land

my nephew and I took a walk along the creek behind my parents house this weekend. we brought along two jars in case we saw any fish. i knew we wouldn't be able to catch anything due to 1) it was too cold for fish and 2) you can't catch a fish in a jar. but he was persistent and the jars were the only thing we could find in the garage that would potential house a fish.

it was also a bit too cold to be wading through the water, but as his only uncle, I believe it is my duty to brave the elements with him whenever I am in town. the last time we walked along the creek, I got in trouble for not changing his socks up upon our arrival back to the house. somewhere in the parental manual, which is different from the uncle manual it tells you that children has a higher risks of catching cold if left in wet socks for an extended period of time. as we headed down stream this weekend, I reminded my nephew that we would have to remember to change our socks when we returned so I would not get in double trouble.

as we began our journey, we quickly realized that we could not walk along on side of the creek for an extended length. either there was no bank to search for fish or the brush was too high for us to walk through. so, every so often we would hunt for a spot to cross the waters, sometimes with him on my back, as his legs were too short to reach from one protruding rock to the other, sometimes we'd walk right through a shallow pass or we'd find a downed tree and crawl across. Each time, we would have to toss our jars to the other side in advance when we would have to balance and/or crawl.

On our last trip across, I tossed both jars and missed the flat surface. both jars rolled into the stream and began to be taken by the small current away. "We've got to save the jars," my nephew exclaimed as they both fell in and then got caught up in a pile of stick and muck a bit further down stream. We made it to their side and began to contemplate how to retrieve them. I was able to reach from the bank to rescue one while my nephew started his plan for the second.

You see, when we first started off, my nephew was following me on the path up the creek. he was a bit apprehensive. a little unsure of where his uncle was taking him. quickly, he became the leader and I followed him up and down the creek to where he thought the good path was. we even ended up in a part of my own backyard that I hadn't been before. a beautiful bamboo forest. in the suburbs of washington, d.c., this was a sight to behold and we dodged our way through slower than we had been walking before to admire the strength and delicate balance of this alien wood. once again, my nephew was persistent and we had to take a sample home. after so reluctance, I found a half dead piece growing up from the ground and uprooted it so we could show off our findings to the rest of the family. it was the treasure we held after a harrowing trip.

or would you call it a misstep? my nephew had his plan ready. there was another downed tree leading under some branches that led to our wayward jar. he decided he was going to crawl on the tree to retrieve it and before I could convince him otherwise, he was on his way. a bit tentative again, he crawled slowly and I made myself busy by dunking the other jar into the water in hope some form of life would end up for us to take home. nothing doing.

close to his success, i started along the tree to offer any assistance to my sister's son. as I was half way to him, the excitement occured. it seemed that the jar was a little farther out of reach than the end of the tree so my nephew had to make a step onto another log in order to gather our soon to be litter. and then he went down. the log he stepped on was a floating and as he stepped in hopes of getting closer to the jar he fell in waist deep. a round of splashing and reaching got him on shore, but it was too slick and he went down again. this time I was within reach, grabbed his hand and put him on dry ground where he stood shocked and soaked a second.

"You O.K.?" I asked. "Yeah," he replied still stunned. "A bit wet, huh?" "Yeah." "Should we try again?" "No." "How about going home?" "Yeah."

And we were off. Homeward bound. Where the term Uncle would once again prove to be reckless, but behold a story beyond the television and video games. where my nephew learned first hand why we couldn't catch any fish, 1) the water was too cold and 2) you can't catch a fish in a jar, especially if the jar is too far out of reach.

- jaw

frequent flyer miles

Today I fly to Maryland, my birth state, the place my parents, sister and nephew still live. I am not a nervous flyer per se, but this may be because I tend to drink before I fly in hopes of passing out before take off. This has happened a few times and they have been the best flights. Most often though, I am awake to feel every shift and shimmy of turbulence. My nerves shot by the time I land. Hey, family, I need to lay down, nice to see you.

Sometimes I can read, very few times I've held conversations with the stranger next to me, other times listening to my headphones has passed the time. Today, I have forgot my walkman, so I will attempt the first and remain cautious of entering into the latter.

The best conversation I had was with a middle-aged black woman who was flyer with her service organization after attending a conference. She began to fidget and exclaim quietly what her stomach was feeling as she was shaken out of the book she was attempting to read. "We're experiencing a normal amount of turbulence," I muttered as her hand gripped the rest between us. "Really?" she questioned with her first hint of optimism. "Yes," I confirmed as a veteran flyer.

Our chat grew from there and we uncovered a mutual love for music and admiration for small coffeehouses/jazz clubs that played music you could listen to and not bleed from the ears. She recommended places for me to check out if I was ever in her neck of the woods, though time has erased both the names of the places and her place on earth. I remember telling her about my writing and about my aspirations. I remember her telling me that I was sure to be a success. I remember feeling her confidence, probably the same she felt when I told her that "Yes, we were only experiencing a normal amount of turbulence." It was something I have never forgotten and something I look forward to thinking about as I ready myself in the bar to fly.

What I have realized in the three days I have begun writing this blog is that there are many moments like this in my life I should delve further into. My aspiration is for this to continue and for a collection to come out of it...even if no one is reading for now.

- jaw

Shoes

the Sox win the Series! the Sox win the Series!

Here are the lyrics to a song I've been working on called Shoes. Thought it would be appropriate seeing that the Sox won the Series! You can have a listen to the song here under the Without Sock On Demo or come to Holy Covenant Methodist Church on Nov. 3, 2005 when LiveWire Theater hosts the League of Chicago Theatre's Theatre Thursday where I'll be performing live, more info here.

Shoes
by Joshua Aaron Weinstein

it's raining on a sunday afternoon and i've only got socks on
slish-slosh three more blocks take a right then one street more
gonna see a lady 'bout some shoes nike adidas reebok
berkinstock cross-training pollinating velcro lace tied
sized thirteens formed fit to my own foot needs
could take a cab but the roads a bare and hey! i'm almost there

singing in the rain
is underrated
with an umbrella
well that's fucking jaded

took a turn for the worse and found myself in a hearse
well it rhymed with the time and that's the kind of mind that i had
tripped me up fell off the bus but it was up that I couldn't figure
saw the big bright lights thought I just might fight for right now
hear the sound on the town lost and found real me
shoeless in the park in the fields cold and wet without socks on

singing in the rain
is underrated
with an umbrella
well that's fucking jaded

still singing songs to that sweet city south of springdale
feeling fine if you're free fayetteville don't know if i'll ever be
down dickson on the square there's a peg and a signed reading
the natural states secret fountain of youth price of admission
cost you less than you paid for the barn a yard or even tuition
humidity is a curse even worse wearing shoes without socks on

singing in the rain
is underrated
with an umbrella
well that's fucking jaded

dive off this mighty mountain
to the windy city
leave you a note when i go
so you know where i'll be

- jaw

Sox

I'm going to start this blog off by talking about baseball. I know it is an odd thing for an Arts Blog to begin this way, but it has not been until recently that I started to appreciate the sport. Possibly because I am now living in Chicago and the White Sox are very close to taking the pennant, but more likely, being an American, baseball has always been in my blood.

The excitement of going to ball games at Camden Yards with my father was always there, but when it came time to sit and watch the sport in front of the T.V., well, I would have rather watched paint dry. Unlike baseball, with paint drying, the end was always in sight. I could see the wet spots dissipate and the entire wall turn the light blue I had chosen for my room. The smell always lingered, but I could resume banging my head against the wall yelling fire as my father directed me to whenever I claimed boredom while watching another batter knock dirt off his shoes with an aluminum bat for what seemed like twenty years.

Now, the Sox are seeking pennant glory and I find myself getting caught up in the action. Realizing that the pace of the game is the heart and that patience is its virtue.

It wasn't until recently, O.K., now 8 or 9 years ago, that I began to appreciate literature. Becoming an adult has never been sweeter. Talking with younger cousins who read Old Man in the Sea when they were in middle school seems like a cut to my ego, having first broken the pages in the past year, but their appreciation for the novella seems washed away with the tide and onslaught of N'SYNC and Brittney. The shape of Hemingway's story, the struggle of the Man's journey and the admiration of the Boy hover above me each and everyday I walk this earth.

The same earth the White Sox tread, a dream team formulated by common men, no stars, a team no one thought would rank anywhere on the board this year. They are one game out from the title of World Series Champs and I no longer find myself bored by the game. Even without FOX, I find myself listening to the game on the radio as if I were a Russian immigrant excited and enthralled by every word of the announcer, anticipating the next move in the game of life...baseball. 14 innings would have surely put others to sleep. They kept me up all night.

GO SOX!

- jaw

Welcome to Wet City Arts Blog

Wet City Productions was establish in May of 2004 as a means to produce the short film, Sing You a Song, written and directed by Joshua Aaron Weinstein. The film is currently in post-production in New York. Check back soon for updates on SYAS and other Wet City productions.

The Wet City Arts Blog will serve as a place for Wet City Productions to rant, rave and ramble about itself as well as art, movies, music, theatre, literature and anything else under the sun, stars, moon and/or table.

Peace for now.
jaw