With the Lights Out It's Less Dangerous, Here We Are Now Entertain Us

I have a photo of Mt. Kilimanjaro as my screen saver. Red and black caviar waits in my fridge. On my chest is the imprint of a man’s fist from the hardest punch I’ve ever taken and remembered. This morning, after four cups of coffee, I wrote dialog for the new screenplay that made me weep. Later, while sitting outside the National Theatre of Craiova, I watched an old Gypsy man with a wide-brimmed hat lumber across the stone plaza, trailed by a seven or eight year-old boy, who watched the teenage rollerbladers as if they were Death Angels from Another Planet. Days, I listen to Leonard Cohen; his music makes sense to me now. Tonight, on my way home from dinner, I gave a bite of leftover chicken to one of my neighborhood street dogs, a red one I call Rosii (Roshee) who licks my hand but will not let me pet her. Chitsu (Keetsu), the doggie in the window, was the neighborhood alpha dog whose trust I earned with pocketfuls of snacks. He used to guard Rosii, but seems now to have disappeared. Late tonight, I read about a new electric car that goes 300 miles on one charge. In Indonesia, a mini-tidal wave drowns at least 58 people. And an online Yahoo headline reads: "Judges' strange flirting; Ryan asks Simon and Paula why they can't keep their hands off each other during the show." Spring flirts with old and new wounds. Winds blow, birds chirp. The scars itch, ready for change.

What’s Wrong With This Picture?

I’ve been dreaming of dead people. People I’ve loved and lost. My father, a friend who drowned, another who died too young in a car wreck, a punk rock enchantress who one day developed throat cancer, dear ol’ Bill Sugrue…

Last night, I went to see the Filarmonica “Oltenia” Craiova perform five songs by the rock band Queen. Ms. Otilia B knows the third bassist of the symphony, and he met us outside during intermission and escorted us in. We found a couple of unoccupied seats while the symphony tuned up, and then the lights dimmed, the chorus emerged, and the guest conductor, Horst-Hans Backer, stepped onto his perch and eased the assembled into One Vision, The Show Must Go On, and a rapturous Who Wants to Live Forever. And though the music was heavenly during Bohemian Rhapsody, the chorus seemed hesitant, like they were afraid they might blow it. We Are the Champions, however, brought the house down; one of the women of the chorus belted it out so proudly it was like she was at high-octane political rally. The crowd rose to its feet, the conductor came back for an encore, and they launched into Champions again.

Some of my students, all English majors, have asked me to teach an acting class. And so Friday afternoon, ten courageous souls met me upstairs in the English Lectorate. It was mostly a How Do You Do session, but we’ve decided to meet twice a week, Monday and Wednesday evenings. One of the students is a volleyball champ and she is going to see if she can find us a gym for our classes. And this afternoon, I met Adriana Teodorescu, a local puppet theatre artist, and she is also going to try and find us a place. Almost none of the students have any theatre experience, but they all seem like the adventurous type, and I think it’s going to be great.

In fact, all of my students this semester seem especially enthusiastic. Maybe it’s because they’re undergraduates and have not yet been made cynical by overworked teachers who no longer seem to care. Maybe it’s because spring is approaching. Or maybe it’s just that they like the classes. Some students asked me to teach yoga a couple of nights a week, and others have shown interest in a nascent Wing Chun Kung Fu class that Tibi Neacsu started this afternoon. I, and Tibi’s brother Marius, are his first students. Tonight my forearms feel like some sort of undersea creatures.

Thursday night at the American Corner Film Night was the best turnout yet. About 35 people showed up to watch Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday. Film Night is held in the brick basement of the Tradem Cultural Center, and the movies are projected onto a portable screen. The room was packed, and as the movie played, black and white and still a bit grainy even though it’s on DVD, it felt like we were hiding out in a bomb shelter somewhere, trying to take our minds off the war outside.

But there is, of course, no war outside. It’s only inside, where no one can see it. Thanks to great students, rocking symphonies, martial arts and movies and yoga and theatre and snarling dogs, new music, endless coffee and the promise of spring, I’m able to enjoy a new found peace, even when ghosts come rattling their chains, even then, I sink deep into my soft red flannel sheets (thanks, Marse!) and smile at these miracles, these wonders, this beautiful dream.

PS: What is wrong with this picture? The clock is one of 7 Wonders of Caracal, a nowhere little town about 35 miles east of Craiova. Check out 4pm.