Ghosts, and Famous People

Hello again friends,

I am in all-out writer-mode right now, trying to write and right my writerly and rightful fortunes in this world.  Trying desperately to find and tell the story that is mine, so I can share it, so I can get some stories in return, and maybe learn something about Life and Death and the Human Condition.

Or something like that...

So, I was going through some things I have written in the past. (Cheating the system, I know, I know.)

I've been thinking a lot about Life and Death lately.
For numerous reasons.

These are the two forces that surround us, constantly.
There is always at least a duality.

There are probably many more than two forces in play, at any given time,
but it is comforting, for our simple mortal minds, to break things down
Into TWOs.

Night and Day
Light and Darkness
Happy and Sad
Water and Fire
Earth and Air
Body and Spirit
Heart and Mind
Good and Bad
Us and Them
You and Me
Him and Her
This or That
Alive or Dead

etc. etc.

I don't pretend to understand any of this.
I just attempt to nod to it. To acknowledge these notions.
To examine them closer.


Someone told me, not long ago, I think on an airplane to somewhere...
But who can keep track?
That Human Behavior is Motivated by 2 Forces:

Pleasure
and
Fear.

Luckily for me, I was apparently born with a deficiency in my ability to experience or appropriately respond to danger, and the situations that for most people tend to induce fear.

Or perhaps I was not born that way. Maybe that's the part of my head I hit when I was diving out of my high chair as an infant...But that doesn't really explain why I did that in the first place...

I guess I just wanted to see if I could fly!

So, I try to live a life primarily motivated by Pleasure. I am a true, good-old-fashioned hedonist.

I get away with whatever I can so that I can play more often than I have to work...

And I wouldn't have it any other way!


I'm pretty sure most of that was a digression. I set out to share a letter I wrote to Philip Seymour Hoffman, probably in April, a couple of months before he died.  I never mailed it to him, and I was to regret that lack of action when I got the sad news.  Not that I delude myself to think it would have mattered or made a difference, but it is absolutely my belief that it is essential to express love and gratitude and respect for others as often as possible, proactively, because they can't hear you (as far as I know) at their funeral.

I failed this time. Luckily, I guess, PSH and I weren't actually close, personal friends or relatives. So the regret isn't going to weigh me down too heavily. But I still think I'll feel better if I share my words about his talent, and the ways I respected and admired him.  So here you are!

Dear Philip Seymour-Hoffman,

I am writing to tell you that I just watched a recent film of yours, Max and Mary.  It is one of the best pieces of film I have seen in a long time, and I wanted to tell you that I admire you.  I guess you must be very smart and discerning, as well as unreasonably talented as an actor, because I only ever see you acting like a badass in films that seem worthwhile somehow.

This impresses me as an aspiring actor, writer, director and creative person.  I would like one day to have all the things you have, but I must also accept that I may never.  I hope that you are happy with all that you have achieved, and the life you are living.  I hope you don’t feel too put upon by crazy adoring fans (such as myself), and that you are as decent and kind as I like to think you are.

It’s nice to have heroes to look up to, but I am not so naïve as to still believe there are people in the world who are purely good.  All humans are flawed and imperfect, but that’s part of what makes them interesting.  Still, many people are good enough in enough ways to merit admiration and gratitude, and that has always been enough to keep me coming back for more.

I must admit I was a bit disillusioned when I met Kevin Spacey, briefly, after seeing him in a performance of Moon for the Misbegotten in New York, and he was rather surly, grouchy and rude with the public.  Perhaps he was just having an off day, or the performance really took it out of him, but I’ve heard confirmations from friends of friends who served him at Starbucks or someplace that he’s not the nicest guy, and I found that disappointing, because I have always really admired him as an actor. I still do, but I now also kind of hold it against him that he isn’t nice too.

I met John Lithgow once after a different performance in New York.  (I go there often, as my mother grew up on Long Island, and my grandparents have always had a home there, since the beginning of recorded time, at which point they resided in other boroughs, mostly Brooklyn and Queens, where my grandmother was, in her extreme youth, next door neighbors with Theodore Roosevelt.

Mr. Lithgow was pleasant, patient and kind, but clearly a lifelong smoker. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I try not to judge…but it’s never been a habit that made much sense to me.)  I think he’s pretty happy with how he handles his life, for the most part.

I was once in a film with you and Paul Newman.  Empire Falls.  I grew up in Maine, so I was able to come out to Waterville to film some of the high school art class scenes as a “featured extra” while I was myself a sophomore in high school.  Do you remember making that film? What did you think of Maine? The experience? The finished product? I loved the book before the movie was made, and I enjoyed being a part of it. I think it’s very faithful to the book, and a good piece of work, not to mention over-loaded with great actors. :)

Did you enjoy working with Laura Linney in that other movie? I forget the name.  She came and spoke at Brown while I was an undergrad there a few years ago, and she seemed genuinely lovely. She’s one of my favorite actresses.  I also love Meryl Streep. Duh, who doesn’t, right?  Do you have a favorite actor or actress to work with?  Director? If so, why?  Are there any dream roles you haven’t gotten to play yet?  Do you think you will keep acting for the rest of your life? Do you love doing it?  Are there other things you love doing just as much?

Forgive me if these questions seem impertinent, or as if I am prying.  I don’t really expect you to answer this letter.  I expect, if I decide to send it at all, or if I was able to find an address to mail it to, it would probably be screened by an agent or personal assistant or somebody like that.  But if it does get to you, and it catches your interest, I would love to hear back, in whatever form you like.  

I’m sad that there doesn’t seem to be that much great writing making it to the top, making it to the public or past the hot shot executives in LA and Hollywood.  I’m especially sad that there don’t seem to be that many great parts written for women, or that I feel particularly drawn to as the particularly-me kind of person that I am.  I hope to remedy that one day, whether or not I end up trying to press on as a “professional actor,” whatever that may mean.

One of my favorite things you have given me (in a way) is in the movie Capote, when Truman’s lover kept talking about going to Spain to write. One of my lovers and I once picked up on that, and I went to Spain to write a few years ago, and it was very fruitful, and idyllic, poetic and beautiful.  I hope to go back and do that again sometime soon.

Another is that awesome devil-may-care character you play in Pirate Radio. That movie is pretty silly, and occasionally quite crude, but I also found it touching and uplifting and entertaining, and your character is a BAMF (bad-ass mother-flipper, in case you’re unfamiliar with that term. But I imagine you’re probably hep to the lingo nowadays.) 

Take care, do good work, keep in touch (if you like),

Shana  Tinkle

All-Out Crazy Adventure Time OR Why Being a Snowbird Isn't Only for Old Folks

Sunday, December 14, 2014                       Cali, Colombia                    At home with RG+MG

Arrived at the Cali bus terminal yesterday at 4:30am.  I was rather disoriented, and was awoken from a pretty decent nap by the harsh cries of “Vamanos, vamanos!”

“Vama-wha?” my brain murmured groggily.

“Oh yeah. I’m in Colombia. In Cali. I’m home! Finally.”

But not a familiar home.

It’s been 7 long years since the last time I was in this country, or on this continent.

I have been on the move for the last two months or so.

Left Four Winds Road, Portland, Maine, my parents’ place,

my old stomping grounds

Where I grew up

Along with Adam, and Seth, and our sweet kitty Tiger

 [/Tigress Euphrates]

Who passed away in September

A few short weeks

after my dear friend Bar.

Friday 11/7/14, I went to Boston.

I slept at Peter Goldstein’s, and hung out with Lorraine Fryer as well.

Holly came in from Worcester and met me for lunch by South Station on Saturday, 11/8. Then I had to hustle to catch my flight out for Philly.

Spent the night of 11/8 at Andrea / and her sister’s place.  Also spent a couple hours at the fancy fish house she works at, getting booze and food and whatnot, as cheap as I could manage.

Got up at ass-0-clock on Monday 11/9 to catch my flight to St. Thomas,

to connect up with Sleeper.

Got free rum at the airport. Had our first meal at The Rum Shandy.

He got the best fish tacos in the world. I got a really mean veggie burger.

Had a couple drinks.

Adjusting to island temperatures, humidity, and the drinking lifestyle.

Spent the next week exploring and swimming and free-diving in the sea.

Met and swam with a couple of sea turtles down by the nearly-deserted, mostly-local, university-owned BELLISIMO Brewers’ Bay. Mmmmhmmm.

Also saw sting rays, coral reef, and all kinds of crazy arrays of fishie fish at that beach.

Did some reading and writing. A wee bit of painting in the nights. Played a couple games of Set with Sleeper when he made it home before 11 or 12 at night. (Happened a few times…)

Took some crazy long epic walks, from one side of the island to the other.

In spite of Sleeper’s warnings about which places might be dangerous, and better to avoid.

He also told me not to take rides from strangers, but that didn’t entirely stop me either.

On Wednesday I found another beach, also mostly full of locals, down by the airport.

I made friends with an old fella named Keith.

He and his really old dad and uncle were staked out at the beach.

They put up a tent.

They looked like locals, and they were all wearing matching red shirts, so I kinda assumed they worked at the beach or something. It looked like they were picking up some of the trash and detritus other flippers had left there, but actually I think they mostly just pushed it aside, out of their way.

It turned out, they were preparing for a family reunion BBQ there on the beach.

I found this out when I followed a scantily-clad old Italian couple under the tent to seek shelter during a sudden torrential downpour (that happens in the tropics, not infrequently.)

I had just come out of the sea, so I wasn’t too worried about getting wet. If anything, the rain was just making me cleaner and less salt-encrusted. BUT I had some stuff with me, in my beach bag, that was probably better off not getting soaked through.

So I too went and huddled under the tent. After I had been there, on his turf, for some minutes, Keith approached me and asked if I was an Olympic swimmer.

Amused, flattered. Haha. No, I’m not an Olympic athlete. Not even close. I just really like swimming. (If anything, I style myself more as a mermaid type. I don’t swim for speed or even really for intentional exercise, most of the time.  I swim because I am drawn to the water. I feel best and most comfortable when I am in it, or at least on it, or at least NEXT to it. But preferably IN it.

I feel at home there.  I feel weightless.  Graceful.  Fluid. Flexible. As though I can do or be anything. And go anywhere. And see anything.  The ocean is indeed its own world of endless possibility. One of the many things that makes it so terrifying. Especially in the dark.

I also swim as much as I do, every chance I get, in every kind of water, to remind myself how to survive a shipwreck (which, given my goals, is not that unreasonable an eventuality to prepare for…) or so I could escape from an island if I am ever to be marooned.   And/or to increase my chance of meeting sea turtles, dolphins, other merfolk, and the chance to ride a whale (really, the only crucial item on my bucket list, as far as I’m concerned.)

In any case, Keith and I got to talking, and before long, we were friends.

He told me about his impending family reunion, set to begin in the next hour or so.

He gave me water, and beer, from their coolers. And a seat to sit in.

I swam more, once the rain abated.

His family arrived.  I stuck out as the only non-matching member of the set, but I was immediately welcomed in when word got round that I was a friend of Keith’s.

I shared in their BBQ.  I scared off an iguana that was sprawled up in a tree right above their food table. They were worried s/he was going to “drop its mess” in the wrong place, which would have definitely put a damper on the festivities. And you know how I love a chance to climb trees…and hunt dinosaurs… ;)

I finagled an invitation for my cabin-boy, second-in-command, ass. director/ old pirate buddy Swab to join me and Sleeper at Sleeper's place in St. Thomas. He was working so much, he was never around, and he was actually relieved that I had someone else to chill with, since he felt a little guilty that he had to leave me to my own devices around 93% of the time.

Sleeps and I did an epic grocery trip to Cost-U-Less, that mostly consisted of purchasing copious amounts of rum [it is DIRT CHEAP down there, since they make it there…they literally give it away at the airport and advertise free samples on the streets…(Fiddler’s Green, I tells ya!)] so we bought 4 handles, of 4 different varieties.

(One cheapish clear rum--$3.50!!!, 1.75L of the spicy stuff for coke and dark and stormy’s; one Cruzan Mango and one Cruzan Pineapple. MMMMMMmmmmm!!!!!)

Most of the rest of the groceries were fruit juices and sodas with which to mix these delicious treats, and make them even more delicious!!!  [Truly my tasty-potion brewing powers were in full bloom throughout my time in the VI. Though, I think the credit really goes to the ingredients. Can't really miss with the shite I had to work with. MMMhMMM!!!]

Swab arrived Sunday afternoon, 11/16.  As promised, the very first place I took him was to the beach, the one closest to the airport, where I had partied with Keith and his family a few days prior.  We plunged directly into the delectable Caribbean Sea, and sang our praises to Treesus, and to our mutual good fortune, and life choices.

Swab and I chilled like villains for the next several days, as we are wont to do.  He had to work some, here and there, since he was not technically on vacation.  In fact, he kept his bosses in the dark about having left home at all, and since he works remotely, he was able to pull it off.

We spent time at Brewer’s Bay, snorkeling and sunbathing, early in the morning, then we set up back at Sleeper’s, or at the Rum Shandy, so we could nosh and chill and listen to music and talk and goof around, and Swab could attend to his work shite from time to time.  A++ for white-collar crime!!! A+++ for the Rum Shandy’s fabulous, fresh fish tacos.  MmmMMMmmmm!!! (I was on first-name basis with the day-time, weekday bartender there by the time Swab arrived…)

We saw Sleeper pretty rarely that week.  His boss was working his ass to the bone.  He claims that part of it is just a factor of being new to the job, and that as he gets more experienced, the tasks won’t take as long to complete. But I feel really bad for the dude.  Certainly did not inspire me to rethink my decision NOT to go to Law School or try to join the Real World of ADULTS with fancy, time-consuming jobs.

Nope. Nope.  It’s the Pirate’s Life for me.  For sure.  There are at least a few things in life I am willing to learn without doing it the hard way.  I can learn from the life choices of others, what I may want, and what I for sure DO NOT want.  I’ve always known, for example, that being a Doctor or a Plumber or a Garbage Collector were not in the cards for me.  I’ve left most other options on the table.  But I knew for sure those jobs didn’t appeal.  I don’t like yucky sights or smells. I don’t like blood or gore.  I have a sensitive stomach, and an extra helping of empathy.  And I don’t like studying science that much either…

That’s neither here nor there.

Swab and I stayed in the USVI until Monday, 11/24, a few days short of Thanksgiving.  I got a morning flight, and he followed me several hours later.

Friday night we trekked through the backwoods mountainous hillocks full of sketchy neighborhoods and hurricane-induced(?) ruins…to attempt to see a new-ish Christopher Durang play that was being put on by the island’s one and only community theatre [Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike.]  We were rescued on our trek, a couple miles after our run-in with the most terrifying sign I have ever seen in my life (“WELCOME” in blood-red on a white wall, that we just happened to illuminate by flashlight when we heard a car coming to get us nearby.  It was a moment straight out of a slasher flick—not that I would know—and it was definitely horrifying, although me and Swab mostly were laughing at ourselves, and the silliness of the whole thing.

A while later, a lady passed us in an old-car-graveyard kinda neighborhood (also very spooky), driving a fancy-black-something-or-other, and offered to give us a lift the rest of the way to the theater, because she was worried for our safety in that part of the island, and thought we looked lost and out of place there.  How nice of her!

We finally arrived at the theater, only to find…the play had been cancelled!!! One of the performers had broken her arm or something, and so they had postponed the whole thing.

However, all was not in vain, in the end!  There was a bar!  And at the bar, was a tender! And the tender mentioned, as we sipped our shared margarita, that he had lived in Key West for 9 years, and originally hailed from Miami.  He told us he had nothing good to say about Miami, or about what to do there, except not to get shot or mugged.  But he did give me super useful “local” directions on how to get from my friend Aaron’s place in Kendall, a southern suburban section of the Miami area, to Key West, via buses that would wind up costing no more than 5 or 6 bucks for the whole 130 mile journey…

[Instructions included: Have someone give you a ride to the Walmart in Homestead. Get the bus from there to the Marathon. Go to the Brass Monkey (bar).  Ask where to get the shuttle bus to Key West.]  Any directions that require me to stop at a Brass Monkey bar are all right by me. (I didn’t actually wind up going inside the BM, because I didn’t have a reliable source on what time my bus would rock up, and they only run every 3 hours or so, so I was very keen not to miss one. As it was, I waited for at least two hours in the hot, harsh sun, and learned more than I probably should have about the homeless lady sharing my camp-spot by the bus-stop.  The upshot?  In exchange for me getting her big, heavy bag of belongings onto the bus, she paid for my bus fare.  Similarly, I tossed a buck to an Irish-American fellow with a keen taste for cheap beer, in exchange for him running off to buy me a bottle of H20 when he went off on his final pre-bus beer-run.  Gotta love the hobo barter economy!!

Although waiting for a bus for that long, when I was SOOO eager just to GET to Key West and let my Pirate Festival experience finally begin well-nigh drove me the rest over the edge to certifiably insane, I did eventually make it onboard.  Everyone on that bus was some kind of drunk, crazy, sketchy or just down-right bizarre kind of character.  Made for interesting people-watching, but not as restful a nap as I would have liked.

FINALLY!!! ARRIVED IN KEY WEST a bit before sun-down on Wednesday, 12/3/14. 

And what happened from there on out is definitely a story in its own right.  Stay tuned for some truly wild Pirate Shenanigans!!!