Scully didn’t like to chase cars.
He preferred to get out front and lead them like a dog-track hare, ears pinned back, jowls flapping, legs pumping like pistons in an old flathead Ford.
He was a big dog but he could motor.
Geoff Currier
I do not ask for much in life (and friends of mine say that sometimes it shows), but this springtime I do ask why the Vineyard staged Jaws Fest, the all-Island hullabaloo over the thirtieth anniversary of the release of Jaws three summers ago, but – at press time anyway – shows no sign whatsoever that it’s going to hold a Jaws 2 Fest to honor the 1978 release of the first of the three sequels to follow it.
Tom Dunlop
Dear Summer Person:
Goodbye.
Fear not, this is not a good-riddance letter. I’ve lived on the Vineyard year-round for eight short years and still relish the Island summer and the people who come with it.
Kate Feiffer
(With apologies to Billy Joel’s Piano Man):
It’s nine o’clock on a Wednesday mornThe regular crowd’s shuffled inWe’re fifteen strong in the Mansion House poolTrying to work off our tonic and gin
Well, Leslie C. Grimm is a friend of oursShe teaches aerobics for allBe it stretching or strength’ning or pumping the heartEveryone’s having a ball
Splash, splash-splash, de de splashSplash splash de de splash splash splash
Jim Kaplan
It finally happened the other day. Four people in line at the coffee shop, and I knew every one of them.
Mark Jenkins
Like so many ambitious enterprises, it began on a whim. In February of 2002 my canary yellow – I called it Tweetie Bird – Dodge Colt died. It was a typical Vineyard car, meaning that to take it off-Island practically assured you of getting stranded far from home with either a defunct car or a massive mechanic’s bill. I’d bought it from my sister, who’d already built up a good 100,000 miles on it. So when Dave at Cars Unlimited came out of exploratory surgery on Tweetie Bird’s transmission shaking his head, I knew I needed to make a new plan.
Holly Nadler
