways in the world and I'm approaching the worst bottleneck section.

A client from D.C. came calling as soon as I got home on Saturday, so now, here I am, wheeling around our nation's Capital with stops in Fairfax, Arlington and College Park. Breaking for dinner, I remembered what I liked about D.C.'s so much - restaurants, bars and specialty stores cater almost exclusively to young, single and hip crowds. Especially this place (see photo). It's called Coastal Flats and offers a huge deck where, even on a Wednesday, hundreds of happy professionals gather after a long day at the office. I peaked in to see what all the fuss was about. It was like entering Bermuda all over again - a ocean resort with the freshest seafood and best rum mojito this side of the Potomac. I asked the server when she might think this restaurant would be bouncing its way to New York State.

"Highly doubtful," she said. "It was started by a Virginia native and there's only 2 in the state so far".

Hmmm...that's too bad I shrugged. I bagged the rest of my Lobster Bisque as well as a take-out menu because it appears that I might be eating here for the next 3 days just to get my fill...