Bouncing Off A Satellite

September 6th, 2007

The last twenty-four hours have been a study in contrasts.

Tuesday night, I woke to the sound of crickets, wind, and waves.

This morning, I woke to the sound of air horns, sirens, and traffic.

Wednesday morning, I jogged past modest, gray clapboard houses on a sparkling Madaket Bay.

This morning, I jogged past multi-million dollar, gold-tinted, flashing light-strewn high rise hotels and casinos.

I left Nantucket on Cape Air flight #1 at 6:05. Eight hours later, I arrived some 2800 miles west at Las Vegas' McCarran ...

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Nantucket, Massachusetts (Summer 2007)

September 4th, 2007

Whisper (A Million Different Voices Speaking In Tongues)

August 31st, 2007

I was touching the spirit world well prior to slipping beneath the covers last night. Likewise, I expect, tonight.

Wednesday's Late Night at Rockwood Music Hall left me reeling well into Thursday (as, I suspect, it did Casey and Chris -- though they had Thursday off).

In fact, I opened my team's annual MTV Video Music Awards digital production meeting by saying that I'd stayed up 'til five in an effort to recalibrate for Las Vegas (and that I was likely to hurl at any minute as a result, which was true though -- thankfully -- I ...

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September 6th, 2006

The Nantucket Municipal Airport is straight out of TV's "Wings," all faded paint and gray clapboard. In fact, I'm pretty sure I spotted Thomas Haden Church behind the Cape Air counter.

The place is unhurried, even as Labor Day Weekend stragglers head back to Hyannis, Boston, and New York. Long-faced travellers in ACK t-shirts, island-logo'd golf shirts, Nantucket red pants and whaleprint belts sit idly on wooden benches, staring blankly towards a runway dotted with eight-seater Cessnas, ignoring their Blackberrys for just a few hours


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Thirty-Five Wishes

September 5th, 2006

I have looked forward to celebrating my 35th birthday in Nantucket for well over a year.

I imagined a hand-picked group of my closest, oldest, most gregarious, and strongest friends sitting around a blazing beach fire, full from a three course feast of lobster, potatoes, corn on the cob, all washed down with numerous pints of Cisco Brewers' Whales Tale Pale Ale. A few of us would strum our acoustic guitars. Fish would tap on his bongos. Everyone would sing. Finally, I would find myself alone beneath the harvest moon as it plunged into


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Come Together

September 3rd, 2006

My mother met Mister Rogers on the beach behind her rental cottage. She was sitting in an old beach chair reading. Mister Rogers was taking his afternoon swim in Madaket Bay.

The year after he died, I decided to preserve his memory (and entice my brother to bring his family to Nantucket the following summer) by creating a race: The Mister Rogers Memorial Triathlon.

The course consists of a half-mile swim in the waters adjacent to his Crooked House, a twelve mile bike ride to/from the end of Madaket Road, and a three mile run to/from


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Summer’s Gone

September 6th, 2005

I step out of the cottage into the sand. The sky grows light in the east. I can still make out the pale white halo of the Milky Way overhead. Orion has yet to dip below the horizon.

The air is cool. A breeze blows out of the west. It is cool and dry. It feels like fall. And that's ok.

The Nantucket airport is quiet, its white search light sweeping through a clear blue sky. I check my bag, and settle into my brief commute from this tiny island in the Atlantic, to my office in the sky above New York.

I am calm, cool, and


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The Lady With The Spinning Head

July 21st, 2005

My car departs at 4:45.

I've packed swim trunks, running shoes, and my iPod. That's it.

Delta Shuttle departs Marine Air Terminal at six o'clock.

I arrive Logan 6:56.

I arrive Nantucket at nine a.m.

The sweaty city may never hear from me again.

I'll be thinking of you.

I promise.

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September 9th, 2004

You gather your clothes off the line, rinse the salt from your body in the outdoor shower, shake the sand from your shoes, and fold everything away.

In your carry-on you stow a new balsa wood glider, Cisco Brewery cap, one liter of Triple 8 vodka, and a Lightship-red Nantucket T.

Inside, you carry the rush of the surf, the crush of sand between your toes, and the cool of ocean mist on your face. Inside you harbor sea birds and sand crabs, seal and sunshine, and the flotsam and jetsam of this visited place.

You hold onto all of these


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Stargazer Tigerlilly

September 8th, 2004

Can you remember the last time you went to bed before nine o'clock? I can't. Prior to last night.

It's a little odd to have a weekday to one's self: no deadlines, commitments, obligations. It enables one to walk out the back door for a quick peak at the bay, and keep walking 'til sundown. That was my Tuesday.

I started my day with a brisk run through on old farm adjacent to Hummock Pond. The sweaty, sandy, and completely solitary six miles culminated in a long soak in the cool Atlantic with nary a human soul in sight. I lay in the


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