Nolo Contendere

Not under oath, I would freely admit I'm guilty on all counts. There's nothing I didn't do. Sara asked me for a resume and I started a kind of list, in my head, but it sounded like fiction. Be easier to say Yale, class of '64, Bear, Sterns, retired '94, a private island in the Caymans. Missed my high school graduation for my first summer in professional theater, missed college graduation to teach a graduate course in opera production at FSU, spent several years gigging eels on Cape Cod, met the love of my life. Became one of the better letter-press printers in the country, 7 National Endowment for the Arts grants in 12 years, 70 plus books, 100 plus broadsides, became a paper-maker, a book-binder, everything but a businessman. Moved to Martha's Vineyard, got another grant, and I became an oysterman, a vinter and brewer, so we could eat regularly, the barter system. Moved to Mississippi when the guest list got too crowded, designed and built some interesting structures. Managed to vote for Mr. Jackson and not get shot. Then the move to western Colorado, where I was a mover and shaker, building places so far off the grid, people actually asked me for advice. Built a boat once. A pirogue. Equity Stage Manager for maybe a hundred shows. The Opera Company of Boston. American premiers. As a writer, published 20 books, as a designer, built 24 houses. Built a show and installed it Off Broadway, stayed one night with Jane Curtain and met the original cast for SNL, tried to sleep while they worked on their act, couldn't sleep because they were so goddamned funny, ended up rolling doobies as an audience of one. Stage Managed Beverly Sills' last "Traviata". Fathered two lovely daughters before the love of my life asked me to leave. Studied with a Zen master, a butcher, who taught me to expect nothing. Built a goat dairy and made cheese for which to die, along the way became a decent cook. Ran a black bear away from my compost heap. Once, in a fit of spite, I bit one of Cunningham's dancers on the ass. No charges were filed. Mounted a "Peter Grimes" in the wilds of Maine, outdoors, far from any safety net, without a hitch. I could do 'Aida" on the moon if I had the A Team. I prefer Bach's "Cello Suites" over all other music, especially Meyer's transcription to double bass. I held book for Hume and Jessica before they took "The Gin Game" into New York, spent hours with John Cage talking about mushrooms. A normal life, anything less would be boring. I've plastered some great showers, make what you will. A cascade of meaning, nothing, is really what it seems.