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Talking HeadDecember 22, 2005 Cynthia Riggs, mystery writer and guiding spirit behind the new journal Martha's Vineyard Writing, also hosts a show on Vineyard writers and writing on the public-access cable channel. She asked me to be a guest. Me, say no? Does Rhodry turn down rides in the truck? So we taped it last night; it should air on a Wednesday night early in January. (I'll post the date as soon as I know it.) True, television makes me a little anxious. For one thing, it isn't my medium. I don't have, or want, one; haven't watched TV semi-regularly since about 1980. As a result, some conversations are inexplicable and some references are obscure, but it's amazing how seldom I fall into conversations that revolve around what was on TV last night. Possibly my friends are humoring me or maybe they have more interesting things to talk about. (Horse people talk about horses, writers talk about writing, Vineyarders talk about surviving on Martha's Vineyard -- it's mainly in mixed groups that conversation tends to default to the lowest -- or, if you're lucky, the highest -- common denominator, like TV.) For another thing, I don't have a made-for-TV bod. In my antiwar movement days, the guys hogged all the TV interviews and most of the radio gigs. The girls got the assignments that involved invisibility and a lot of work, like writing manifestos. This pissed me off, but since I weighed around 200 pounds at the time and was not exactly photogenic (in my 1974 passport picture I looked like the kind of person that Homeland Security would put on the permanent do-not-fly list), I figured my appearance would make me a liability for the cause no matter what a good talker I was. Feminism and the fat liberation movement turned my head around on that one and raised my standards in the process: for the last 25 years I've declined support to any cause that might see me as a liability. Anyway, the taping was a blast. They -- that would be cameraman Jonathan Revere and Cynthia herself -- tape the show at Cleaveland House, Cynthia's family home, which dates back to the mid–18th century. Over the years I've driven by it a few million times: it's classic old New England, stolid and dignified in its weathered shingles, maybe even a little forbidding. Inside, it's warm and friendly, even on the blustery first official night of winter. The show is taped in a cozy, appropriately bookish front room with a fire crackling in the fireplace. The interview went well -- 28 minutes went by in a flash -- and afterward Jonathan let me see what it looked like (love these digital gizmos). I'm glad to report that I recognized myself, and I did not look like the blob from outer space. Afterward we hung out for a while in the other front room, sipping wine, eating pistachios, and reminiscing somewhat raucously about island theater: Jonathan and I have been involved in some of the same productions over the years, and we know a lot of the same people. Jonathan had this adorable portable DVD player that's compact enough to sit on your lap. Huh, a way to watch DVDs without having a TV? Radio Shack has them, he said. I think there's a DVD player in my not-too-distant future.
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