Not that I would have had a place to include any additional material. Even though I am “officially” done, I can’t help but wonder if my interpretation is an accurate portrayal of my subject. When he asked me how the piece was going, I was tempted to go to my car, pull out my draft, and have him read it. I am not concerned with what I chose to include, but what I had to leave out, which leads me to another question: what do you do if your subject doesn’t like how you choose to portray him or her? How should you anticipate these kinds of issues, and what is the appropriate response if they occur?

So many questions, and so little time to answer them . . .

The discussion contained some great information that applies to folks outside of radio (for example: Salt alums should be your new best friends. Wine them, dine, them, schmooze them up when you get a chance. They might have a job for you). I particularly enjoyed Rob’s discussion on “outside of the box” opportunities, which included an introduction to the wonderful world of grants in Maine (and a pitch to visit the Maine Philanthropy Center, located on the third floor of USM’s Glickman Library).

Outside of Rob and Patty’s excellent information (which is available for the low low price of $9.95 while supplies last) the session got me thinking. What am I going to do post-Salt? In our writing class, we’ve often discussed other writing opportunities, but I really don’t know what my fellow Salties plan to do after our time is up, or how they hope to use their skills for the betterment of humanity (yes, I know, some of this is would be answered by reading your application essay, but I don’t have access to that, now do I).

So, I’m throwing out this question to my fellow Salties blog-attack style: what do you want/plan/hope to do after Salt? What comes after the “and then?”

And now for something completely different . . .

As a documentarian, I’d love to ask the surviving members (Terry Gilliam, John Cleese, Michael Palin, Eric Idle and Terry Jones) why they think Monty Python is still funny, despite the fact that their sketches are now 40 years old. This led me to contemplate all the other sorts of questions I would like to ask,  such as “How many characters were based on real people (and what are their names and current addresses)” and “Why does Terry Gilliam occasionally look like a cross between Gollum and Brad Dourif?” (Seriously, he does.)

It also made me wonder why there aren’t many funny Salt stories. We have loads of serious and informative pieces, but not a great deal of funny ones. Humor and pathos. Aren’t these qualities the stuff of which good stories are made? Are humorous moments inherently too trivial to include in the “Salt repertoire” or is it just extremely difficult to document someone being funny? Could it be that things we find funny are rarely intentional, and thus impossible to predict (or retell)? I don’t know. Like Justice Stewart, I can’t define humor, but I know it when I see it.

With that in mind, I’m looking forward to seeing if  Almost the Truth will be as funny as its subject matter. If nothing else, It will be a welcome distraction from public access television (say no more, say no more).

For inspiration, I looked to one of my favorite bands, Blue Scholars . There is no question that their lyrics tell a story and provide an audio “flavor” of their neighborhood (Seattle, not Brooklyn). I want to know, however, when is a song (or a multimedia project) a documentary, and when is it just entertainment? Can it be both?

You can watch the video online at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wz79goWQrYU (warning: video contains some profanity)

Lyrics to “Joe Metro” from the Blue Scholars album Bayani
I reach beneath the skin of the street with each step
Walking closer to my final destination of death
When I’m laying to rest I’m only saving my breath
The northwest fills the lungs heals the pain in my chest
Take six quarters out of the pocket and drop it in the box
Hop the 48th off to pay homage
It stops often, I jot my observations
Watching, citizens walking off of the Joe Metropolitan
proletarians and wayward sons with old Filipino men speaking in they native tongues
And the day has just begun
Greeted by the scent of a bum smelling something like beer, barf, and dung
A brother into prose in the back all alone marinating in a pair of half broken headphones
Mumbling rhymes same time, begin to pen mine
Appreciating God’s design
Rewind sister, reminds me of a smile in the back of my memory
Wonder if I see her again, will she remember me?
I’m not trying to holler, I swear
I’m just weary of the way we hop a ride and just sit there and stare
Prepare for my 9 o’clock work meeting
A couple pale folk slide right by with no greeting
But the people with my phenotype follow with a head nod up (what up)
‘Cause we acknowledge that this s*** f****d up
North of Martin Luther King, a straight war zone detours through the concrete cranes and bulldozers
No the hill is not over, still, every block got a coffee shop it’s overkill
Focus know the deal,
Dope to see Khalil back, the medicine is good again
And the feeling of leaving and coming back to your ‘hood again is priceless
I write this, our lives are in crisis
Most talk but don’t walk the path of the righteous
Despite this, I measure each step
Walking closer to my final destination of death
When I’m laying to rest I’m only saving my breath
The northwest fill the lungs heals the pain in my chest
Clutch the moment, a transfer in my hands
Still listening, looking out the window to the gold and the green
And the sun might be shining but it’s colder than it seems
‘Cause the weather’s dialectical there’s no in between
In walks an old soul, a first nation native cat, chiseled like a totem pole
No words, as he stands and looks over us
He gets off and says, “Have a good day, you foreigners”
I, crack a smile one time for the acknowledgment
Northbound, now we start to pick up more college kids
They try to study on the ride
To make up for the fact that they probably kicked it hard last night
And I ponder if it’s time to save up and get a car
And pay for the gas that we’re taking from the war
I’d miss all the colorful faces, the places, and spaces
I’ve embraced with the faith that I could rest and raise kids here
Even with these cats set tripping
Bringing ’95 back again, same old conditions
From Reagan, to Bush, to Clinton, to Bush the second
No matter the neighborhood in the city you repping
It’s getting serious ya’ll you can even hear the rebel call
Getting off, leaving hella pieces on the walls
Seen it all sitting sideways with my townmates
Only place left where majority is brown-faced
Now we headed downtown to trade our labor for cash
I thank the navigator once and walk fast
I walk past the next round of cats to jump on it
Locked in deep thought, we ride around in silence
And cross Rizal Bridge
I watch each step
Walking closer to my final destination of death
When I’m laying to rest I’m only saving my breath
The northwest fills the lungs heals the pain in my chest
I remain blessed, stepping on rain with each step
Eyes heavy from the lack of the cousin of death
When I’m laying to rest I’m only saving my breath
The northwest fills the lungs ya’ll, you know the rest
You know the rest (you know the rest), you know the rest (you know the rest)

You can use the side links on each course page to access syllabi, course assignments, related resources, and generally see what some of our peers are doing. The list of courses is located at: http://ocw.mit.edu/OcwWeb/Writing-and-Humanistic-Studies/index.htm

I was particularly struck by one professor’s admonition to his documentary students:

“. . . remember that there is one thing that you owe your subjects, be they your roommates or a group of developmentally disabled adults -Honesty: honesty in your vision; honesty in what you tell your subjects about your project and its purpose; honesty in your approach to your subject; and honesty in what you present to your viewers.”

Well said. Here’s to veracity and integrity.

**Note: I did not attend MIT, nor do I get compensated for directing people to their OpenCourseWare site. I just think it’s a really fantastic project.

Upon further reflection, I recall that I am roughly the same age as his daughter, which leads me to re-evaluate the whole nature of our interaction. If he does relate to me like his daughter, how does that affect the integrity of my work? Is there a way that I can avoid or discourage being seen this way? Is it inevitable that the story I discover will be different from the story my male counterpart might find? Is this necessarily a bad thing?

I don’t know. If I were a boy, perhaps I wouldn’t even be asking these questions.

 “The obverse of this freedom,” Dillard notes, “is that your work is so meaningless . . . no one except you cares whether you do it well, or ever.” We don’t have the visceral impact of photography, or the background ambience of radio. As writers, we must find a theme that resonates broadly enough, an insight that convinces the reader that we are not wasting his time. The readers we entice into our writing must be convinced to stay there.

And thus I continue trying to persuade others, including myself, that they should care whether I write my subject’s story well . . . or ever.