Global Warming is Cool

How To Have A Mustache Party

2011-07-17T15:02:00.032-07:00

Situation: Birthday

Challenge: $

Resolution: MUSTACHE PARTY

Got a sweet 16 going on 17 at home? Budget crunched up the Kazoo? Worried about how hip, modern young ladies will respond to your daughter's cheap-o birthday party? No worries! Creative solutions are just fake facial hair away!

1. Have a genius big sister around to come up with the winning idea:

2. Send a whacky Facebook invite at the last minute with the rules of engagement, which include the stipulation to show up in ridiculous attire wearing a mustache of choice and speaking in a distinctive accent, with gusto.

3. Shop here:

and here:

4. Meet here:

5. Enjoy appreciative reaction from the Birthday Girl:

6. Give the waitress a mustache, too, and order lunch. Heartily acknowledge fellow dining patrons who wish they were having a mustache party. High-five those fortunate enough to have a real mustache. Ignore stink-eye from their significant others:

7. Spread the Love. A woman in one of the booths might admire the hideous jacket you are wearing, and ACCEPT it as a gift off your back. She may put it on immediately and go home happy. (a close enough replica)

8. Bask in the thrill of it all:

9. Relish the sheer JOY of upper-lip heaven! Wonder how women ever get by without breathing in hair or having it exfoliate onto whatever they are attempting to eat:

10. A-hem. Someone forgot that looking cute was not part of the scheme of things:

11. Gather for a couple of final poses outside, before going home to swim for free at your apartment pool. (It will not be necessary to coax participants. Try not to miss anything, and do your best to keep them out of traffic):

12. Rest assured that your efforts to celebrate splashed gobs of sunshine and butterflies for everyone everywhere.

We Sing the National Anthem

2011-07-15T10:42:00.004-07:00

Here is the ever beautiful family friend Lindsey on melody, the always awesome Asia (daughter number two!) on high harmony, and yours truly on the low notes for our 4th of July Flag raising ceremony.

Speech delivered 4 July, 2011

2011-07-04T12:27:00.027-07:00

How does it feel - to live in a place and time that is the envy of every civilization that has gone before? But wait! We have problems, we say. Wait! There is inequity, red tape, apathy, division, loss. Wait! We are a Nation at War - and we don’t always agree with each other. Yes, all this is true. However, I say in response, wait ~ and

Listen, you might hear the footsteps of those who would defy a government-ordered curfew to step outside their own front door in broad daylight and risk being shot.

Taste, the sweetness of quiet rebellion as dozens of women press the accelerator in a moving vehicle that represents human freedom much more than it does mobility.

Feel, the electricity of hundreds of thousands of people who mobilize to the streets - because they love their country and because they responded to a message on Facebook!

The sensations just described are only cursory vignettes of the powerful democracy movement sweeping the Middle East right now. The so-called “Arab Spring” that began in Tunisia earlier this year is an enormously significant, grass-roots demonstration of exactly what Jefferson articulated in the American Declaration of Independence when he penned:

“...We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal. That they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights. That among these are, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

From Cairo to Syria to Yemen and Libya, we are witnessing a great mobilization led by urban professionals and students who hope to replace authoritarian rule with a more democratic system. Last week, thousands of ordinary people gathered together in the former Soviet bloc country of Belarus and did something extraordinary. Threatened with brutal reprisal should they speak at all in public, and surrounded by a menacing security force, they found a way to convey their cry for human liberty without uttering a single word. They gathered en masse and marched through the streets - clapping their hands.

Today, in our world, in real-time, the common man is finally finding his voice. “Wait!” he cries, and what he means is, “Whatever they’re doing in America, we want that, too.” It is this voice we ought to thoughtfully consider, because it is OUR VOICE.

The world looked to the up-start American Colonies in 1776 initially as a bizarre and doomed curiosity. The whole idea of the American Enlightenment - which began as a liberal revolution - was literally just that - an IDEA. Oh, but what a completely ridiculous and astonishing idea it was! The Founding Fathers referred to their impossibly brilliant task as “The Great Experiment”. Why did they do that?

The simple answer is because it was. The concept was entirely new. America is the first nation in the history of the world whose inception was based on an IDEAL instead of blood-lines or tribal affiliation. It wasn’t easy. The patriots knew they were committing treason against THE supreme power on the face of the planet. They also knew they were dedicating their all to a totally un-tested theory. No one had ever heard of a country tied together in loyalty to a principle. They felt the dreadful weight of that painfully small window of opportunity to orchestrate the greatest coup of all time. Not only was the world watching, but this unbelievably gifted gathering of men (seemingly at random drawn together), pondered a great deal about future generations of Americans yet unborn who might look to them with gratitude or regret. Indeed, the Founding Fathers felt they would one day answer to God, and to the family of man for what they were about to do.

But Wait! - We Forget.

We forget distracted by our modern comforts of satellites and central air and "Dancing With The Stars" episodes, how totally alien it was in World History up to that point for anything to get done anywhere without a King, dictator or some other autocratic power calling all the shots and the accompanying ruling class supported by the labor of the masses.

In our current familiarity with Constitutional rights, we forget that our daily walk out in the open - buying, selling, traveling across state lines and saying just about anything we want to in total confidence - is in debt to what they did for us as they argued and negotiated and agonized about some really crazy, really radical new ideas for how people might organize themselves.

We forget, too, that our freedom to worship “according to the dictates of our own conscience” was also a principle vigorously defended in that hot, humid room in Philadelphia while the Second Continental Congress butted heads together week after week. Everything the Founders did, was with an eye to the future, and a prayer to Heaven, because the odds were miserably against them.

The first shots of the American revolution at Lexington and Concord truly were heard around the world. The “Great Experiment” achieved the unthinkable. We won. We won! Thirteen fractious, tiny, undisciplined little rag-tag colonies fiercely defended their right to the “Pursuit of Happiness”, and negotiated two of the most influential documents in History. The ideals of the Declaration of Independence are about as perfect as they can be. The ideals set forth in the United States Constitution are absolutely breath-taking for their scope and flexibility. The Constitution is the world’s longest-lasting, most imitated written political document. When it was all finally said and done, John Adams marveled that they had by the Grace of God somehow been able to “...form and establish the wisest and happiest government that human wisdom can conceive.” Time would tell how the national and world culture would gradually begin to honor those ideals so conceived.

223 years later The Constitution thankfully is still with us. Democracy is thriving in more countries than ever before. The standard of living has never been higher now that Globalization has brought the world family together with a casual click of a button - and still people leave somewhere else to come here. Amid many complaints and complicated growing-pains we hear at present, we may say - “Wait!”

We must not forget the brilliant foresight of our Constitutional framers who intentionally designed a document to survive a totally unknown future! We should acknowledge that they were undoubtedly moved upon by a Higher Power.

We must not forget that The Price of Liberty is Eternal Vigilance. We must never forget

that We Are Americans because we Choose to Be. We cannot afford to forget that our precious liberties are still a standard to the world. What they did here, and what we do here, shouts loud and clear to those who likewise long for human freedoms amplified in this, “The Great Experiment”. Neither can we forget this sobering responsibility: the American Flag is the most iconic symbol the world has ever known. It is instantly recognized anywhere. It may not always be welcome, but it’s red, white and blue is definitely understood to symbolize a FREE PEOPLE. THAT is a voice that will not be denied.

Listen, the voice of Freedom is a whisper, growing louder.

Taste, the beauty of this, the “American Dream” that we are all blessed to enjoy and evolve within.

Feel, the momentum of this amazing, tumultuous and Divinely-inspired time in which we are witnessing a surge of the common man, grasping at Liberty and a way of life which he first observed - in us.

This week’s TIME magazine features a picture of the Constitution getting acquainted with a shredder, with the cold caption, “Does it Still Matter?” One of the concluding sentences of this thoughtful essay is genius:

“The Constitution does not protect our spirit of liberty; our spirit of liberty protects the Constitution.”

May it always be so. God bless our families and our sacred honor, and God bless America!

References:

World Current Events, Spring-Summer 2011

The Spirit of America by William J. Bennett

This Nation Shall Endure by Ezra Taft Benson

Time Magazine, "One Document, Under Siege" by Richard Stengel 4 July 2011

The Protection of Liberty: A Response to Anthony Lewis' Review of a book by Justice Stephen Breyer

2011-06-24T13:57:00.012-07:00

Anthony Lewis’ review of Stephen Breyer’s book Making Our Democracy Work: A Judge’s View is a thoughtful insight to the American judicial system, the public’s interaction with it and what sustains the court’s viability even when the ruling by the court is unpopular. Lewis endorses the work of his friend, Justice Breyer, as “a remarkable contribution to educating the public about our constitutional system and those whose job it is to guard its boundaries.” Lewis introduces his review by quoting an inspirational 1998 statement by Justice Aharon Barak of Israel. Barak recalled the lessons of the Holocaust reinforce the necessity of democracies honoring self-restraint of their political majorities in order to protect the minority populations. The process of keeping the majority power in-check requires a system of judges who can make impartial, objective decisions.

Breyer’s discussion of “democratic legitimacy” draws valuable attention to a peculiar and brilliant aspect of American democracy, which is the general public acceptance of Supreme Court decisions and an historical respect for the rule of law. The body of Lewis’ review includes historical examples of important judgments by the Court and the legacy of those decisions on the American perspective. Some of the rulings are acknowledged as timely and righteous and unquestionably loyal to the Constitution, such as school desegregation and the Guantanamo detainees suits. Others are exposed for their constitutional short-comings, as in Dred Scott v. Sandford, the Japanese relocation case of Korematsu v. United States, and the Bush v. Gore

election decision.

Lewis and Breyer ruminate cultural and sociological features of the evolving role of a court system that must adapt to meet the problems of each new generation while adhering to the intent or values of the Constitution. The conclusion of Lewis’ review highlights Breyer’s hope that the function of the Court would be more fully realized as the understanding of the people it serves increases. Breyer cautions that public acceptance is never a “sure thing,” and “can never be taken for granted.” However, Lewis offers his final thoughts with a negative interpretation of what public acceptance means today. He ponders how judges keep their faith in the system when “they are consistently outvoted by an intransigent ideological majority.” Lewis complains “ultraconservative” judges have an agenda counter to their purpose as interpreters and keepers of constitutional law. His final appeal for continued common dissent and criticism by members of the judicial system and the public at large imply a conspiratorial air to the current American political scene.

His abrupt and judgmental conclusion seems inconsistent with the earlier emphasis of “democratic legitimacy.” Additionally, Lewis assigns corruptive forces to the Court’s idealistic function as coming from one source; ultraconservative ideology. He does not define ultraconservatism, but instead implies its detrimental effects as a force that is changing both the American judicial system and the purpose of the American Constitution. Lewis on one hand applauds the equity of majority rule in the country, yet trashes it in the end by dismissing whatever a majority influence is only in as far as that majority is “ultraconservative.” Majority influence many times in American political history came from a liberal persuasion. However, the author ignores this fact and focuses instead on a specific court case from that time period.

Indeed, even when a conservative majority elects a president who may appoint conservative Justices to the Court, or when the Congress is filled with a conservative majority, it’s not reasonable to cry “unfair” as Lewis does in this article except a profound suppression of all other viewpoints actually exists. Unless he is prepared to first dismiss whatever public election was rigged - and prove it was - which elected so-called “ultraconservatives,” and secondly to show evidence a minority liberal influence either on the bench, or in Congress, or on Main Street, U. S. A. is completely impotent and silent, he is without basis for his ominous opinion about the preservation of constitutional law. Breyer’s work reviewed by Lewis sufficiently demonstrates how American society historically has ebbed and flowed interchangeably in a conservative or liberal or moderate direction. The vigor with which public sentiment or outcry effects lasting impact has never been a speedy process. Americans honor the judicial system because it is law and because the law offers them redress on some level even after a final decision is issued.

Curious - how Lewis can be willing to give due attention to the brilliant foresight of Constitutional framers who intentionally designed the document to survive a totally unknown future metamorphosis of the new country barely founded to successfully serve generations of Americans, yet narrow his vision of current rights and liberties to be under assault by one and only one ideological emphasis. For the first time in over a century, America could see three major political parties in the next presidential election contending equally at the polls instead of two. This is only one example to show how consistently the original intention of the framers is alive and well; Americans are flexing their right to an opinion in a free society. True, more people could and should be better informed about the Court’s function. More people should more involved in the PTA or at the local soup kitchen, too. The fact that there are not more citizens engaged in their communities and the political process is also a by-product of the greater good: citizens are free to choose. The ability to engage in open disagreement is an essential part of what grants liberty a healthy and secure place in society. Lewis can’t applaud the intrinsic chorus of different voices in the American public to consistently and by his own admission, remarkably cleave to the rule of law in spite of personal differences and sucker-punch the system as dangerously monotone! The entire article illustrates how the system breathes and thrives with the give and take, the checks and balances, even the growing pains of old standards expiring as new, more constitutionally pure ideals are gradually embraced by the American culture and then the world. Nevertheless, Lewis is unhappy that ideologies different from his own are given any latitude at all.

Lewis’ meticulous review and his complaint, as well as Breyer’s supremely competent expositions and advice, are welcome to enter the arena of vigorous public debate in America ably protected by the genius of a cherished document that appropriately begins, “We the People . . .”.

Modern Victimhood: A Convenient Evasion of Personal Accountability

2011-06-14T20:46:00.023-07:00

Is personal accountability dead? Joseph Epstein’s “The Joys of Victimhood” is a thought-provoking observation of an American cultural evolution regarding what he terms, “victimhood” or the exploitation and acceptance of false victimization. He calls the bluff of opportunistic groups or individuals who would rush to wield victim identity as both an avenue towards political influence and particularly as a convenient avoidance of personal responsibility. The fact that he wrote this article in 1989 at the birth of political correctness does not date his comments but amplifies the relevance of them. Today’s society is reeling from the fall-out of accountability avoidance. An examination of Epstein’s claim that people who pretend to be victims wield viable political and social power directs attention to the issue of victimhood’s side effect: the relinquishing of personal integrity. Society can not survive the abandonment of individual integrity in the process of entertaining false victims.

The article describes a variety of scenarios in which the association of victimhood profits people in specific ways. Epstein offers the example of Gandhi as a precedent-setting case of a real victim who patiently makes his cause public. His non-violent protest inspired Martin Luther King, Jr., and his quest for black equality in America. Epstein reminds us that both these causes were successful because they appealed “. . . not to guilt but to the conscience of the nation.” Both causes in other words, were noble and correct and drew attention to the need for societal change by appealing to the public’s sense of justice.

Epstein illustrates the difference between righteous appeal as with the American civil rights movement, and the cheap-shot of laying blame, as with the violent American black militant movement. It’s one thing to reach out for what is morally right and another thing to angrily posture, demand and threaten others to make a point. Black militants openly called for a race war to the death and punctuated their agenda with bloody conflicts with police, an armed appearance at the State Assembly Chamber in Sacramento and incendiary marxist ideology and public statements.

Epstein asserts personal responsibility and even grace under pressure are the hallmarks of a healthy, functioning society. The bigger the impact of a particular social movement, the more flexible the ticket to opportunistic rewards and privileges as a companion complaint. In other words, Epstein describes worthy causes for redress such as the civil rights movement as the impetus for victim-wannabe advocacy (as in American black militancy), which has neither the moral or practical weight as civil rights but eventually wields considerable power through the phenomenon of imposing a sort of collective guilt. If the rest of society can be persuaded to feel responsible for someone else’s loud complaint,Epstein suggests a welcome mat is extended to practically anyone who might promote a new cause they feel will further themselves.

According to Epstein, an extremely persuasive element of modern victimhood is the art of declaring yourself one. He discusses the natural consequence of the human thought process: if someone is persistent enough in telling himself and everyone else he is a victim, he eventually becomes one. The pseudo-victim or pretend victim is motivated by the status victimhood generates. A victim must stand out from everyone else and receive “sympathy, special treatment even victory.” The modern victim-wannabes also defers responsibility for their own situation to others. In the process, they often assume a position of “moral superiority,” a move which lends a certain justification to their cause and excuses them from personal accountability for their circumstances.

Epstein’s analysis of the negative effects of manipulated guilt via modern victim mentality is difficult to ignore. He proposes a common sense rebuttal to those who posture the angry, offended and morally superior victim for personal or political reward: a mirror. His challenge to examine our core motivations is simply good old-fashioned advice. His conclusion that legitimate victims do not emotionally bludgeon others into accepting responsibility for their condition is spot on. Justice is legitimately served when those who falsely accuse and selfishly manipulate are exposed for the cowardice that inspires them.

The Archangel Michael by Guido Reni

The title of the article sets the scene for Epstein’s exposition of the self-serving theatrics that go with the territory of popular victim-making. The author points out the new guiltless, or the “privileged” and “morally superior” oppressed are shallowly and happily devoted to a party of one - themselves. The article strikes a nerve and the proverbial yawn at the same time when speaking here of basic human nature; if individuals are not responsible for themselves, “. . . they therefore have to find enemies.” This is unfortunately an iconic truth. Turn the pages of history and there is enough harsh evidence of man’s quest for power and resources back to the dawn of time with bloody and appalling results. There has always been a thirst for dominance, for personal advantage without conscience, the practice of seeking and engaging the enemy. Arbitrarily blaming large segments of society, the government, world history or whatever for current personal circumstances is a tawdry deflection of individual responsibility. Assigning adversarial status to the same is a gross narcissistic binge.

Successful societies safeguard the core values which promote and protect the viability of the society. A core value of

any social organization is an expectation of personal integrity and accountability by each member of the society. The more we accept blame for something we shouldn’t, the more license for irresponsibility we give to those who should. It’s more convenient for pretend victims to accuse everyone who does not agree with their cause or their claim to being a victim. They do this by slinging sloppy accusations of “homophobe,” “hater,” “bigot” or “racist.” Language such as this is never a successful dialogue-opener. They are, however, ever-present weapons of choice in the competition for pretend victimhood and its companion influence of attempted guilt transference. Neither tactic would carry much clout if the accuser assumed more personal responsibility for his own circumstances.

Recent examples of the accountability denial epidemic in American society range from defrauded fortunes on Wall Street to predictable chaos in the lives of Hollywood celebrities. The banking crisis of 2007 did not, for instance, generate faulty balance sheets, failed financial institutions, a massive corporate bail-out and a global financial fall-out of estimated trillions because of an inanimate computer-glitch. A critical domino-effect of individual people facilitated bad lending practices that eventually influenced the entire U.S. housing market. The classic primal appetite of human greed powered a movement of illicit practices on all levels, including the imprudent homebuyer who responded to the lure of a bigger and better house. The chain-reaction of relinquishing personal accountability and crying victim at the same time followed foreclosed home-owners who said they were taken advantage of, to the bank loan officers who said they were only following standard guidelines, to the parent financial institutions who blamed federal regulations. The government essentially accepted blame for the bad results and made new victims of conscientious Americans who were responsible with their finances by issuing the infamous bail-out with tax-payer money.

The public melt-down of one of television’s top earning sitcom stars, Charlie Sheen, is a bizarre and pathetic tutorial on the consequences of personal irresponsibility. Fired from his winning show for erratic behavior, Sheen responded by

filing suit against the studio. He then immediately grabbed as many interview opportunities as possible to get the word out: there was a new victim in town, and he was it. Sheen refused culpability for any of his outrageous actions which ranged from drug and sex orgies to threatening to gut his wife with a knife. Virtually in the same breath as his denial, he boasted that his drug use was “more than anybody could survive.” In spite of a string of incredibly bad behaviors, the actor’s popularity appears to be at an all-time high. He launched a very successful web series and a line of Sheen tee shirts. Record ticket sales accompany a series of his scheduled live performances. His continual claim that he was a victim had no real basis in fact. However, it carried influence in his favor the longer he simply said it was so. In Sheen’s case, there definitely are rewards for victimhood.

Public figures like Sheen may generate millions of “hits” on Youtube, but flamboyance or bizarre utterances are more than entertainment in America. The extremes of human behavior tolerated for morbid curiosity’s sake are often a reflection of a deeper, wide-spread sickness in the national patient. In such an environment, victimhood is one of the irresponsible human behaviors that naturally flourishes. Guilt and victimhood are dark and defeatist companion mind-sets, and as such are precarious standards to live by. Anything that alters the national consciousness to the point that it becomes a new cultural reality is truly a powerful trend. Analyzing how that change or “shift” gains common acceptance is a fascinating journey. Epstein’s readers might not agree with him, but they will certainly respond to his thought process. Epstein’s thoughts serve as a springboard for somber reflection on just what core value we are willing to sacrifice for the sake of political or personal convenience.

In this case, it appears that the integrity and value of personal accountability is on the altar and at a terrible cost. Individual dismissal of personal accountability is at the root of virtually every social ill. It is a contributing force behind sky-rocketing costs from healthcare to social programs and judicial dockets packed for months in advance. Abandoned personal integrity results in crime, substance abuse, domestic violence, divorce and illegitimacy. A denial of personal accountability powerfully motivates shamefully selfish choices. Several examples include the shockingly egregious proliferation of addictive and compulsive behaviors such as online drug, pornography and gaming addictions. Individuals who indulge in these behaviors do so exclusively because it feeds a self-centered gratification. Once the addictive aspect of what were originally behaviors of choice takes over, the person is overwhelmed physically, psychologically and spiritually in the never satisfied quest to gratify themselves to the sad exclusion of virtually all else. This “me” culture swirls the drain sweeping broken promises and devastated families along with it for a hell of a ride.

Pandemonium by John Martin

scene from Paradise Lost

Society’s acquiescence to the bullying “victim” also interrupts and side-lines in a profane way the righteous process of nurturing those who ought to be nurtured, the real victims among us. Real victims are those who have experienced something that is an act of nature, those who are born with a physical infirmity or acquire one later, or suffer affliction because of the unjust actions of another. Life has enough real victims and real social issues to seriously address. There should be less time devoted pandering in false guilt or fear of reprisal to pretend and opportunistic victims. The tipping point is really a single decision that is generated by our sense of personal integrity. Which course to follow? A decision to act or be is only a seed thought that is watered and cultivated until it is finally acted upon. Choosing which thought we want to honor or nourish defines our moral character. This article by Epstein challenges us to honestly examine our own thought process, and in effect, our own sense of integrity and personal accountability. Any sales, self-help or religious revival seminar will champion this simple truth as if it were a profound, alien discovery. If we consistently act the part, we become.

Proverbs 23, verse 7 reads: “As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.” Epstein would whole-heartedly concur.

Bibliography

“Bad Bank”. This American Life WBEZ/NPR Chicago Public Media. Episode 375 27 February 2009 Web

Baker, Gerald. “Banking Crisis: Spectre of 1930s haunts America as financial turmoil worsens”. The Sunday Times. 1 Oct. 2009 Web

Black Panther Party. Encyclopedia Britannica Web

Charlie Sheen Sues Over Show. CNN Entertainment. 10 March 2011 Web

Good Morning America ABC News Exclusive: Charlie Sheen says He’s ‘Not Bi-polar’ but ‘Bi-Winning’. 28 February 2011 Web

Jeffries, Judson L., et al. “Militancy Transcends Race: A Comparative Analysis of the American Indian Movement, the Black Panther Party, and the Young Lords”. Black Diaspora Review. 1 (2) Spring 2010 Web

Proverbs 23 Verse 7. Holy Bible, The King James Version

“Winning?! Charlie Sheen Reportedly Offered Job Back”. KBOI ABC News Radio. 21 March 2011 Web

The Pale of Personal Boundaries

2011-06-05T19:04:00.012-07:00

“The Boundaries of Help” is a practical insight from author Karen Kissel Wegela. A practicing psychologist, Wegela reviews both her clinical experience and her own personal evolution with the concept of setting and honoring healthy boundaries in personal relationships. The author organizes her thoughts by dividing the article into three sections: the initial clinical setting which presents a conflict, the author’s process within herself to come to grips with the conflict, and the author’s conclusions for general consideration.

The first section describes a client-therapist and a mother-daughter relationship. Her analysis of the process required to set healthy boundaries is sound. Sara’s inability to say “no” to her two dysfunctional daughters amounted to allowing her adult daughters who frequently abandoned their children to take advantage of Sara. Moreover, the mental health agency where Wegela practiced had established rules to protect both the client’s time with a therapist, and the therapist’s privacy away from the clinic. When Sara dismissed the rules, or crossed those boundaries by first bringing grandchildren with her to a therapy appointment, and second, by calling the therapist at home, Wegela reaffirmed the boundaries previously agreed upon. She reminded Sara in both instances that she could not respond to her needs if Sara was unwilling to abide by the rules. Sara was upset and angry with her, and the author questioned her own altruistic ethics as a result.

Wegela’s second section in the article followed a step-by-step review of the situation described previously. She honestly reflected on her base, emotional response to denying someone in crisis. The author admitted to herself, and to the reader, she might have been insensitive or lacked the commitment she thought she had to serve others. Wegela felt connected and responsible to Sara because she knew her story, and more especially because she knew Sara was suffering.

Wegela’s willingness to share her thought process at this juncture is a valuable insight to the common human tendency of self-doubt, which she points out is often a crippling and distracting stumbling block to effective relationship-building. The author’s personal value-system, a combination of Buddhist meditation philosophy and her clinical psychology training, successfully restrained her “natural” emotions and helped her recognize the impotency of negative self-talk. She was able to come to peace with her decision to stand her ground with Sara. The reader may easily relate to Wegela’s personal struggle of second-guessing her own motives. Ultimately, in the case study presented, Sara responded positively to Wegela’s therapeutic insistence on “healthy boundary-setting”, and decided to say “no” to one of her daughters. She did this by explaining to her daughter that she was available to baby-sit one day, but not on another. A relieved Sara finally began to gain more control over her own life in so doing.

In the third section of the article, Wegela expounds on reasons why people open themselves to unhealthy compromises to their personal boundaries. She explores what she believes motivates people who can’t say “no”, or in other words, people who can not respect themselves enough to firmly distance themselves from interacting with other people’s needs or demands when those issues are beyond the pale of healthy limits. Wegela wisely asserts that, “Sometimes we let others walk all over us in our misguided attempts to be helpful. When we behave in this way, it is important to look into our own motivations.”

Her guided examination of personal motivation to help others to the detriment of self interests is an appeal to an entirely logical theme; it is not helpful to either party to give power to disrespectful or potentially abusive behavior. Wegela astutely asks the reader to consider how encouraging “. . .others to be so mindless and unkind,” is helpful to anyone? She cuts to the chase when she points out the fear inevitably involved in failing to say “no.” According to the author, when people give whatever another person wants because they fear the relationship will end if they don’t, the relationship is identified as co-dependent.

The article is well written. The clinical illustration of patient and therapist is fairly cut and dried and presents the issues without complication. Wegela gives the reader only a glimpse of the far more complicated interchange between Sara’s daughters, their children and their grandmother. The case example is sufficient to illustrate Wegela’s focus, which is the desirability of protecting healthy personal boundaries. The author delivers this stated focus with clarity.

An appraisal of Wegela’s article must begin with her greatest insight into what is involved when wanting to help goes wrong. Most notably, Wegela assigns ego as a root reason people become entangled in one-sided or dysfunctional interpersonal relationships. The connotation of ego in this example appears to be the often negative definition of self-importance. However, it is clearly much more than that. She further emphasizes this point by adding an amazingly persuasive word to the ego discussion , “seductive.” Her use of this single word is brilliant because it is an inescapably emotional word. The author thereby ordains powerful meaning to the almost urgent desire people can experience when they sacrifice themselves for others, believing the resulting violation of boundaries is temporarily justified. Wegela is also referencing the larger meaning of ego; inner-self, core concept, and the subconscious.

Obviously, both self-concept and self-esteem are integral to the dynamics of all interpersonal relationships. To identify ego as the self-concept governing basic decision-making in human relationships is a clinically necessary perspective. It automatically becomes an increasingly complicated dynamic whenever people allow others to take advantage of them. A fine line exists between annoying inconvenience and the beginnings of actual abuse. Much of the time, this kind of complexity is so emotionally-charged those involved are unaware of the progressively oppressive web they are in.

In the context of offering help to others who fail to honor healthy behavior, the belief that one is specially capable, responsible or even destined to help may be a terrifically powerful influence on the lack of appropriate boundaries that result. If a person feels exclusively needed to give help, it becomes vastly more difficult to reject unrighteous imposition when it occurs. Also, the person who imposes upon the person who helps unconditionally may never appreciate their own culpability.

The concept of establishing healthy boundaries in personal relationships is a necessary skill for personal protection, happiness and optimum productivity. As in the case of Wegela’s client Sara, the two daughters and the grandchildren, establishing healthy boundaries proved to be a learnable endeavor. Mother learned how to hold her daughters more accountable for what they anticipated from her, and by their compliance, the daughters also had an opportunity to learn something about themselves. Wegela presents a great springboard for discussion on the topic in her very concise article.

Books by Karen Kissel Wegela, Ph.D.:

The Courage to Be

Present: Buddhism, Psychotherapy, and the Awakening of Natural Wisdom

How to Be a Help instead of a Nuisance: Practical Approaches to Giving Support, Service, and Encouragement to Others

What Really Helps: Using Mindfulness and Compassionate Presence to Help, Support, and Encourage Others

ANTHEM

2011-05-11T17:30:00.000-07:00

Pocket Change

2011-01-04T18:01:00.013-07:00

(Giant Donut kind of like this, but different)

We have a handful of nickels,

pennies and dimes between us

to go to Winchell’s -

the donut shop

with the gigantic tractor tire

in the parking lot

painted like a chocolate donut

with a lot

of sprinkles on top.

Five cents for cake

or plain or raised,

eight cents for raspberry

custard

or lemon-filled,

glazed.

Making a choice

is sweet agony

hopping in place

(one foot

to the other)

barefoot

on the other side

of the glass case.

We pedal our bikes furiously

with a hunger

deep and craving,

an urgency borne all on the wings

of sacred

pocket change.

I remember when they raised the price of specialty donuts from eight to eleven cents a piece. That’s all we could talk about for days! It seemed like a terrific injustice. In our minds, we were the core clientele of this tiny, paint-peeling little donut shop on Saticoy, just around the corner from Jellico. Executing our donut runs almost exclusively on a Saturday, we were accordingly unaware of the week day early morning business they must have been doing just fine without any of us penny-pinching neighborhood kids.

Winchell’s is an international donut chain. We didn’t know this. We thought Mr. Winchell was the old guy in the stained white apron and the little paper hat behind the counter.

Donuts 2011: 89 cents each

"The Donut King"

Verne H. Winchell

October 15, 1915 - November 26, 2002

Founder of Winchell's Donuts in Temple City, CA, 1948, graduate of Alhambra High School, CA.

* Excerpt from Station Wagon Wars ~ Growing Up in the 60s by cTanner

Dismissing Superman

2010-12-16T19:44:00.017-07:00

Voices clamoring today for accountability in American education do so with good reason: Johnny can’t read. With real-time issues of global economics and an aggressive market place, literacy is essential for personal and national success. No one is claiming it isn’t. They just can’t agree how to go about it.

Recently a Superintendent for a local school district posted an open letter to parents on his district website in response to the newly released documentary, Waiting for Superman.

He acknowledged that parents may have serious concerns about the efficacy of public education after viewing the film (which presents appalling statistics, messy politics and ridiculous red tape inhibiting effective educational achievement in America’s schools). To counter their fears, he exerted considerable energy gushing and touting the many positive measures his district had committed towards preparing their children for the future. Amazingly, he admitted he had not seen the film himself, and had no intention to ever do so.

I would like to point Mr. Superintendent in three directions:

1) To the fact that plenty of parents are hugely aware that education in America is floundering. They don’t need a documentary to figure it out.

2) To Paul Tough’s book, “Whatever It Takes: Geoffrey Canada’s Quest to Change Harlem and America”. Canada is also the radical educational prophet who coined the title phrase adopted by the documentary, Waiting For Superman.

and

3) To the bathroom mirror: He ain’t all that.

His rather arrogant side-step and parry is surprising, because evidence abounds to the contrary! Frustration is felt in all corners, across all demographics. A smorgasbord of companies who cater to the professional development and training of school administrators and teachers are assured total job security until Jesus comes again. Literally billions of federal and state dollars, funds solicited from Educational Foundations, even Presidential mandates and all the latest “edu-speak” fads offered as the consecrated value system of the day to save Johnny - have done nothing to change the problem. Johnny still can’t read.

From personal observation as a teacher’s aide for inner-city Creighton School District in Phoenix, Arizona about twelve years ago, I casually estimated 30% of the children in my combined first and second grade and third and fourth grade classes were below grade level in reading, and as such disappeared each week to special remedial tutoring designed to help them catch-up and integrate into grade level. None of them ever did. I know, I asked the Master’s degree educator who ran the program. Hard statistics studying students in Atlanta, Georgia, reveal an even more egregious figure: “Essentially two out of every five Atlanta students heading into high school are functionally illiterate -- unable to comprehend a work as simple as Anne of Greene Gables or even complete mathematical word problems such as "Marty has 6 red pencils, 4 green pencils, and 5 blue pencils.”

This dizzying dilemma of big money, revolving resources and endless teacher trainings, regardless of the urgency or enthusiasm placed on them - appear to only sporadically and superficially effect measurable change in what are truly dismal reading and writing scores. Beyond the scoring, is the critical attitude of children who don’t enjoy learning and reading. I venture to say there are a great number of teachers who likewise do not enjoy teaching, and who have lost the vision of what it is to capture a child’s imagination and vital learning perspective.

I submit a jump-start solution that no one would dare try because it is painfully simplistic. It is not a cure-all, only a jolt to charge literacy skills into action. It doesn’t cost a penny. It doesn’t require special training to initiate, or special curriculum to get started. There are no seminars, retreats or consulting venues to calendar, no high-tech equipment to install. Virtually all the necessary elements to begin the solution today are already in place in every classroom across the Nation.

Lock the copy room! Throw away the key. Return at least 60% of the time teacher’s aides spend with a copy machine or waiting in a long line to use the copy machine back to real face to face interaction with children, thanks to the sound of metal on metal.
Shove the student desks out of “educational clusters”, and back into straight rows.

This disastrous theory of good study habits by osmosis has got to go. Relieve the few capable students from the unfair burden of shouldering their less-capable classmates like a literal ball and chain. (I once asked my son’s teacher for his paycheck as his miniature teacher’s aide). Place a strict moratorium on every so-called “group learning activity” that celebrates kids becoming hap-hazard “hangers-on” instead of independent thinkers.

One student, one grade. Assign meaningful projects that assure an individual student will earn an individual grade. Students must understand reading and writing is wholly a solo acquisition! It can be experienced at some level in a group, but ultimately the doing of the deed is a personal, intimate thing.
Be honest with children. We must reverse the great disservice of the self-esteem movement which made common-sense a dirty word on school campuses. Telling a fourth grader he did “very well” when he couldn’t sound-out “had” is a cruel lie. Call it ‘911 Reading!’ and use forthright flag words such as, “Emergency!” and “Urgent!”. Embrace motivational phrases such as, “You need this skill like you need air to breathe!” and “Triumph is within your grasp!”

There is something crucially pertinent about the cognitive process required to copy whatever the teacher writes on the black board (or dry erase board) and accurately transfer it to a piece of paper. There is magic in the raw processing of language on such a brute and tactile level.

Each word automatically becomes precious; precious because the teacher must spend time writing it, and the student must take care to see it, transfer it to paper, and decode it. There is a wealth of synaptic activity that is honed and refined by the sheer volume of the task required. Practice makes perfect is an old adage that really works. Why? Because it does.

Naturally opposition to this proposal will be fierce. Kids today crave gadgetry and all the bells and whistles to stay focused. Um, don’t they? Has anyone considered perhaps their lack of focus is because they are not proficient readers, and we don’t expect them to be? An excerpt from a teacher/parent strategy outlines the dangers of copying from the board for some children:

Minimize copying from the board. This seems like such a straightforward task, but can be very difficult for some students. Copying from the board requires students to keep information in their heads as they transfer it from the board to the paper. The children have to keep track of what they last wrote, keep that in mind as they look back up at the board, find where they left of, look at the next few letters or words, carry the information back to the paper, and keep it in their heads long enough to finish writing it down.
Request that your child be assigned a "note buddy," a child in the class who takes complete notes and makes them available for your child to photocopy.

Did you think I was making this up? Did you catch what the student is hearing loud and clear? "This is too hard for you (and we don't believe you'll ever get it) - so let's have someone else do it for you!" Whenever I teach theatre arts or public speaking, I make sure I use action vocabulary. I say, 'This is unfamiliar to you. That's not the same thing as "too difficult". Do you remember what it was like when you were first learning to ride a bike?" (See where I'm going with that?) No kid ever agreed to give up trying to ride a two-wheeler just because we knew we would probably skin our knee once or twice. Why? Because we knew it was FUN. We believed it was a necessary skill! We saw all our friends riding up and down the street, and we wanted to do it, too. The point of no return has always been the running shove; there had to be momentum for us to balance on our own. Only then could we launch off into flight, free at last!

The self-esteem hijack has effectively removed an extremely basic and highly functional incentive ~ the TRUTH: Literacy is FUN. It is a necessary skill. It is the vehicle by which we think thoughts and express ourselves. There is no such thing as a "pedal buddy" in bike riding. Duh. If someone else is pedaling, you are not riding.

Classrooms in my 1960s childhood were conducted in straight rows of desks, with a decisive emphasis on literary neatness. If we copied our notes hastily, we might do the wrong page for homework and miss a grade. It was a mistake not oft repeated. Seating in rows, the teacher could almost instantly determine who was doing their own work, and who was attempting to rob from their neighbor. We didn’t need to group together and pretend celebrate our pretend team spirit to develop a pretend healthy self-esteem. We had self-esteem because we could read.

As for the mechanics of reading (which is already in play by the manual copying of text), have you seen some of the stuff they make kids read who are having trouble reading? I have. It stinks. It is laborious. It is deadly tedious. Whatever adventure by accident happens to be enjoyed by the reader is soundly crushed and strangled by exhaustive, redundant questions and workbook activities following the story. I get it; they are designed to encourage comprehension and retention. But seriously, I ask again: Is it relevant? No, it is anti-climactic. Is it effective? Clearly, it is not. Are these workbook style reading assignments (designed by educators instead of children’s authors) filled with inspirational language? Emphatically - NO, they are not.

Jane Yolen was interviewed this week on National Public Radio in honor of her 300th published book. She is often called the Hans Christian Anderson of American children’s literature. Her wildly popular 1987 Owl Moon

won the most prestigious children’s award, The Caldecott. Ms. Yolen ought to know a thing or two about children’s literature. “I think picture books should stretch children,” she explained, “they should be full of wonderful, amazing words.” Yet even a writer of her caliber must battle editors and publishers more and more over their objection to her choice of words in her manuscripts. They tell her she is “too literary”. One of her stories revolved around a stolen diamond lavaliere. The publisher insisted “necklace” would be easier for children to read. Yolen held her ground. Later, when she and the artist were on the book tour, every single school they visited had conducted a kid-vote on their favorite new word from her new book. The winner hands-down? Lavaliere.

Literacy is losing ground in large part because adults have lost faith in the remarkable capacity of children. Of course there are many other issues at play. Administrators who can’t remember what it smells like in a 5th grad classroom after recess are often oblivious to the nuts and bolts of the teacher’s world. Society is distressed. Respect for authority is waning. Family life is much more chaotic than it used to be, even privileged households have parents who fail to read bedtime stories to their children.

In other settings, such as what Geoffrey Canada discovered in the ghetto of Harlem, there is a deep culture of parents who are generationally deprived of healthy parenting models.

We should be true to our assertion that children matter. English as a second language is an obvious hurdle. Again, the common sense remedy is English emersion. A student who can read will catch up in other subjects, and quickly. We should vow never to produce another generation of students who went from Kindergarten to high school graduation in America - without a single word in English. Ever.

Making lists of what works against effective learning is easy. Having the courage to allow teachers to teach and being able to remove bad teachers and reward talented teachers is another topic entirely.

There ought to be JOY in learning! There ought to be much, much more of exploring the written magic of words, and speaking the song that beautiful language is. There ought to be passion and excitement and flavor every time language is heard or seen in American classrooms. A fundamental step in the right direction would be to envelop a classroom with language; on the tongue, on the printed page and from the end of a pencil.

Necessary language. Fun language. Imaginative language. Challenging, thinking language. It is a crime to decide in advance the capacity of children. We should assume with confidence that children are capable, and act with anticipation.

The adventure begins with a neatly printed white board, a blank ruled paper, a sharp number two pencil - and plenty of pink erasers. And we don’t need a Superman to accomplish this.

SOURCES CITED:

1) “Whatever It Takes: Geoffrey Canada’s Quest To Change Harlem And America”

by Paul Tough

2) The American Spectator

“The Kids Can’t Read” by RiShawn Biddle 6.21.2010

http://spectator.org/archives/2010/06/21/the-kids-cant-read

3) National Public Radio

Author Interviews: Jill Kaufman with Children’s Author Jane Yolen

http://www.npr.org/2010/12/05/131826691/Kids-Author-Jane-Yolen-Never-Too-Old-For-Comics

4) Sixty Second Parent

“Reading With Toddlers”

http://www.sixtysecondparent.com/_webapp_218785/Reading_with_Toddlers

5) About.Com

“Strategies to Help a Child Who Has Trouble Taking Notes in Class”

http://specialchildren.about.com/od/schoolstrategies/a/notetaking.htm

Punishment

2010-12-13T20:45:00.015-07:00

There are all kinds of punishments for children. Excuse me - corrective measures, positive discipline, incentives. Back in the 60s where I come from, we called it like it was: Punishment. Sitting in the corner, going to bed without dinner, writing “I will not throw spit wads in class” 100 times on the black board, washing your mouth out with soap, missing the Thursday night 8:30 PM to be continued episode of Star Trek (oh man!), even a belt across your backside - all culturally acceptable and highly effective forms of punishment for errant children. I was even paddled by the school principal with a ping pong paddle for being tardy.

I told him I was always late because my mom took my brother to private school before dropping me off (his form of ‘punishment’ for being adverse to public school standards), and I was too little to ride my bike to school. But instead of paddling my mom, Mr. Sands turned me over his knee. I couldn’t wait for second grade to be over with so I could ride my bike to school and be on time! Life’s lessons were often a ritualized endurance of the confusing consequences for getting in trouble.

There were some activities that should have merited punishment, but didn’t. It wasn’t my idea to put salt on the snails that crept innocently out on silver trails from the English ivy patch, but once my brother showed me the cool results, I was an active participant. The terrific bubbling and frothing that instantly ensued was boss. The gruesome casualties of our salty campaign littered the white concrete of our long driveway with sad, empty shells and miserably liquified bodies apart from them. Why we never considered what was being experienced on the snail’s end of things, is regrettable.

We (a loose term for my older brother, the neighbor kid Eric, and yours truly) clipped intricate tunnels in and out of the dense

oleander hedge that bordered the street, leaving a flap of outside branches to cleverly conceal the labyrinth inside. Next, munitions were carefully selected; cumquats nearly fully ripe are heavy enough to throw with considerable force and accuracy for significant distances. Biting the end of the fruit just before the throw was our equivalent of lock and load. If the cumquat was a little more ripe than usual, then the bite was like pulling the pin on a grenade. The splat upon impact was truly beautiful. Our target was the passing automobile. Any car would do. The obvious flaw in our battle strategy was the fact that Jellico Avenue was hardly well-traveled. It was very rare that any car would pass, and even rarer still that it would be someone we didn’t know. Apparently we didn’t think about that, either.

As the only girl in the corps, I was often assigned hazardous duty. This worked swell for the boys, because I was too young to realize I was being manipulated, and too eager to be one of the guys to notice the gross inequality of it. It was 1966, two whole years before the infamous ‘burning bra’ incident after the Miss America contest. I didn’t know I was being suppressed! So out I went, exposed in the street as the “look-out”. Once I alerted the happy crew to an approaching car, we assumed battle station positions within our oleander fortress. Pelting the unsuspecting car with a furious flurry of half-mutilated cumquats was ridiculously rewarding.

One day I dutifully emerged from the hedge to sound the “all clear”, but saw tail lights flash instead. The victim was backing up at a rapid rate, and we were without a contingency plan! I screamed warning and my fellows in arms quickly abandoned me. I flew across our front lawn after them, into the back yard past the garage and the woodpile and hopped the six foot chain link fence in my bare feet as if on wings. We all huddled in Eric’s old barn and breathlessly waited. After some time had elapsed, we guiltily ventured back to the scene of the crime. The target car was gone. But so was my brother’s brand new baseball bat he had left on the lawn. He couldn’t complain about it though, because it would expose our crime. A crime for a crime. He wept bitter tears. It seemed justice had been served, as much as we wished he hadn’t been required to give up his precious bat.

Other crimes were not as easily defined. I was messy.

My bedroom was a disaster zone. It took me forever to find stuff. Unfortunately, the difficulty in locating things correlated exactly to the degree to which I didn’t want to do something else related to it - such as go to school. Therefore, I was often the cause of insanely frustrating searches at the last minute for a book report, a library book or my envelope with the field trip money for my teacher. I tried to get my beagle Lucky to search and point, but he was pretty useless, and apparently not all that lucky, either. My mother was tired of a 5th grader who couldn’t find her school shoes.

The slippers were a Christmas gift. I think. They were not important. They were PINK. And fuzzy. Super fuzzy. Sluffing stupidly along in them was beyond awkward for the very reason of the afore-mentioned fuzziness. It felt like trying to walk with giant Hostess Marshmallow Snowballs on my feet - which would have been preferable; at least you can eat a Hostess Snowball. For a little girl who climbed trees and played army and tied strings to a June bug’s leg to see it fly in a circle, pink, fuzzy slippers were not very high on the list of ‘must haves’.

If I had to wear anything on my feet, it had better be rubber-soled Keds. Y’know, the run faster jump higher kind.

I knew the kid that was on one of the t.v. commercials, honest! You never got to see his face though, which was pretty disappointing. He did all the running and jumping required all right, and lots of close-ups of his amazing bright red Keds, but it ended up being some weird, hyper-active headless torso. I think even back then I had a knack for marketing. I definitely would have recommended that effort feature the kid’s head at least once.

One morning, after the customary search for my shoes was a bust, my mom ordered me into the car wearing the only thing I did have an even-steven pair of - the hideous pink, fuzzy Christmas slippers. This was certain death for a girl who already had too many things going against her: I could fit a nickel between my front teeth, I had freckles, and I was the very last girl picked for square dancing every Friday afternoon. No amount of tears or begging or dramatic conniptions could alter the course of fate; there would be sweet, pink vengeance for my mother, and it would be today. She practically had to kick me out of the Impala station wagon once we were alongside the curb next to the Lorne Street School bike racks. My heart was in my throat. I could see my entire class lined up outside our bungalow. For whatever reason, Mr. Lavin was uncharacteristically late letting them in. And now, just for good measure, I was forced to approach them wearing my pink, fuzzy slippers.

I was out in the open. The enemy was aware of my offensive approach, and they were prepared to receive me. Their laughter echoed between the buildings and carried across the four-square courts to my mortified self They pointed, the kids in the front of the line elbowing the kids in the back until everyone turned and leaned out of line to get a good, long look. Grimly, I trudged on - my school books pressed to my chest, two skinny little chicken legs underneath my drop-waist dress, and the hated slippers fuzzing out cheerfully at the end of my knee socks. I don’t remember if later in the school day my mom brought me my shoes, or if I had to wear the damn slippers for the entire day. It doesn’t matter anymore.

All I do remember for sure is that my closet was always clean and organized after that. And we never threw fruit at our neighbors again, and I think we imposed extinction on the local snail population, which pleased my dad.

The following year I would turn eleven and my mom would take me to the orthodontist and I would face my classmates wearing an ugly headgear, the style with the single band at the back of the neck. I had agreed to wearing it 24/7 because it would drastically decrease time with bands on my teeth. My first night wearing it hurt so bad I cried myself to sleep. I couldn’t eat anything but soup for a number of days. But this was one conflict I would not withdraw from. I was thankful to be getting braces, thankful to be done with my buck teeth I could fit a nickel in between. After the slippers, I felt rather untouchable to the taunts and jeers of kids at school about my very attractive headgear.

(can you say "mug shot"?)

I endured. I pretended I was a horse - my favorite animal of all time - and my nasty headgear was sort of a bit and bridle. In my mind I galloped majestically away from the stupid boys who said stupid things, and the mean girls who encouraged them.

Finally, in 7th grade and after what seemed like a life-time of anticipation and always being outside the popular crowd, the day arrived for my braces to be removed. The suffering was over - I was elated! My teeth were perfect! I ran my tongue across them. I bit them gingerly together - testing the occlusion. I looked at my reflection with my mouth open and closed. I could have cried, I was so happy. Everything about me seemed wonderfully different. I couldn’t wait to get back to school after my momentous final appointment with partially deaf Dr. Moffitt.

At the lunch table under the tree by the art room where I met my friends, I tried to act natural and wait for their reaction when they noticed I didn’t have the braces anymore. It took longer than I thought. What seemed screaming, front page news to me was indistinguishable to them. They chatted away, eating balogna or tuna sandwiches and draining their thermos each of cold milk. Finally, and a little disappointed, I had to point it out. “Look!” I said, smiling broadly. “See anything different?” A couple of friends were surprised they hadn’t noticed, and commented approvingly. Things were looking up. Until Mary interjected her two cents. I don’t even know why she was at our table, anyway. She was’t part of our usual lunch group. She was one of nine kids, and tough. “Your teeth look bigger. Too big,” she said. I explained it just appeared that way because the silver bands were not covering them up anymore. “No,” she insisted, louder, “that’s not it. Your teeth are just huge. You look ridiculous. And it’s annoying how you are opening your mouth and smiling a lot on purpose just to show us your big teeth.”

There should be a punishment for that.

Matrix

2010-11-20T19:07:00.022-07:00

We have grown arrogant in our bubble of modern, American life. I am only three and four generations removed from a time when couples could expect to lose a third of their children before they reached maturity, and husbands could expect to lose a wife or two in childbirth. A day when typhoid, diphtheria, scarlet fever and malaria epidemics swept through housing complexes in city and rural communities with the same, grim toll.

We forget this.

I am of the generation of school children who received polio vaccinations one by one in the school nurse’s office. Our generation had family members and neighbors and people we knew who got polio; seeing kids with leg braces and corrective orthotics was not all that uncommon.

We forget this.

My own children have been very healthy. They have benefitted from the very best of Western medicine and technology. And, because the vast majority of our society was similarly protected by an impressive infrastructure which regulated safety and health standards from fluoridated city water to fire-resistant pajamas, we have lived a long time in a predominately stable environment.

But, we forget this, too.

It’s not that we don’t have issues. Cancer devastates, and plaques and neurofibrillary tangles high-jack mental acuity and fill nursing homes with vacant faces; lost lives still among the living. We are struggling with a virulent array of aggressive addictions and sexually-transmitted diseases which corrupt virtually every aspect of American life; everyone knows someone who has been hurt or families who have been decimated by these.

But what happens when a marginal infrastructure is toppled virtually over-night? When the matrix of social stability is just too fragile, too impoverished, too compromised to prevent absolute catastrophe?

Cholera happens.

I thought I knew about cholera, at least as much as can be casually understood. One reference in particular is special. In 1849, my Great Great Grandfather was on board a ship bound for one of the busiest immigration ports of the era; New Orleans. A convert to Mormonism, he was on his way to “Zion”. The voyage from Liverpool was difficult, but not uncommonly so, until the vessel was becalmed off the Florida Keys. For 21 days the sails hung flaccidly. Resources intended for a 26 day journey were severely compromised. Cholera erupted. Within hours the groans and agony of the dying filled the miserable hold.

Benjamin Peel, much to the terror of his young wife Nancy Turnbull, bravely attended to afflicted fellow passengers without thought for his own safety. Thirteen adults and fifteen children died in short order. Mercifully for many, death came within only two hours from the onset of illness. It is part of our cherished family lore that Benjamin and Nancy Peel were miraculously spared.

But then Haiti had an earthquake. The world family focused attention on her plight. Funding, specialists, relief workers and supplies have been invested in a broken place crushed by too many cultural failures long before a natural disaster took center stage. Officials watched anxiously for signs of contagion - a dreaded accompaniment to large scale refugee communal living. A Hurricane dumped further trouble on a miserable situation.

Then, reportedly, sewage from a Nepalese base contaminated the Artibonite River. Nepal is a part of the world where cholera is endemic. Haiti’s National Public Health Laboratory identified the cholera strain now ravaging Haiti as the same type typically found in South Asia. Sweden’s ambassador to Haiti fueled suspicions when he asserted his “diplomatic sources” traced the deadly cholera infection to Nepal. Violence erupted as a result.

How incongruous that U.N. peacekeepers may be the carriers that introduced this paralyzing plague! The waste management company responsible for draining the Nepalese septic tanks has also been accused in the disaster. It is an epidemic. With more than 220 cases a day in just one camp, rising to over 300 - 400 new cases a day, beds needed for cholera victims must increase from 1,900 to 3,000 in the next few days.

In a place that has never seen Cholera before, people are stoning officials who come to collect the bodies of the dead. Families abandon their dead on the streets, too terrified to touch them.

Now I know I know nothing at all about Cholera.

We cannot forget this.

Forgetting is dangerous.

Influxes of immigrant populations from developing countries who by-pass legal methods to enter the country have added a new demographic to social health in America. Wherever populations of immigrants are, so is a rocketing rise in diseases we thought we were done with a long time ago. TB, Hepatitis (all varieties), Typhoid (which can reside happily asymptomatic in a single carrier for years while actively infecting others) and unbelievably - Polio - are all blossoming among stable populations in the U.S. Common Chicken Pox and Measles are actually a serious problem again. The obvious alarm, of course, is that none of these potentially lethal diseases stay loyal to the host population.

An additional factor in our changing public health is the growing number of individuals who believe immunizations are not safe. Research has been very thorough in this regard, and so far aberrant side-effects (of significance) from routine immunizations are so incredibly rare, the numbers simply do not justify this aversion. Celebrities are very successful promoters, and Jenny McCarthy is prominent in the campaign to link immunizations to childhood Autism, for example. The fact remains, however, there is no viable science to her claims. Add this element of vulnerable population vs immunized population now compromised (most of our baby-boomer generation immunizations are expired; we should have a booster dose), and third world country microbial/viral ravages literally have an open door into our American “bubble”.

I am no biologist, and I am no germ-freak, either. All I know is we are a very forgetful society. The rising faction of those who revile against fluoride in city water sources as a toxic assault on the populace have forgotten that only two generations ago, it was accepted as the norm to lose all your teeth before you were 50. Public fluoridation put this appalling standard to a screeching halt. If something as simple as adding fluoride to drinking water has elevated public health so dramatically, yet is so thoroughly forgotten, what's next?

We turn on a tap with confidence. We drink out of any public water fountain without a second thought. We order food at restaurants and shop at warehouse-sized grocery stores, and hardly consider what contagion could lurk in our meal prepared by strangers. We shake hands, hug, touch common surfaces, and breathe common airspace - as we should! This is how Life is conducted.

But all that could change. Any number of instigators could turn our world upside down. It doesn't have to take a long, dysfunctional, suffering history such as Haiti's for it to be here, either. I wonder, how secure is our matrix?

More especially, I wonder if I could have done what my Great Great Grandfather did? I hope so.

A Case For The Eradication of Black Holes in Public Places

2010-11-03T06:48:00.011-07:00

Have you ever intentionally placed something important in a logical and secure place, only to discover later - when you really need it, that it is no longer there? And, subject to an appropriate after-incident inquiry, there is no confession or explanation for the disappearance of said item by anyone in the vicinity? Traditionally this dilemma has been chalked up to human forgetfulness or lack of organizational skills. Yet such excuses are confounded when confronted with the very clear and distinct memory of placing the item exactly where it should be. The case seriously remains for the consideration of physics as the responsible principle.

A black hole is a theoretical entity of infinite spacetime curvature. The massive gravitational collapse of a dying star is presumed to initiate this “event horizon” effect, the so-called “point of no return” where nothing - not even light - is allowed to escape.

As the memory of where the coveted object was placed is not lost, and the placement of everything else that is not being searched for is still very much undisturbed, there is no clinical justification for conveniently assigning incidents like this to the frenzied effects of a forgetful mind. Investigating the extraordinary gravitational and radiatory forces at play ought to clarify the issue once and for all.

We have Einstein to thank for his theory of relativity which is key to understanding where the heck lost items have gone and why. While the likes of Einstein and Schwartzchild in 1916 grappled with metric solutions ( rs = 2GM/c2 = G is the gravitational constant, M is the mass, and c is the speed of light), generations of hard-working Americans are still searching long into the future for lost keys, left shoes, earrings, school book reports and important receipts. Scientific justification eases the discomfiture of losing things at the most inopportune moment somewhat. However, it does not return the missing item which is of course, the ultimate desire.

Examples of diabolical (and selective) physics are many. Statistics reveal 9 out of 10 times a person methodically searches a limited or contained space, such as a purse or backpack or car console, the sought for item is positively and absolutely un-found. It is not there. Vanished. Keep in mind, there is invariably no history of blindness, mental paralysis, sleep-walking nor any other physical impairment in he who searches. Yet, the 10th time an identical search in the identical space is meticulously directed with no variation in either the methodology or search sequence, the item suddenly and inexplicably is found. Acknowledging higher powers of quantum physics, this phenomenon quickly evaporates from the mysterious to the observable. It was never “lost”, but sucked into another dimension by the aforementioned and extremely powerful black hole event horizon effect. The fact that it, and precisely it alone was temporarily sucked into another dimension and later returned unharmed is for now an unexplored avenue of thoughtful consideration.

Similarly befuddling is the “group effort” effect. The searcher, having searched solo in vain, solicits the help of others in looking for the object desired. A detailed description of the same is obtained, and multiple searchers then disperse to look for it.

The rule of “the more the merrier” generally is a safe predictor of happy outcomes. But in the exercise of searching, more often than not the posse returns empty-handed.

What is the reason for this very curious result? Is it really plausible that three or four heads are not better than one? In the end, the original searcher is typically the one who does indeed find and secure the object after all the collaborative effort expended in

searching for it. The quirky nature of black holeness being what it is, intrigue diminishes as time and space bend just enough to surgically target and transport what was formerly safe and secure to that which is utterly and totally gone.

Exploring the ‘why’ of this macabre, obscenely discriminatory and indeed diabolical process (it is never an unimportant specimen that goes AWOL), pleads intelligent analysis as to what the qualifiers for the experience are:

Urgency: If time is of the essence, the sucking will begin immediately
Strained Resources: The degree to which important things disappear directly corresponds to a struggling bank account
Self-Image: If missing the thing will be construed as a dink to one’s moral character or personal work-ethic, sucking will occur
Cosmic Justice: The more aggressively a parent advocates personal responsibility and organization of the home environment, the more dramatic will be the disaster of whatever goes missing
Ownership: Anything that belongs to someone else, no matter how carefully it is transported or how deliberately it is housed, will be sucked into oblivion before you can say “mc >2”
The *Jones-Idiot Boomerang Corollary: (*insert searcher’s name here) When the spectacular “return” of the thing hopelessly lost appears as if it had been in plain sight the whole time

In conclusion, nothing less than advanced quantum mechanics demands credit for the unsettling, even maddening search experience the less astronomically aware dismiss as “forgetfulness”. In the name of social sanity, it is only fitting we revitalize NASA and seriously invest in research which will protect us from this exceedingly insidious threat to homeland security.

Obama Train

2010-10-28T06:23:00.004-07:00

* Sung to the Tune of: I've Been Workin' On The Railroad

Oba-ma's takin' it to the peo-ple,

All the live long day!

Tryin' to rally up the Hope, now,

'cause the 'Change' train lost its way!

Never thought we'd see the day, though

Dont'cha think it's kinda rude?

Never thought we'd hear a Pres-i-dent,

Be addressed as "Dude".

chorus:

Obama don'tcha know

Change is gonna come real s-oon!

People gonna vote -

Revitalize the Hope -

just not the way you thought they'd do.

see: "Obama Makes Historic Appearance On Daily Show"

Minimal Madonna

2010-10-14T06:55:00.014-07:00

(Hilarious: Christian Bale as Jesus)

Funny, how some things that are the most familiar to us can also be the most misunderstood. It is not popular, for instance, to defend femininity. It shouldn’t, but the word still evokes images of ruffles and lace and a terminal dependency upon men.

When speaking of industrialized culture, femininity is confused with the boorishness of blatant sexism in advertising. It is derailed by cheap shots about women being the weaker, emotionally-burdened sex.

Some women feel almost apologetic if they enjoy baking or picking up a needle and thread. Many young women see their future marriage as strictly a 50/50 proposition; both parents will contribute monetarily to the support of the household - that’s only fair. They have enjoyed a full generation of equality in America and can’t conceive of anything that falls short of their equitable Solomonesque split down the middle of stereotypical gender roles. They fail to consider that a stay-at-home mom IS contributing to the family in a enormously valuable and yes, profoundly traditional way.

An essay excerpt about traditional tribal femininity vs dominant culture femininity by Native American author Paula Gunn Allen, is on the war-path with what she perceives as a rootless, tasteless industrialized culture and the sorry, impotent women in it. From an anthropological point of view, Allen makes classic, anticipated comparisons between her tribal identity and the roles of women in the larger society. Her presentation of ritual and gender are timeless and beautifully articulate. She of course is well-versed in the many mythical feminine characters which occupy indigenous lore. These feminine personalities are fascinating, powerful representations of wise and beneficent women who organize, give life to or directly influence what sustains the viability of the whole community. They are dominantly featured in origin stories, thereby responsible for much of the natural world and the people’s relationship to it. Above all else, their capacity to bring forth life is deeply revered.

She points out the obvious with almost an open disdain: Women are not perceived the same way in western industrial and postindustrial cultures. There is no back-up section of “mythic feminine figures” to inspire or explain the origins or organization of life. Allen mentions only a single candidate we might claim, and that in ironically dismissive terms. She offers us the Christian Madonna as the female prototype for our western culture, and interestingly enough, Allen notes she is “...portrayed essentially passive; her contribution is simply that of birthing.”

And what a birthing that was! Can you say ironic? It is incredible that this accomplished and sensitive author has structured a very thoughtful piece about the feminine mothering power of native women, yet completely negated the enormously significant mothering contribution of the one and only woman in the world who gave us Jesus the Christ.

Mary, unlike Spider Woman, Coyote Woman or Corn Woman - was not mythical. We can only surmise what import her unique and indeed, divinely appointed influence was upon the young Jesus preparatory to his profound earthly ministry. A ministry, which (and it is the understatement of the day) of necessity validated His Divinity and our Eternal future with Him. For a believer, in other words, there is nothing bigger than the Atonement of Christ for all mankind. Mary was chosen by God for this singular honor to mother His only begotten son. To reduce her personal worthiness (and the great trust that was placed upon her) to a functioning reproductive system is shallow and disrespectful.

There are, unfortunately, women who can produce a baby and betray their calling as mothers.

(Andrea Yates & her 5 children she drowned in the family bath tub)

Mary was not one of those. I am not one of those. None of the other women I know or have ever known personally are one of those. To mother children is automatically a discussion about power - the power to protect, to sacrifice, to teach, to inspire, to motivate, to discipline, to dream, to agonize, to celebrate, to hope. Mothering power is all about the glory of it, or the abuse of it. Either way, the family of man is irrefutably affected, even molded by legions of mothers through the ages. The dismissive tone in which Mary’s feminine power is mentioned seems to expose a pretty glaring bias.

Paradoxically, the author is even more dismissive of the painful dinosaur in the room; native women are 30% more likely to be the victims of domestic violence, rape and homicide than their non-native counterparts. Their families are under attack on and off the reservation by generations of substance abuse, illiteracy and unemployment. Strong women are required for these difficult times, regardless of their tribal, religious or cultural affinity.

I respect Allen’s loyalty to her culture, and her awareness of her feminine heritage. I suggest that she ought to see more of what she shares with her non-native sisters, and be less comfortable misunderstanding an equally powerful femininity that lies beyond the borders of Pueblo lands, and across the passage of time.

If Mary had been Pueblo or Sioux or Pima or Kiowa, perhaps her influence would find more merit? But this is the author’s mistake! Allen has identified Mary as the Catholic Mary. And as such she assumes an emphatically mythical quality indeed! Ignoring that entire aspect (and the global, cross-cultural impact of her many overtly mythical variants), the author is clearly defining the Catholic Mary as the only significant (non-tribal) yet impotent feminine figure claimed by western culture.

If Paula Allen could have asked Mary personally, Mary would have told her which tribe she was immediately. Tribal affiliation to the peoples of the Middle East has always been paramount to one’s core identity and deepest spiritual value.

Funny, how Paula and Mary have much more in common than she thought.

The Perils of Obedience ~ An Essay Response

2010-10-01T19:36:00.016-07:00

A staple for first year psychology students is a discussion of the famous Milgram experiment. Dr. Stanley Milgram was a social psychologist at Yale University deeply interested in the behavior of obedience. The Nazi war crimes trials in particular inspired his exploration of how humans develop the capacity to commit atrocities, and then excuse themselves because they were only “following orders”.

The Doctor devised a method to test ordinary people to see if they would commit acts against their conscience. His controversial psychological experiment presumed to test memory in word associations, but involved a key deception; the authority figure issuing orders was not really a doctor, and volunteers did not know the ‘student’ subject strapped to an electric chair was in fact an actor pretending to respond to electric shocks generated by the 'teacher' volunteer whose hand was on the controls. Clearly marked was a voltage range from 15 to 450, the words “Danger: Severe Shock” assigned to one of the last switches. The final range was simply represented by XXX.

As the voltage increased, the subject in the chair vigorously objected until he demanded to be released from the experiment, only to dissolve into agonized screams somewhere in the neighborhood of 285 volts.

The test focus of course was on the 'teacher' administrating the “punishment”. An authority figure toting a clipboard and clad in a white lab coat issued clinical prompts such as, "the experiment requires that you must continue," and "you have no other choice, you must go on." While some people expressed concern for the suffering they caused, and a few asked to stop the experiment, vastly more obeyed. Only one woman refused and walked away.

In an excerpt from “The Perils of Obedience”, Dr. Milgram compares his test subjects to Nazi Germany. While the shocking (no pun intended) results of his psychological test are truly very disturbing, he assigns a reckless weight to the capacity for inhumanity inherent to the human condition. Milgram’s repeated theme of reflecting on war crimes perpetrated for the sake of “following orders”, is limited and much too simplistic to explain something of the other-worldly scope and scale of the Holocaust.

The grinding punishment to Germany effected by the Treaty of Versailles and her deep resentment of it, an utterly oppressive economy and a centuries old bigotry against the Jews throughout Europe in general are all significant factors that contributed to the successful rise of the Third Reich. Hitler did not have the power nor the influence to impose a police state immediately. His rhetoric establishing the superiority of a master race celebrated within a fervently idealized nationalism was a corrosive ideology that gained ground gradually. Later, his strong-arm tactics to force Nazi ideology upon schools, the marketplace and the citizenry were also implemented gradually.

The incremental steps leading to the ultimate Holocaust included an entire generation of German youth forcibly removed from home and hearth and aggressively indoctrinated against natural loyalties to family, community, and faith. A sense of accomplishment and even destiny pervaded beginning stages of identifying, restricting and segregating Jews and other undesirables. Dr. Milgram might have focused instead on the influence of state-authorized propaganda heightened by the ever-increasing threat of (and public displays of) severe punishment to anyone who defies the state’s definition of what (or who) is “unclean” or unaccepted into the new social order.

In the issue of Nazi Germany, the question is not so much one of why people obey, as it is a study in how to market an immoral set of values to a damaged society. Post WWI Germany may have been a ‘perfect storm’ ripe for a visionary psychopath like Hitler.Middle-aged men striped of former economic and social status were self-indulgent (or desperate) to the degree that they were willing to align themselves with something that promised to restore their value, and then some. Young boys and girls were groomed to adulthood without the customary tempering of familial bonds and sense of community. Women, striped of their role as nurturer and care-taker to their families, lost what maternal influence they might have exerted in a more traditional society. Their dependence upon men also contributed to their loss of authority in the home; they were culturally inclined to follow their men into whatever political or sociological direction they marched. The defeated and hurting German citizenry at large was also primed to relish glorious promises that they were destined to be victorious over unemployment, poverty and their newly acquired under-dog status in the world. When the push for ethnic purity emerged, it only seemed appropriate as a compliment to the new world-order they were fated to create.

In “The Perils of Obedience”, we can identify neither a multitude of contributing cultural or historical factors nor the passage of time to explain why his subjects were either indifferent to human suffering or even pleased by it. The essay mentions similar testing done elsewhere with a variety of subjects from different ages and backgrounds with similar results to the Yale community. Considering this surprising fact, a different common denominator might be at play.

Equally weighty is the attraction to wielding power that almost every human feels or desires to some degree. The ‘natural man’ is one who would rather have authority - even a little bit - than not, if given a choice. The ‘teachers’ in Milgram’s test might then have been reacting to the very convenient transferral of authority, and not necessarily obedience to it.

Case in point: Consider the extreme and highly predictable transformation of the older brother or sister from loving companion to tyrannical despot as soon as the front door shuts and mom and dad embark on an innocent evening out. Little Mr. or Miss In-Charge instinctively responds to the authentic transference of power and authority by immediately lording it unrighteously over his/her younger siblings as the Babysitter From Hell. And why not? Children better than anyone understand that obedience sustains authority, and obedience in fear is much faster and easier than obedience by respect.

It is healthy and necessary to examine our individual capacity for exercising our free-will. In an open society such as we have in America, it is often a blurred line between duty or obedience to authority and our choice to honor it. To honor authority is to understand why it exists, and to agree that sustaining it is necessary for the greater good.

Everyone appreciates the uncontested flow of traffic safely regulated by numerous laws, signs and signals. At any given intersection or freeway interchange there could be tens of thousands of vehicles and unknown occupants who can anticipate safe passage virtually because of our mutual respect for and obedience to common traffic laws.

It is hoped that in such a society as ours, one that values the individual and his/her responsibility to the larger community - we will also foster people who understand the limits of authority. That being that no one shall have the right to impose upon another unjustly. That we should anticipate we all are individually accountable for our actions, regardless of whom is directing us to do what. That above all, we should expect to respond without hesitation to an inner-voice that reminds us we are no better than another, and that we know right from wrong without anyone telling us otherwise. Period.

Many of us would identify this intimate, guiding force as the human conscience. I refer to it as the Spirit of God within us. As His children, we ought to make individual choices with allegiance to that divine relationship above all else. Then, and only then we may identify willful obedience as devotion.

Class in America - An Essay Response

2010-09-29T19:21:00.018-07:00

An essay by Gregory Mantsios seems to be a popular curriculum flint with which to fire class discussion on American social distinctions. Titled, “Class in America - 2006”, Mantsios asserts that many fundamentally cherished beliefs about individual opportunity in America are nothing more than ignorant and oppressive myths. I found his laborious attempt to dismiss classic “get ahead” American values of hard work, sacrifice and persistence - insulting.

He initiates the conversation by pointing out that people in the United States avidly avoid speaking about class. We are more likely to identify with our career or industry, race, ethnic group or geographic location - and I will add, religious affiliation. Yes, thank goodness, we do. It would seem so Bourgeoisie to ever refer to the “ruling class”, “elite” or “wellborn”, and definitely poor taste to ever say, “lower class”.

Yet virtually everyone talks about distinctions that make us noticeably different from each other. Granted, not all of them qualify academically as "class" ranking per se, but they are hardly off-limits to the American experience. What school or corporate lunch room has not naturally segregated itself without the slightest outside influence to do so? Do we not respond to people, almost innately - who are wearing a uniform of some kind (which is designed to identify them instantly from a distance), whether it be housekeeper, police or kitchen help? Who hasn't noticed, mentioned to a friend or sent a camera phone picture of those who are physically notable (obese, tattoos, piercings, fashion, etc.)? (I personally have never photographed anyone like that but you know what I mean - think YouTube).

We may not use the word "class", but we are indeed all about constantly ranking ourselves and others as to where we fit in. It is more an issue of the human condition, or human nature to compare and posture and test each other for rank or position than it is the ugly, subversive arm of an individual "oppressive" government.

The economic disparity in America is crazy, of course. Our sick fascination with brilliantly debauched personal ethics is evidenced in reality shows like “Bridezilla”, “Sweet 16”, “The Real Housewives of Orange County” and “You’re Cut Off”. Americans love to hate people with money behaving badly. But what we hate worse is someone else telling us what to do with our money. Mantsios, however, tries to support his argument for forced wealth redistribution by comparing three profiles of persons representative of the three unspoken American class distinctions: upper class, middle class and lower class. He complains at length that 1% of America holds 30% of the wealth.

Personally, it does not bother me that there is an Oprah, Donald Trump or Bill Gates or two out there. Someone needs to assume the risk to build buildings, run corporations and move the market. Those kinds of people also hire a lot of other people and generate educational scholarship funds and support a wide variety of philanthropic and research projects. Their enormous success is a motivation to all the little people. Who would enter a race in the Olympics if they were also assured that every single entrant would win?

Michael Jordan was born to middle class parents in Brooklyn, New York. He quit the NBA after his first year as a rising star to return to North Carolina State to finish his degree. He continued his rise to celebrity status as an athlete, and made millions. Jordan’s name is respected and recognized for his athletic stardom and his business savvy. He invested wisely, and his name is associated with successful business ventures as well as numerous scholarships and charitable causes.

Mike Tyson was born to lower middle class parents in Brooklyn, New York. Abandoned by his father as a toddler, he grew up in crime-plagued Brownsville, New York, and was arrested 38 times by the time he was 13. Eventually was given to his boxing trainer who became his legal guardian. His rise to international celebrity also earned him millions. Yet his name today is a national joke. Tyson had trouble with the law, wasted his fortune on bad investments, women and common gambling addictions.

Both men transcended their class status by hard work, sacrifice and persistence. But status in America is static; it often reflects a state of mind. Tyson was unable to shake the ghetto mind-set.

Likewise, I found Mantsios’ opening paragraph under "Spheres of Power and Oppression" to be especially flamboyant. He states: "When we look at society and try to determine what it is that keeps most people down - what holds them back from realizing their potential as healthy, creative, productive individuals - we find institutional forces that are largely beyond individual control. Class domination is one of these forces."

What organized society does not have hierarchy? Without some form of 'elite' status among us - those who are given authority to regulate or administer - how else does society protect itself from sheer chaos?

Mantios' essay attempts to bust the myth that we are a middle-class nation. He claims the American middle class today holds only a very small share of the nation's wealth. Yet he offers conflicting statistics that basically identify 40% of the U. S. belongs to the middle class. How is 40% of anything insignificant? If his figures are accurate, of the 24 students in my college class, three of us should be living in poverty, or a family making less than $19,000 a year, and qualify as "lower class".

I conducted a survey. The survey was distributed to three classes at Phoenix College. Our class (English 101) and two 102 English classes. I asked students to choose which class distinction they identify with. But I also asked them if they had safe shelter? Running water? Appliances? Electricity? Did they own a cell phone? DVD player? Digital camera? Personal computer? A car? I asked if they had shoes and clothes?

The survey asked them to mark how much time they devote to leisure activities in a week, if they had a reasonable expectancy to eat at least one meal a day every day? Did they have access to emergency care at a local hospital, and clean, safe food/goods at a nearby grocery store? I asked them if they are free to worship as they choose? I also asked them to list alternative strategies (if any) with which they might negotiate around limitations based on gender. Finally, I asked them how familiar they were with how to utilize and/or take advantage of methods to acquire information and resources that could be of benefit to them, and to rate how much their personal hopes and dreams they believe are limited or unobtainable because of their ethnicity, gender, father's name, career, religion, language or physical appearance. Only one survey returned with the last question marked as anything other than "not limited".

My point was this: America's poverty does not look like the world's poverty. Scooping water from a puddle is poverty. Having no shoes is poverty. Waiting in line all day for a bowl of gruel is poverty.

My son James saw bread lines in Ukraine. It didn't matter if he was in a rural village that still plowed fields with a horse or in an urban center populated by working professionals. My daughter Robin saw entire villages in Mozambique de-populated of adults because of AIDS. The one or two very young teen girls who bravely assumed responsibility for village orphans were themselves brutally raped when they left the village to buy supplies at the market, thus perpetuating the cycle of despair. My son Leiland witnessed abysmal poverty in Chiapas, Mexico, a state where the infant mortality rate is one of the worst in the world.

Of course we have problems in America. Of course we must be diligent as a society to seek improvements for all our citizens. However, to claim our issues are locked into oppressive and immovable class barriers is absolutely not justified. If our middle class is a glut of luxury compared to most of the world, then we ought to be much, much more grateful than we are. We ought to be about personally contributing to our communities with our time, talents and yes, tried and true distinctly American ethics of hard work, sacrifice, and persistence.

Professor Mantsios arrogantly condemns his fellow Americans with his concluding statement: "...as a society we tolerate unconscionable injustice..." if we fail to demand (or "require" is the word he chose) a "radical redistribution of wealth and power." I wonder if the good Professor feels qualified to tell Michael Jordan what he should do with his money? Who among us is willing to give one of our cars away because there might be someone else who doesn't have one? And why he believes waiting for the Government to do anything is a reasonable solution - is beyond me.

We might as well wait for Jesus to come and do it right.

Apology To My Piano Teacher

2010-09-23T07:01:00.013-07:00

Dear Mrs. Johnson,

I am sorry I wasted your time in a colossal way. But I know how much you needed that five bucks from my mom each week, so let’s just agree that I am a generous soul - it is better to give than to receive and all that, see? And really, if I had been more musically inclined, there might have been fewer tears - on your part. We just didn’t have the biology or something.

I honestly didn’t mean to yawn in your face during the many dynamic twists and turns of totally fascinating music theory. I might have quite enjoyed the drills on the treble clef, insanely meaningless major vs minor chord progression and pop quiz tantrums about interpreting key signatures that look just like Egyptian hieroglyphics if I hadn’t been so busy poking my eyes out. And for sure, I know you thought it would be a little healthy competition and super motivating to teach me at the same time as another student for a while. Well, for your information, it wasn’t. He was a BOY. Duh! And he played better than I did. And he smelled.

Did it ever occur to you to offer a little break in the routine once in a while? Like a snappy foot race in front of your house, maybe? I coulda smeared that smelly kid. Besides, a little physical activity always sends additional resources to the brain. Mr. Lavin in 4th grade told us that. I was a really fast runner. Did you know I was the second fastest girl in the 6th grade? Robin Barnes was the only one faster. She was a six foot tall gazelle (that’s a antelope thing in Africa). I could have pulled her pony-tail or something if I wanted to, but I didn’t.

Oh yeah, and I am really sorry I totally froze at the keyboard during that big, fancy recital. You may recall that I launched into the first few measures no sweat. Piece of cake! And then, I dunno. Zip. I’ll bet that was pretty darn uncomfortable for ya, huh. Funny how time kinda stops when there’s an awkward silence during a spectacularly inappropriate time. But to be fair, I did warn you. Remember? But no, you wouldn’t have any of it! “All of my students will shine, dear,” you said. So I was a realist; sue me! I knew I didn’t have a chance of doing the whole piece without flaking out in a truly delicious fashion at the stupid key change bridge. Man, if that wasn’t a Barry Manilow moment at least ten years before anyone ever heard of his boring 70s stuff. C’mon!

I guess I am kinda sorry to disappoint you during “The Spinning Song”. That’s a true classic. I really liked that one. In fact, I think I could have done a lot better if you would have just for once kept your mouth shut and not counted out-loud. Man, that was annoying! Couldn’t you tell it didn’t help at all? “One and two and three and . . .” Sheesh, I was playing by ear anyway, y’know? So it really didn’t make the impression you assumed it did - quarter-note this, half-note that - whatever. All that counting in my ear just sounded like arithmetic. Psycho arithmetic.

And please - don’t get me started on that ridiculous metronome ticking away! I hated that thing. Who thought that was a good idea? Seriously. That was Chinese water torture except with sound.

If James Bond had a Russian spy all tied-up, and he was shining a bright light right in his face, and he’s like, “You will tell me where the plans are, naturally,” y’know, all smooth and suave like he does - and there’s only a few minutes remaining to get the secret information before the bomb blasts off somewhere near the Presidential motorcade and the Russian is like, “You miserable wretch, Bond! I vil not be tellink you nothink!” And then Bond drawls, “Ahhh, comrade, it is most unfortunate that you leave me no other choice.”

And it really should be the enormous goon with the silver teeth who’s gone, gone rogue, y’know what I mean? And he’s like on OUR side now, O.K.? Right! And then the big guy comes into the room and what does he do? Right! He whips out the metronome! Ha ha, that’s when the lame Russian spews everything like a total baby - I mean everything. “No, no! Anythink but da metronome!” - Cool.

Anyways, nice try. Better luck next time.

Sincerely,

Yours Truly

p.s. I am including a couple of swell piano jokes I thought you might like. No hard feelings.

Q: What's the difference between a piano and an onion?

A: No one cries when you chop up a piano.

Q: How do you get two piano players to play in perfect unison?

A: Shoot one.

* DISCLAIMER: The author asserts three important facts regarding this post -

1) The events above are all true, however the piano teacher represents a series of frustrated, well-intentioned women.

2) This post in no way shape or form indicates an aversion to music or to the piano in particular. The author was a lazy student, and as such accepts full responsibility for her present handicap when playing the piano. She can play many hymns and primary songs with a proficiency to temporarily beguile the unaware listener. However, this burst of competency expires dramatically at some point during the attempt. This lends applicable weight to the phrase, "deja vu", as in the afore-mentioned public recital disaster.

3) The author ardently desires all people everywhere to embrace the piano and any and all other instruments of choice, and musical exploration in almost any form as a gift and a blessing to the soul. This post was written strictly in the spirit of harmless satire, and is not intended to dis music or discourage study of it.

Anomaly

2010-09-14T13:47:00.012-07:00

I am easily amused. Perhaps it is just a quirky personality trait. Or perhaps it is a survival mechanism that gives me an edge over the rest of you - who knows?

For instance: Last week my car was in the shop. I sat on one of four raised planter beds in front of the Dalby building at Phoenix College waiting for a ride. Idly casting my gaze about, my eye happened to fall exactly onto the empty shell of a recently emerged cicada. I marveled that out of thousands and thousands of leaves in the flowering verbena, my eye would catch Mr. Cicada’s precise birthing spot (or molting spot as the case may be)!

Seventeen years is a very long time for anything, much less a milky, naked cicada grub doing whatever it does underground that entire time. His biological clock ticking, cicada finally begins his momentous struggle from a subterranean world up to the surface. Above ground he will promptly shed his delicate grubby-skin for a much larger, hardened body and wings to complete the life-cycle.

What were the chances that his triumphant ascension would happen to coincide with one of only very limited patches of earth that weren’t already covered by massive swaths of cement and asphalt? Cicada might have died without ever seeing the light - hopelessly frustrated and certainly entombed in the same dark earth where he started his simple bug existence 17 years earlier. I smiled, noting the incredibly delicate detail of the grub’s body memorialized in his discarded, tissue-thin skin that clung valiantly to the one leaf in a sea of possibilities where, in my boredom, I saw it. “Wow,” I thought, pleased, “I’m so glad I saw that!”

On another occasion, I was driving through my neighborhood when I stopped the suburban and backed it up in the middle of the road. I leaned out the driver’s window and stared at the asphalt below. It was a roof rat, totally flat from whisker to stern, morbidly frozen in a comical action-pose of running across the street. Er, running not quite fast enough.

Rats are resourceful and clever. They didn’t strike me as careless enough or slow enough to get flattened in traffic. “Wow,” I thought - what are the chances I would ever see something like that in a life-time? Seriously! The body lay undisturbed for about a week until it completely disappeared. For as long as it lasted, however, Flat Rat generated a lot of satisfaction. I delighted in driving by the carcass and inviting an unsuspecting passenger to look down when I paused the car at just the right spot. Somehow, the reaction of others never quite matched my own appreciation for little miracles.

Driving on West Glendale Avenue a couple of years ago, we approached a city bus stop where a solitary man was waiting at the bench in anything but typical waiting style. From a distance, we could see he was wildly gesturing and lunging his upper body side to side. He half-stood, half-crouched, then slid across the bench. All the while this unusual behavior was accompanied by something even more intriguing - he was shouting.

Anticipating our car passing along side, I opened my window in an attempt to hear what he was saying. He was screaming at the TOP of his lungs, “NO! NO! NO!” Obviously tormented by mental demons unrevealed to the rest of us, the man’s total commitment to arguing his point to no one with all the passion and sheer energy he could muster was ~ awesome.

Swirling in my mind were the inevitable questions: Would the bus stop for him - or keep on going? Had he already been riding the bus, but was asked to get off? Had someone asked if they could sit next to him? Was he upset because the driver had asked for exact change? As much as I searched for meaning to the man’s display, exceedingly little information was available to explain it. There was something strangely (weirdly) appealing about the full-bodied pedal to the metal expression that poor man was able to exercise. It made me want to answer him, "YES! You're right!" or "NO! Absolutely!" And yes, for whatever reason, I admit I was glad I saw that.

Grandson Jack, who is always amusing no matter what he is doing, out-did himself the Christmas he was presented with his

newborn cousin for the first time. Quivering with excitement, he clapped his hands and breathlessly exclaimed, “Oh! Baby Kenna!” He scrambled onto the couch and held out two little arms to receive the tiny baby girl. The picture was cute enough; husky big boy Jack gently, lovingly cuddling his little cousin in his lap.

Suddenly, a truly precious surprise yielded a beaming Jack spontaneously singing sweetly, “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” over and over again right into Baby MaKenna’s rosy face. She gazed up at him, listening to his heart-felt crooning.

The warmth and beauty of this perfect exchange filled the room with a palpable joy and happiness that really did feel like Heaven on earth.

Only gradually I became aware that I was tightly clasping my hands in front of my chest in the classic “awe” pose. My face hurt from smiling. Through tears of deep gratitude, I whispered to no one in particular, “Oh! I am so glad I saw this!”

The Diagnostic Paper

2010-09-13T20:18:00.008-07:00

Our first assignment of this semester's English class was to write a diagnostic paper introducing ourselves to the class. The professor encouraged students to be creative. He praised a guy last year who pretended to be interviewed on Oprah. With this in mind, I applied my interest in anthropology and a chillingly realistic video game trailer I had seen that assumed North Korea had taken over the world. This is the result:

공식발견

An Examination & Forensic Analysis of Site T-57

Dated 09/10/3010 Prefecture 녹색집 Pyongyang Province 평양직할시

Dr. Hyun-jun Kim: Presiding Anthropologist ~ Gen. Ji-eun Cho: Military Authority

Radio-carbon dating indicates the site to have been occupied or materials originating from between 1990-2030 A.D. Artifacts presented in urban strata approximately 20” subterranean in the pre-Pyon-yang era of Southwest American history. Location is the old North Central Phoenix residential complex. Slight traces of radio-active residue were indicated. No human remains evident.

Sub-structure of a collapsed multi-level shuttle hanger offered unique protection to the site, and accordingly renders a exceptionally high yield of artifacts remarkably well-preserved. Of special note are hundreds of books still encased within two glass and wood china hutches of the 1970s working-class variety. The dig yield is as follows (selected items of note):

Books 785

MacBook OSX laptop 1

Artist sketch books 8

Watercolor palates 2

Fine art portfolios, leather 4

Monarch upright piano (circa 1938) 1

Bernina 720 sewing machine 1

Finch/Parakeet cages 3

Also in evidence are numerous three-ring binders of sheet music. Binders and folders featuring remains of various theatrical endeavors indicate members of the household participated in the same. Three large binders housed communications and photographs from three children who served full-time proselytizing missions to Brazil, Ukraine and Southern Mexico.

Photographs presented ample support for a nucleus family of seven; wherein the wife and matriarch of the same was named Cindi Tanner of predominately Portuguese and English/Irish descent. While all five children and both parents manifest artistic and musical inclination, the artist portfolios indicate fine art gallery representation on a professional level for Cindi.

Printed brochures reveal gallery shows and exhibits in Old Towne Scottsdale during the 1980s in which Tanner was featured as a watercolorist. During the 1990s, she began a long association with the Arizona State Game & Fish Department, contracting for scores of wildlife drawings and a number of significant watercolor paintings published as the State poster series for many years by the Department. Her art resume was located, and after careful forensic examination it was discovered that Senator and Mrs. John McCain of Arizona were listed as clients.

A four-drawer legal file cabinet rendered beautifully preserved documents such as scripts, poetry, short stories and famous speeches. Also in abundance were folders of original poetry and finger-plays for children, original state history work sheets, activity sheets and original curriculum to teach poetry to children apparently designed by Mrs. Tanner. Dates on other printed material reveal Tanner was a volunteer for the BSA (Boy Scouts of America) for 20 years, and taught public speaking and theatre arts classes to both boys and girls, as well as adults.

Two entire drawers of the aforementioned file cabinet were devoted to photographs, school awards and special keepsakes associated with five exceptionally handsome offspring (adding Danish Patriarchal descent); Robin, James, Leiland, Asia and Rachel Tanner. The two boys achieved Eagle Scout status, and the oldest girl a reporter and producer for one of the major t.v. stations in Washington, D.C. The same are noted as highly-developed foragers within the household as manifested by copious amounts of snack food remnants, eating utensils and packaging materials for consumables distributed liberally underneath beds and in dresser drawers.

Review of the numerous book titles in situ suggest that Cindi espoused a deep interest in anthropological themes, particularly Meso-American and Native-American cultures. The abundance of Spanish language titles likewise suggest a study of or an interest in the same, however, actual proficiency has not been established. Additionally, a great variety of classic literature, world history, the American civil war, botanical and wildlife reference books are represented, as are spiritually-themed works. A set of scriptures encased in a burgundy leather carrying case were found marked and filled with page markers, located in what is believed to be one of two sleeping quarters in the small residence.

A surprising amount of fabric scraps, lace, netting and other sewing and or craft materials were found in well-organized tubs and containers. It is assumed that Tanner acquired traditional handiwork skills handed-down from mother to daughter in true kinship fashion; however, this can not be verified. It is equally probable she acquired them from a world-wide women’s charitable organization (the Relief Society) as a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This affinity is believed to account for Cindi’s core values and personal ethics.

Two manuscripts written by Cindi are thought to be the original versions of books she authored and illustrated. The first titled, “Station Wagon Wars”, and the second “Anthropological Motherhood”. Both works made the New York Times best seller list and the Oprah Book Club in 2014. It is not clear if several envelopes of decorated children’s chore lists represent a form of reciprocity, delicate familial negotiation or simply an illustrated example of rigid social control. What is clear is that one Cindi Tanner loved her family, her books, her piano, and the Bernina sewing machine.

This dig site is significant as it reveals in detail a critical transitional period in the life of a typical American matriarch from the early 2000s. It demonstrates the survival instinct inherent to the human condition, and the tempering or sustaining element of faith and hope in which a single mother often deeply invests.

The Anthropological Forensic Committee respectfully thanks Our Esteemed Leader for the opportunity to engage scientific study of this site. Appropriate permits were acquired and reports submitted to the Honorable District Chairman.

Deceptive Treasure

2010-06-21T21:56:00.009-07:00

Some aspects of life are righteously considered sacrosanct. Few compare to the innate and universal treasure humans refer to as "free will". God (aka Morgan Freeman) in the comedy film "Bruce Almighty" made this point to the selfish character of Bruce (Jim Carrey) with wit and flair. Wise parents understand the necessity of negating much of the young child's individual wishes in favor of imposed absolutes such as, "You can't go outside without your shoes on," or "You must wait to cross the street," and "It is bed time, NOW." On a doctrinal theme, a seemingly opposite value is appreciated as we are encouraged to trust that personal freedoms actually blossom once we give our will to that of the Father. There is, however, a disturbing manipulation of this concept in the animal kingdom.

Normally I wouldn't mind to learn that a cockroach was dispatched. Good riddance. Heck, I've facilitated that trip myself many times; individually and en masse. The end was accomplished pretty quickly; a little broom, a little shoe, a little chemical bomb - ta-dah! The deed was done. Now I have learned more than I wanted to about the Jeweled Wasp and her intensely diabolical method of "feathering the nest". 1

Of course one anticipates violence when survival of the species depends upon the flesh of another. Parasitic methods - the whole victim plays hapless host thing is fairly common in nature, and that doesn't trigger too much of my gag-reflex (as long as I am not the host, thank you). But when the host is surgically altered to willingly follow Mrs. Jewel to his very grisly and time-consuming death - that is a different matter.

The altering of the cockroach's free will is effected by a surgically precise sting to what basically is the cerebral cortex of the cockroach brain (apologies to entomologists; it's not really a brain, it's just cerebral ganglia). The stinger actually has probing sensors that guide the wasp to the correct spot. They that know call this area of the ganglia the "escape reflex". The venom instantly acts to subvert the roach's ability to walk on its own. Did you catch that? He is not paralyzed. He can move - but only as the wasp directs - or literally, leads him by the antennae like Fido on a leash. This effect has been coined "zombie". 2 The destination of course is the wasp's burrow. Once cockroach is comfy inside, she lays her egg on his abdomen and tidies up by sealing the entrance as she leaves. Though, I'm not sure why because the houseguest is not going anywhere - ever again.

The resultant evolution of the egg to larva to pupae to emerging adult is as usual. But in true Hitchcock finesse, baby knows exactly which organs to feast upon and in which order of consumption to insure a living, fresh host and not a putrefying one until week's end, it may emerge Alien-like out of the body of the expiring roach. Sigourney Weaver herself could not combat this.

The inviolate treasure of our free will to think for ourselves, to act, to be ~ is in and of itself a much more complex issue than we often give it credit for. Especially so when burdened with our own desires for how others should act. No matter how fervently we believe our choice for someone else is correct or worthy and even lofty - it is by divine decree that we may not rob another of their right to exercise the singular gift that makes us all most like our eternal birthright; even when we ourselves are temporarily imposed upon. It may be disappointing, it may be literally heart-breaking, but it is. Hence, the upward struggle to really, deeply trust in Him.

How then, the lowly cockroach? While the she-wasp is on the hunt, he is without protection from her theft of his freedom to choose if he is not wary.

Elevated from the insect world, we are thankfully destined for much greater things as children of God. We are free to navigate ourselves safely through every crisis or experience that might attempt to diminish or dismiss our True Identity. 3 We must not give in. We must never give up. To do so would in essence enable the venom of worldly distortion to rob us of our ability to move on our own.

The treasure is after all, not in pounding our chest to say it is so ~ rather, it is in who are becoming in the journey.

1. 'A Wasp Finds The Seat of the Cockroach Soul'

2. 'Zombie Slave Roaches'

3. 'The Pattern of Our Parentage"

Structural Support

2010-06-04T22:16:00.014-07:00

At one time I had a budding interest in geology. I started a rock collection. Later, it was obvious the majority of my finds were gravel and concrete bits from house construction. Trading posts in Arizona were my inspiration to begin collecting pretty, polished rocks. I loved my geology course at Scottsdale High, however, the only thing I remember from the grueling end-of-semester test was what schist and basalt look like. Today, my hikes in the Phoenix Mountain Preserve prompt regret I don't have a better memory for igneous vs metamorphic, or alluvium from common sandstone.

Guatemalans right now have a spectacular and dizzying front row seat to the Mother of geological processes. ¡Ay, increible! I have a fear of heights. Just peeking at images of this baby has me instinctively bracing my toes hard against the floor ~ a posture very similar to what you do with your right foot while someone else is behind the wheel during their learner's permit phase.

Adding to this innate fear, is the fact that even the experts are baffled with why it appeared and more importantly, what to do with it. (1) El Grande (I don't know what they're calling it, really, it could be "Mauricio" or maybe "El Diablo") is something like 30 stories deep. Straight DOWN. As in toss a peso over the rim and take a siesta before hearing it hit bottom - creepers. Of course I'm having fun with this because I am 2,374 miles away from it. And, because thankfully, no one was killed because of it.

Distressingly, I read today about a place familiar to all of us where a lot of people were killed; a place that is literally a National burial ground we swore we would never forget. Ground zero in New York City is projected as the future site for a $100 million Muslim mosque and community center. (2) A Muslim advocate explained it would be a "much needed space for venues" (that's marketing-speak for "parties"). The community board in Manhattan voted 29-1 for it. The families of 9/11 victims emotionally present during the four hour meeting were apparently dismissed in favor of politics, or the presumed benefits of displaying to the world that America is a sloppy forgiving place.

There was no mention of proposing a non-denominational chapel or memory garden or any number of other compassionate and beautiful solutions that would speak much more inclusively about "bridging gaps" and "higher aspirations". The Manhattan Borough President actually defended his support for the mosque by quick-drawing the ever convenient bigotry card when he said, "What we're rejecting here is outright bigotry and hatred." New Yorkers did not fail their reputation for attitude, and in this instance I believe they righteously dished it out when they shouted, "Honor the 3,000!"

Why there? Why now? Whose agenda is really about "high" ideals? Religious tolerance, humanity, decency or brotherly love doesn't have anything to do with this particularly well-organized Muslim effort being very emphatic and very unyielding about what they think is best for that site. If Muslim Americans wish to promote their desire for peace and harmony, how about a donation towards trees planted or a commemorative monument suitable for all people in a place hallowed specifically by one people: those who lost their lives there. It wasn't a geological phenomenon that opened up and swallowed the 3,000; it was outright bigotry and hatred.

The only thing geologists are in agreement on is that some kind of structural mechanical support will be necessary at the base of the massive sinkhole before anyone thinks about adding who knows how much fill to it. I have an idea about that which will solve both problems: it will cost about $100 million.

1) Guatemalan Sinkhole

2) Mosque Proposal

Two Poems on a Theme

2009-08-20T14:11:00.013-07:00

1. At the Window

Light-bedazzled little girl

fairy-like

perched before the window sill

mommy-like,

mimicking the ritual.

Helping hands as time stands still,

in spite

of how quickly she'll be gone ~

and there will be many more windows

to look out upon.

Frozen so, in the white light:

That little girl

(forever mine),

growing up

at the window.

2. Windows

Brilliant white light

streaming in ~

The world outside,

the world

within.

We are all reaching

standing still,

some may backwards tread.

But I am one

who prefers to reach

and believe in

Light

instead.

* Inspired by a friend's daughter: Hazel, age 4 ~ cheerfully helping her mommy clean house