Sgt Crowley & Professor Gates - Tension & No Resolution

Despite the racist undertones, it seems to me as a former Assist.DA & Criminal Defense Atty, that this is a clear case of abuse of power by the police officer. It is not uncommon. The unique component is that it happened to a Harvard Professor. I hope that there is some movement towards reasonable de-escalation of the issues pertinent to police overstepping their authority. Sgt Crowley should have exited Prof.Gates home and gotten back in his cruiser. This is not a disputer where both men had equal power and authority. The report issued in this circumstance may be politically correct, however, it is very clear to me that the members of the panel are not criminal defense attys/prosecutors and have little understanding of the criminal justice system. They, unfortunately, missed a significant issue and did not step up to address the problem. By issuing a report giving both parties equal blame & responsibility, it is very clear that they were not able to get a clear perception of the problem in this case, nor do they 'get' the system and the average person's real danger of being arrested or abused when dealing with the police.

Boom / J.K. Cosmos - Reviewer for the New Rep

Boom – Review by J.K. Cosmos

Expectations aside, what was the point of ‘Boom’. Keeping an open mind, was this production entertaining? Was it informative? Was it engaging? Mastering language and staying in focus. Are these the requirements of an effective play? What is it that holds the audience and speaks to us as individuals? What is it that we seek when we take the time and buy the ticket?

Mulling it all over in my mind and reviewing the particulars, ‘Boom” is not it. The playwright tries very hard to create a work that is significant. He does not succeed, in this reviewer’s humble opinion.

How does the New Rep select their season is the next logical question? Not knowing the answer to that one, we can only hope for the best and wait on the next play that comes along in Watertown.

The scenery and costumes as has been the case in this season’s productions are fabulous. Really exceptional and not a disappointment. Kudos to those in charge and those accomplishing a fab set and dressing the actors.

The Actors over the top and the swearing and vulgarities were for what purpose? The repetition of swears and crassness, if it adds something to the work is fine. But when it is there and purposeless, then it is not fine at all. It grates. It annoys and looking to get out of my seat and out of the house, as soon as possible. The three actors tried to save this play, giving them some credit. To no avail. The 'woman' behind the scenes, Karen MacDonald, made sounds effects that was the closest to a female Mork from the popular show "Mork & Mindy". Not very effective use of talent. MacDonald is a talented actor, however, this play doesn't add to her creative process.

Some of the audience laughed at a few points in the play and it was hard not to notice the heartiness. So the question becomes were those few laughing, relatives or friends of the actors?

This is a production that you may miss. This is one that is not recommended and a true disappointment. This saddens this reviewer to have to share this negative opinion, as any creative endeavor deserves a shot. Unfortunately, there are so many playwrights working hard and having something to tell, to share or to just give us a reprieve from our daily routine, that this one is just not up to snuff in any way.

Reviewed – J. K. Cosmos

Sunday, January 2010 -

Bored out of my gourd & should be grading students' essays. Boring and dreary, unlike being in class. I should have used the time to write my own creative work, but kept thinking I had to grade & revise the kids' papers. Pretty much successful at avoiding doing anything at all. What a day! Now time to go to bed and get some sleep. Mondays are the longest day of the week, not just figuratively. Classes begin at 8 AM & end at 10 PM - it's an effort on pacing oneself.

Glad to have the teaching 'gig', still wondering where this will all move towards and where the end-game will be. At the moment, wishing for more and too tired to go after it.

Happy New Year!

Norseman in Skiathos

Leaning hand to chin, watching the sailboats on the blue sea was becoming routine on this island. What’s to do today? What else could be seen? How can this solitude in beauty become so boring? This is something that won’t be shared when she returned home.
She finished her Greek demitasse coffee and paid the waiter. The staff at the cafes wore white shirts, black pants and black shoes, even on the most humid and hot days. For the most part, they had fair skin, brown eyes and tanned bodies and faces with black, slicked-back hair. They kept their cool, somehow. That coolness was an island secret.
Walking along the dockside and near the shops and small cafes, she had seen it all before and didn’t stop or slow her pace. She was restless. She was so restless, that she entertained going home earlier than planned. The quaintness of the shops and the items for sale held no interest for her.
Tan and healthy-looking, trim and tall, she kept to herself and saw the sights. She hadn’t tried to meet anyone or talk with anyone on this trip. The island had so much to offer and she had brought plenty of books.
The prior evening at the Skiathos Palace, she dressed for dinner on the piazza. She dressed in turquoise and sheer flowing dress. The outfit was very short, to display her tanned, long legs. She wore strappy high-heeled sandals. They were silver. She didn’t want to have company for dinner. The maitre d’ led her to at a table of other guests and seated her with a group. He most likely thought it was for the best, the young woman to be seated with a group.
How would it look for an established hotel to have young women alone at tables for one, dressed in such a provocative style? He appreciated the style, but as his position was one of decorum, he had to seat her with a group.
The dinner seating was with Americans, and ugly they were. They dressed too casually and were too loud. She didn’t appreciate being a part of this little party. Directly after dinner, she requested a small table for one. The wait-staff accommodated her request. After all, they were Greek and had dignity. They appreciated the young woman’s preference to be alone than with an obnoxious group. She smiled a too wide, too welcoming smile to the waiter that lead her away and closer to the sea.
The sound of the waves and the night was mesmerizing. She was still bored, but at least the boredom was in a most pleasant atmosphere. The darkness of the night was opaque and velvety. The stars were not glistening at all. The stars were hidden from view, an unusual event on a summer night.
After her coffee and glikia (sweets), she decided to walk around the hotel grounds. As she moved away from the dining tables, two other young women approached her. She wasn’t offended and thought perhaps this conversation would be more entertaining than that of her dinner companions.
She was right.
One woman, blonde and petite, was chatty and soft-spoken. She said that she was from just outside of Chicago. The other woman was somewhat mousey, the dull brown hair and of medium stature and appearance. Both seemed genuine enough. They were tourists and open about their visit and touring around the Greek Islands to see as much as possible before the start of the school year. They were teachers, elementary teachers and very nice. Not interesting, but nice.
After some introductions and pleasantries, the women mentioned a Norse ship and Norseman in the bay area of the Old Town. They met him earlier in the day and were fascinated by the ship and his reclusive lifestyle. They were invited to the ship for cocktails the following afternoon and asked if she would like to join them. She did.
No qualms about going on board with strangers. What an adventure.
She went to bed, glad for this happenstance at breaking the boredom of the island. She fell asleep thinking of Norsemen and ships. She fell asleep and dreamt of the Norsemen and how they might be so far south of their homeland.
Meeting the women the following day in the hotel lobby seemed fine and easy to do. She met them and they greeted each other with enthusiasm, not so much for each other, but for the adventure that they were about to embark on. She decided to wear her swimsuit with a dress as a cover for the party. She had found a blue bikini in Athens and so, that was the choice under the dress. The dress was white, a light cotton with embroidery on the edges of the hem. The hem was uneven and had small pieces of material on the edges. It was more of a skimmer, than a dress for the city. It was fitted and sheer. She decided a scarf of blue would be a perfect accessory for the boat, or ship. Whatever, it ended up being, it was on the water. The blue scarf had tiny coins attached to the edges of material. It was gauzy and a large square of material, that she tied in a double French knot, insuring that the coins were visible. The others in the group had on sundresses with empire style high waists and sandals. She knew that she looked sleek and well-done in comparison. It was comforting.
A bare-chested man welcomed aboard. The three of them boarded the ship, which was not in the least as she had dreamed. It was much more.
The ship was of Norse design, made of wood and high polish or lacquer on the bow and sides. The front of the ship was shaped like a warrior with long, wavy hair and a large nose coinciding with the front of the ship. The entire front end was painted a bright blue and the paint melded into a turquoise colour with yellow edges and a tone of white/blue overlapping on the entire side of the vessel. It was a work of art. The ship had an appeal that the Greek sailboats did not. The romantic fantasies dancing in her mind couldn’t be resisted. The artwork and the lines of the ship were so engaging. The women were on board and looking around to get their bearings. The view of the harbor and being viewed by the tourists walking by was a break from the routine that had become a daily chore these past weeks. The evening breeze lifted their spirits and lifted them.
Their host introduced himself and surprisingly he was not from Scandinavia, but from Germany. His features looked to be German, aquiline nose and penetrating eyes. Was that German? She couldn’t decide. She knew that he wasn’t Greek or from Southern Mediterranean.
He was charming although not warm. He was gracious and the staff passed around trays of interesting appetizers and desserts. He thought it might be fun to have guests on board he told his guests. There were only ten or so people on board. It wasn’t a very large party, but a more intimate gathering. He seemed to want to tell those onboard about the ship and how he came to have it and how he designed and painted it for this journey. The details of the story again, too boring to retell. She kept thinking that being on this boat would be a diversion; however, the chatting was also routine about the host. There was little discussion about anyone else or any other subject. The purpose appeared to be to ‘show’ the ship to tourists and to entertain him by retelling his story.
After some time of small talk about the ship, the journey and the Captain, many of the guests left and went ashore. The women that invited her stayed on and were getting somewhat tipsy on wine coolers. They were funny in this state, more talkative and cheerful. She thought she’d stay and see how things developed. The small group went below deck to have a few more drinks and relax. It was surprisingly relaxing. The Captain proved to be very gracious and his hospitality included a tour and more discussion on the features of the ship and his journey from the north to the Aegean Sea. All an adventure and the sharing of that adventure seemed generous to her. How cool was all of this? She was glad to be included in the evening’s festivities. There was no major upset or any shenanigans. The people were there to enjoy and have a party. Being in the hold of the ship with total strangers should have worried her. But, the reality was that the group was all having fun and the stories were interesting.
The following morning, she decided to leave the island and return to Athens, not Boston. At least in the city, there would be plenty to do and to see. Although, she’d traveled to Greece many times before, this trip was a solo one and deserved some effort before returning to work and life with responsibilities.
She packed, checked out and after a light Greek breakfast, found a taxi to take her to the airport. She had travelled here by a Flying Cat Hydrofoils. It was an exciting experience and the best and quickest way to travel between islands. This time, the flying to Athens seemed to be reliable and also quick. She found her way to the small, gray airport terminal and found the check in for the Onassis small aircraft. The flight was delayed. Being here in the dreariness did cause some angst, as it would be preferable to be sitting in the sunshine and under a blue Greek sky. She made the best of it, and found a spot near the gate to settle in and wait for her flight. She had no way of knowing that flight would be five hours late. Even for the Greek time of casual lateness in schedules, a five hour delay was unusual. She sat and read for an hour or so, had a coffee, well, at the airport it’s a Nescafe at best. She tried to entertain herself and after another hour, started a conversation with an Australian man, also waiting. He was her age, had a backpack and was tired of waiting. They started to talk, but he was reticent and didn’t have much to say beyond the obvious waiting on the flight and being delayed. She tried to get him engaged with some discussion, maybe of his trip so far. He was not well-versed in having social graces. He smiled a lot, but no deal with passing the time talking together.
She was disappointed, and oh, so bored.
Giving up any hope of a connection, his friend returned to sit with him. Ha, she thought, his friend. And so, she introduced herself to the friend. He was not as handsome, but did shake her hand and seem pleased to meet her and talk about not Australia, but Afrika, where he was from and lived most of his life. He was actually from Swaziland. He was tall, dark and had a magnificent moustache. It was hard to see his mouth under the moustache, so she couldn’t really describe his mouth. He had so much to tell, about his country and his life. They ended up sitting on the floor, leaning against his backpack. His friend roamed around the area, but didn’t join them.
His name was Mario and he was Greek-Afrikan. She had never heard of such a combination, nor thought about it. She hoped that he didn’t see her as an ugly American. She tried her best to be sociable, interested and interesting. She tried to pay attention to what he was saying. It wasn’t hard to do, as she thought he was a wonderful storyteller. He was entertaining without being silly. The time began to fly by as they continued to talk about themselves and then the politics of Greece and their respective countries. It was as much fun as she’d had in weeks. And to think it was fun in a dreary airport, sitting on a dingy floor.
There were a few passengers also waiting and some were Greek and others European. They were becoming just background noise, as the discussion between the two of them became more intimate. The hours passed and the connection between them intensified. It did due to the commonality that they shared. The heritage and culture of Greeks that were expatriates and longing to know more about their roots was strong for both. Each of them had come to Greece for many reasons, but also to be with their relatives and their people. Both felt so strong about who they were and wanting to know more about their history.
The discussion also turned to politics. Their knowledge of Greek politics was not as well-versed as that of their own countries. Mario had fled Cyprus at a young age, and then his family followed him to Afrika, after he had lived there with his grandparents for a few years. He was brought up by a Nanny, a native woman that was the one to nurture him as a child. He told her it was part of the culture to have a Nanny and to learn and be with them throughout childhood.
Just as their connection was becoming more, the intercom announced the flight. Both of them found seats, unassigned for this short island hop over to Athens. His friend walked towards them and joined in the movement towards the gate. On board, the friend sat next to her and so, she was crunched in at the window seat with a person between her and Mario. The conversation had ended so abruptly, and they returned to posturing of being polite travelers, only.
They were back in Athens and the landing bumpy, but safe. As the group disembarked, she heard her name.
“Katerina, come my koukla (darling).” She cringed. She forgot, since being on Skiathos for three weeks that her boyfriend was even in Athens. He was smiling and held wildflowers in one hand and was waving with both. She didn’t return the smile, but kept her head down and tried to manage her baggage. She so much wanted to speak with Mario. She tried to maneuver over to him. His friend was blocking her way, and he looked up, smiled and wished her well. The moment had passed.
“Funny, how a moment in time passes and closes off a chance. Closing off a chance for happiness?” She wondered.
Everyone was leaving the area, and she did find her boyfriend. He was from Athens and they had only been together for a month before she left for Skaithos. He was working and living his life, and was unable to join in on the island. Time passed, and her infatuation had faded. Here he was, and she felt some annoyance at his unexpected presence. How did he know she’d be on this flight? Well, she had felt lonely and called him from the hotel on the island when she decided to return to the city. Her poor judgment ruined a possible romance.
C’est dommage!

January 2010 -

Just home from Vermont and fooling around with finding books of interest, as the Chair at Bunker Hill called to assign a section of Eng 111 which is another prep as I already teach 095 –developmental and 112 – research this spring. Wandering on Abelbooks, noticed James Salter mentioned & great to see my old friend. I was turned on to Salter late rather than early in life, one summer at a class in Modernism/Post-Modernism. The book list for that term was exciting, including Beckett and Kafka & the discussions, ones that I looked forward to all week. Salter, started out with Sport & Pastime. I used some of his work the following semester at Bridgewater State College & realized that perhaps the subject matter was too juicy for Freshman, although they wrote reflective essays & seemed fine sharing their thoughts. It was the most up-close & personal class that I’ve taught, that one group.
I am finishing up The Children’s Hour-Byatt & recalling that this type of novel is my favorite kick-back read. Very much looking forward to Larrsen’s work, as I am guessing it will most closely follow my own writing. Larrsen may be the ‘one’ that most follows a process that I’ve been looking for in terms of integrating mystery and politics and social justice thesis.
The Dean at MassBay called last night to assign one more Eng 101 & I contacted the bookstore to assign the students Farenheit 450 – Bradbury. I am looking forward to re-reading this one and hearing the discussion of the classroom in terms of events in our present society. These classes at BHCC consist of students who are highly motivated & planning on getting themselves out of the hood. I support their efforts and find them more engaging than students at the private four year college where I taught. The BHCC is progressive and the students engage with the materials presented in a thoughtful and real way. The Chair of English invited Adjuncts to a Conference & the long & short of it was that I met Robert Bly and Donald Hall, talking w/ Bly for quite a while which I appreciate and revel and the chance. Having been a feminist prior to the term being used and having parents who supported my intellectual independence and pursuits from a young age, my development as a free spirit and thoughtful person without regard to gender still comes in play, surprisingly, when faculty or students perceive one image and question a female role in the mix. I brought up two sons, solo and can be definitive in the premise that gender-neutral and being central on the individual is the only way. The child or person’s interests and self-image is the ‘it’, not whether or not someone is male or female. I loved talking with Bly and I really feel it was mutual, as he focused on identity and ran with it, as did I. What a bonne chance to have moments of clarity and purpose of ideas.

Christmas Is Coming, The Goose is Getting Fat

Won't you please put a penny in the Old Man's Hat, If you haven't got a penny, a half a penny will do. If you haven't gotta a half a penny, God Bless You!"
Review of Charles Dickens "A Christmas Carol" - By J.K. Cosmos

The chorus of Christmas Carols and the themed dress of the Actors began before the audience even got to their seats. Bravo! The tone is set. The historically correct costumes, and then arriving in the theater, seeing the stage so well set was the beginning of a Christmas treat!

Dicken's play is a classic and, for many, a tradition. The production of this well-loved play is a challenge; the challenge being keeping it fresh and new. Keeping it interesting! This production conveyed the plot, engaged the audience and was entertaining, to boot!

The old Dodger, yes, Scrooge, had a great presence and Paul D. Farwell, who played the lead, did so without over-shadowing the others. His rendition of Scrooge was on the money. Farwell had the modulated voice, the accent and the energy to bring the audience in; to keep us there with him through the mundane at his office and the magical with the spirits. He was fun and really gave a great performance.

Edward M. Barker, playing Bob Cratchit, also enlightened the audience. How so? Well, his presentation showed love of family, his wife and others in the community in a most endearing and sweet way. His interpretation of Cratchit was one of a man with some sense of self; his identity was less pathetic than is sometimes portrayed in films. I thought his rendition of Cratchit was very effective.

The Actors in supporting roles, belted it out. The dialogue was true to the plot, to the story-line and to the essence of what makes Dickens a master dramatist.

Kudos to the Director, Bridget Kathleen O'Leary! Her vision and tweaking of this classic made it a not to miss play for the season.

Not to miss a beat, the setting and costumes of the spirits and the magic is just phenomenal! Congrats to Peter Colao and Christine Alger; Scenic & Costume design respectively. This Team effort brings an exceptional play to the New Rep!

Bravo & A Standing 'O'.

Poet Laureates/Bly & Hall

Listening to the banter between friends. Friends that happen to be the very best of the US; friends & a conversation between Robert Bly & Donald Hall. A privilege and a blessing. They both graciously read some poems and I listened. The words and sentiments easy and true. When will my writing mirror the energy of these creative people?

In line and waiting on them, the briefest of moments to have a conversation. Hall generous with his comments; well done.

Bly - a gaze penetrating and a knowing something/something.

He asked: "What are you writing?"

I thought, 'Did I tell him that I'm writing?'

Bly, "I wish you well on your writing."

Thanking him I kept my 'good eye' on him as I moved away, making room for the next fan of his poetry, his life's work. Moving away, I kept a good eye on him and to my surprise, he kept a good eye on me.

Checking the signature in the book of poems, he had personalized it with my name. "Did I tell him my name?" I knew that I had not. I didn't provide him with any personal information. None at all. I know that, having been in line for Donald Hall - first & told that only autographs of the book were being given, today.

I am a very good student, to a fault. Literal. Too literal.

Bly took my name off of my name tag on a string around my neck. Actually, looked at a name tag to sign my name and his on the book of poetry.

Yes, today I question the 'Why?'
Yes, today I answer with the biggest of reasons. I am a writer.
I am meant to write.

Another writer recognized me today.
Another writer affirmed my mission, my life's work.

The writer giving the affirmation is a Poet Laureate & his name is Robert Bly.