I love eating and believe that food is one of the great pleasures of this material existence (right up there with sleep and sex). Fortunately, I am blessed with a metabolism and genes that tend to shape my body toward a lean muscularity, making me one of those people capable of eating and eating without much weight gain. I have proven this in the past by devouring entire blocks of cheddar cheese in a day or two and whole packages of Oreo's in one sitting (I possess, or am possessed by, an infamous sweet tooth) with little or no increase in mass.
So why does Sarah think that I have an eating disorder*!? Because I often eat nothing or next to it during week/work days and I tend to fret about calorie and fat counts when I do eat. Monday through Wednesday of this week, for instance, I have ingested, during the day, naught but a cup of coffee (highly sugared), a single Nature Valley chewy granola bar (140 calories) and an 8 oz. can of Dole pineapple chunks (60 calories). I always eat a healthy and typically delicious (when prepared by Sarah) evening meal, however, as well as frequent deserts of one sort or another (did I mention my notorious sweet tooth?).
I haven't weighed myself in a while but I would guess that I am somewhere between 185 and 195 pounds. At about 6'1" in height, I suppose this weight is normal but when I look in the mirror I only see the places where I am rounder than once I was. My washboard stomach is long gone and the area commonly known as "love handles" has definitely become more grippable around my waist. This rounding off can no doubt be attributed to the aging process - as I approach 36 years of age it is to be expected, I suppose, that my teenage body will eventually fade into a middle aged one (I started losing my hair to male pattern baldness when I was 22 but that is another story).
I certainly do not want to remain 18, or even 25, forever. But I also refuse to surrender to the middle age spread. Of course, as I'm sure Sarah will argue, this obsession with fat grams etc. began in my mid twenties and some years before middle age loomed.
Is this an eating disorder? As I have noted before, Sarah is usually dead on with her diagnostic abilities but I don't feel disordered and wonder if this is not a mental issue so much as a physical one. Perhaps I simply don't need more than one meal a day. As I write this (1/30/03 @ 3:15 p.m.) I have eaten nothing solid all day but drunk only one cup of coffee and a can of KMX energy drink. I do not feel hungry and, at the moment at least, little will power is needed to avoid snacking.
Perhaps I am mentally ill, however, as it was the article linked below (from a recent issue of the Bay Area's Wave Magazine), about the pro anorexia movement (yes, that's right, the pro anorexia movement), that rekindled my fear of calories.
The Skeleton Crew
*! EDIT (2/1/03): Discussing this post with Sarah, I was mortified to learn that I am guilty of misquoting her in the text above. She does not believe that I suffer from an eating disorder as I indicated. Rather she stated that I am "mentally ill", sometimes more so than others, in regards to food. The term "eating disorder" is, apparently, an artifact of my tiny mind. Could it be I used the words "eating disorder" in an unconscious effort to attract hits on the term "eating disorder" to this blog?
Thursday, January 30, 2003
Sunday, January 26, 2003
Haunted
Dead men linger �round your window
most nights
as you lie in bed, sleeping.
Unaware of the dead,
you divide the dark between dreams and oblivion.
You never hear them creeping.
Once, flickering into consciousness,
you mistook a pale face for the moon.
When morning comes they wander
into bar rooms, alleys,
the bushes beside the freeway.
They mingle and hide as best they can,
haunted by your sleeping face
all through the burning day.
Edit: Minutes after posting the above poem I found this link on the Blogger homepage:
Jeannie's Ghost Diary
Have you ever wondered what it's like to live in a real haunted house? I live in one and keep a diary of the strange happenings in my house.
Spooky, huh?
Dead men linger �round your window
most nights
as you lie in bed, sleeping.
Unaware of the dead,
you divide the dark between dreams and oblivion.
You never hear them creeping.
Once, flickering into consciousness,
you mistook a pale face for the moon.
When morning comes they wander
into bar rooms, alleys,
the bushes beside the freeway.
They mingle and hide as best they can,
haunted by your sleeping face
all through the burning day.
Edit: Minutes after posting the above poem I found this link on the Blogger homepage:
Jeannie's Ghost Diary
Have you ever wondered what it's like to live in a real haunted house? I live in one and keep a diary of the strange happenings in my house.
Spooky, huh?
Wednesday, January 22, 2003
"I cahoot with no one"
- Will Sampson as Taylor in Poltergeist II: The Other Side -
Having linked to them more than once in my recent posts regarding the peace movement, I have been dismayed to learn that International A.N.S.W.E.R., the group largely responsible for the organization of the January 18 protests, is a front for The Worker's World Party - a so-called Socialist group whose claimed ideals (distribution of wealth, environmental stewardship, a world without class, racism or war ) seem to be at odds with their support of despots such as Slobodan Milosevic and Saddam Hussein (more information about ANSWER right here).
If these folks were merely Socialists I would not bat an eye. I happen to believe that Capitalism (unchecked by any kind of social conscience, especially) is a moral and spiritual dead end street. I will not and cannot, however, ally myself with supporters of tyrants and shedders of blood (which is why I marched on 1/18).
So, will I march again if International A.N.S.W.E.R. is involved in the organization of future protests? Yes but I won't be linking to them again and I won't be tainted by the stain of guilt by association because, like most of the 150,000 people who marched for peace in San Francisco on 1/18, I will not be doing so under an ANSWER banner but under the dictates of my own heart.
- Will Sampson as Taylor in Poltergeist II: The Other Side -
Having linked to them more than once in my recent posts regarding the peace movement, I have been dismayed to learn that International A.N.S.W.E.R., the group largely responsible for the organization of the January 18 protests, is a front for The Worker's World Party - a so-called Socialist group whose claimed ideals (distribution of wealth, environmental stewardship, a world without class, racism or war ) seem to be at odds with their support of despots such as Slobodan Milosevic and Saddam Hussein (more information about ANSWER right here).
If these folks were merely Socialists I would not bat an eye. I happen to believe that Capitalism (unchecked by any kind of social conscience, especially) is a moral and spiritual dead end street. I will not and cannot, however, ally myself with supporters of tyrants and shedders of blood (which is why I marched on 1/18).
So, will I march again if International A.N.S.W.E.R. is involved in the organization of future protests? Yes but I won't be linking to them again and I won't be tainted by the stain of guilt by association because, like most of the 150,000 people who marched for peace in San Francisco on 1/18, I will not be doing so under an ANSWER banner but under the dictates of my own heart.
Tuesday, January 21, 2003
Protest Numbers Don't Add Up
From the SF Chronicle story linked above:
"I have never seen an identical estimate by authorities and protesters," said Neil Smelser, professor emeritus of
sociology at UC Berkeley. . .
As I indicated below (1/19), the discrepancy in the crowd count at Saturday's (1/18) peace march/rally was hardly surprising.
The SFPD originally put the tally at 55,000 while International A.N.S.W.E.R. maintains the event drew at least 200,000 folks. Each side, obviously, has an agenda and would like the numbers to support that agenda.
It was clear to anybody who was there (see Tom Shugart's comment here, for instance), however, that the police estimate was ridiculously low. In the words of Richard Becker, a member of ANSWER's national steering committee in San Francisco:
"I think it's ludicrous that this could have been a march of 50,000."
Especially since the SFPD's total did not include everybody but only those who had made it to Civic Center Plaza:
Police estimates of 55,000 demonstrators came from a counting of people in Civic Center Plaza and did not include
marchers who were backed up along Market Street, said Jim Deignan, San Francisco police spokesman.
So now that the SFPD has kindly accounted for the entire crowd, and not just those who had made it to the Civic Center, they
have amended their numbers upward to a total of at least 150,000. Sarah and myself, who were among those backed up along
Market Street for some time, figured jointly that there had to be at least 150,000 people marching (150,002 including ourselves) and are glad to see that the truth, at least this once, has emerged.
From the SF Chronicle story linked above:
"I have never seen an identical estimate by authorities and protesters," said Neil Smelser, professor emeritus of
sociology at UC Berkeley. . .
As I indicated below (1/19), the discrepancy in the crowd count at Saturday's (1/18) peace march/rally was hardly surprising.
The SFPD originally put the tally at 55,000 while International A.N.S.W.E.R. maintains the event drew at least 200,000 folks. Each side, obviously, has an agenda and would like the numbers to support that agenda.
It was clear to anybody who was there (see Tom Shugart's comment here, for instance), however, that the police estimate was ridiculously low. In the words of Richard Becker, a member of ANSWER's national steering committee in San Francisco:
"I think it's ludicrous that this could have been a march of 50,000."
Especially since the SFPD's total did not include everybody but only those who had made it to Civic Center Plaza:
Police estimates of 55,000 demonstrators came from a counting of people in Civic Center Plaza and did not include
marchers who were backed up along Market Street, said Jim Deignan, San Francisco police spokesman.
So now that the SFPD has kindly accounted for the entire crowd, and not just those who had made it to the Civic Center, they
have amended their numbers upward to a total of at least 150,000. Sarah and myself, who were among those backed up along
Market Street for some time, figured jointly that there had to be at least 150,000 people marching (150,002 including ourselves) and are glad to see that the truth, at least this once, has emerged.
Sunday, January 19, 2003
Empty Warhead Found in Oval Office
Somewhere in Texas a village is missing it�s idiot
What would a legitimate president do?
Waging war for peace is like fornicating for virginity
Killing one is murder, killing thousands is foreign policy?
I wanna� be proud to be an American
It�s my flag too dammit!
If war is the answer we�re asking the wrong question
A small sample of some of the memorable signs seen at yesterdays protest in San Francisco (click here for one, a bit of sociopolitical satire from Mad Magazine, that must be seen to be fully appreciated).
As stated below (1/17) this was my first protest. The Bush Administration, with it's bellicose and arrogant policy is, apparently, bringing many first time protestors out to the streets.
Not surprisingly, there seems to be some discrepancy in the estimated number of protestors filling the streets of San Francisco yesterday. The top estimate I have seen from the SF police puts the peace crowd at 55,000 while the organizers of the demonstration, International A.N.S.W.E.R., claim as many as 200,000 people showed up to disagree with The White House (Huge protests for peace, Tens of thousands in S.F. demand Bush abandon war plans).
Who to believe? Well, as one who was there, I must say that the crowd certainly seemed closer to 200K than it did 55. All, I might add, peaceful, orderly and united by a single vision for a better world than the current political machine can even imagine.
Despite recent news of slipping approval ratings at home, waning support from the U.N. Security Council, and the increasingly vocal peace movement, the White House remains "untroubled" by their war plans. Ari Fleischer offered this when queried about the rising number of protestors:
I think the President welcomes the fact that we are a democracy and people in the United States, unlike Iraq, are free to protest and to make their case known. And that's a time-honored part of American tradition, and the President fully understands it. It's a strength of our democracy.
(As an off the record aside, Mr. Fleischer added, "for now. . .")
The next major peace demonstration is scheduled for February 15. Be there or risk saddling up with these guys. . .
Somewhere in Texas a village is missing it�s idiot
What would a legitimate president do?
Waging war for peace is like fornicating for virginity
Killing one is murder, killing thousands is foreign policy?
I wanna� be proud to be an American
It�s my flag too dammit!
If war is the answer we�re asking the wrong question
A small sample of some of the memorable signs seen at yesterdays protest in San Francisco (click here for one, a bit of sociopolitical satire from Mad Magazine, that must be seen to be fully appreciated).
As stated below (1/17) this was my first protest. The Bush Administration, with it's bellicose and arrogant policy is, apparently, bringing many first time protestors out to the streets.
Not surprisingly, there seems to be some discrepancy in the estimated number of protestors filling the streets of San Francisco yesterday. The top estimate I have seen from the SF police puts the peace crowd at 55,000 while the organizers of the demonstration, International A.N.S.W.E.R., claim as many as 200,000 people showed up to disagree with The White House (Huge protests for peace, Tens of thousands in S.F. demand Bush abandon war plans).
Who to believe? Well, as one who was there, I must say that the crowd certainly seemed closer to 200K than it did 55. All, I might add, peaceful, orderly and united by a single vision for a better world than the current political machine can even imagine.
Despite recent news of slipping approval ratings at home, waning support from the U.N. Security Council, and the increasingly vocal peace movement, the White House remains "untroubled" by their war plans. Ari Fleischer offered this when queried about the rising number of protestors:
I think the President welcomes the fact that we are a democracy and people in the United States, unlike Iraq, are free to protest and to make their case known. And that's a time-honored part of American tradition, and the President fully understands it. It's a strength of our democracy.
(As an off the record aside, Mr. Fleischer added, "for now. . .")
The next major peace demonstration is scheduled for February 15. Be there or risk saddling up with these guys. . .
Friday, January 17, 2003
We (not the royal we but Sarah and myself) will be attending the no war march and rally in San Francisco tomorrow (1/18).
This will be a first for me - public protest, civil disobedience, hitting the streets and not just a keyboard to voice my dissent. I sported a black band around my arm during Bush Sr.�s Gulf War back in the early 90's but that was a solitary protest.
We will not be alone tomorrow. The crowd of folks turning up to protest George W.�s war all the time agenda is expected to reach at least 50,000 people and, according to organizers, as many as 80,000. And that's just San Francico.
This will be a first for me - public protest, civil disobedience, hitting the streets and not just a keyboard to voice my dissent. I sported a black band around my arm during Bush Sr.�s Gulf War back in the early 90's but that was a solitary protest.
We will not be alone tomorrow. The crowd of folks turning up to protest George W.�s war all the time agenda is expected to reach at least 50,000 people and, according to organizers, as many as 80,000. And that's just San Francico.
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
Could a strategically timed invasion of Iraq help our hero regain lost poll points?
Meaningless as it may be, the news that Bush Jr's popularity has ebbed to the lowest numbers (58%) since he rode the waves of tragedy to a soaring crest after that sad day in . . . when was it? Oh, yes, September '01. . . Meaningless as it may be, I say, the news that George W. lost a little bit of his post 9/11 shine cheered me a bit.
According to the Newsday article linked above:
Gallup pinpointed foreign affairs - specifically, the controversy over North Korea's nuclear ambitions - as a key to Bush's decline. It found that those approving of Bush's handling of foreign policy fell from 60 percent to 53. . .
The mild cheer this news brought me shrivels right up, however, before the dread which squeezes my heart when I realize that 53 percent of those polled seem to support Bush's foreign policy. My god, the man is terrorizing a soverign nation. Many even think he is honest, apparently.
Gallup found that the public continues to view Bush as honest, decisive and effective.
This for a man who should be answering some serious questions about election and corporate fraud and who seems to be most effective at lying and destroying the environment.
And speaking of Bush's foreign policy. . . there are anti-war marches and rallies occurring nation wide this Saturday (1/18). I would like to add my physical as well as spiritual presence to those gathering in San Francisco. Sarah may not be up to it, though, returning as she is Friday from long days away at work camp. In which case we will carry on the good fight here and in our hearts.
Follow the links below for information about anti-war events near you.
Not In Our Name
Move On
International A.N.S.W.E.R.
United for Peace
Meaningless as it may be, the news that Bush Jr's popularity has ebbed to the lowest numbers (58%) since he rode the waves of tragedy to a soaring crest after that sad day in . . . when was it? Oh, yes, September '01. . . Meaningless as it may be, I say, the news that George W. lost a little bit of his post 9/11 shine cheered me a bit.
According to the Newsday article linked above:
Gallup pinpointed foreign affairs - specifically, the controversy over North Korea's nuclear ambitions - as a key to Bush's decline. It found that those approving of Bush's handling of foreign policy fell from 60 percent to 53. . .
The mild cheer this news brought me shrivels right up, however, before the dread which squeezes my heart when I realize that 53 percent of those polled seem to support Bush's foreign policy. My god, the man is terrorizing a soverign nation. Many even think he is honest, apparently.
Gallup found that the public continues to view Bush as honest, decisive and effective.
This for a man who should be answering some serious questions about election and corporate fraud and who seems to be most effective at lying and destroying the environment.
And speaking of Bush's foreign policy. . . there are anti-war marches and rallies occurring nation wide this Saturday (1/18). I would like to add my physical as well as spiritual presence to those gathering in San Francisco. Sarah may not be up to it, though, returning as she is Friday from long days away at work camp. In which case we will carry on the good fight here and in our hearts.
Follow the links below for information about anti-war events near you.
Not In Our Name
Move On
International A.N.S.W.E.R.
United for Peace
Monday, January 13, 2003
I'm okay alone, but you got something I need
- Brand New Key, Melanie -
Sarah is traveling again. . . Braving the frozen wilds of Hebron, Kentucky. The money is good, I suppose, but the time apart is long in ways that cannot be measured by ticks and tocks and tiny days divided neatly on calendars.
And what is money, after all, that it should keep lovers apart? Plastic, little bits of paper, a stream of binary code feeding fat banks, The Devil's bog roll.
Oh, how we push ourselves and pride ourselves and loose touch with ourselves for Old Nick's sh*t.
But who believes in that stuff anyway? Money? The Devil? Fantasy!
I was talking about Sarah and thinking of the real world in the deeps of her eyes. . . so far away. Come home soon, Sarah, and safe. You got something I need.
The first night you were gone
I lay in bed, emptiness
beside me,
and realized
that my love for you
is a living thing
nourished by your presence.
Without you
it goes hungry
and gnaws at my heart.
- Brand New Key, Melanie -
Sarah is traveling again. . . Braving the frozen wilds of Hebron, Kentucky. The money is good, I suppose, but the time apart is long in ways that cannot be measured by ticks and tocks and tiny days divided neatly on calendars.
And what is money, after all, that it should keep lovers apart? Plastic, little bits of paper, a stream of binary code feeding fat banks, The Devil's bog roll.
Oh, how we push ourselves and pride ourselves and loose touch with ourselves for Old Nick's sh*t.
But who believes in that stuff anyway? Money? The Devil? Fantasy!
I was talking about Sarah and thinking of the real world in the deeps of her eyes. . . so far away. Come home soon, Sarah, and safe. You got something I need.
The first night you were gone
I lay in bed, emptiness
beside me,
and realized
that my love for you
is a living thing
nourished by your presence.
Without you
it goes hungry
and gnaws at my heart.
Wednesday, January 08, 2003
We have met the enemy and he is US
- Walt Kelly (my italics) -
The Corporations That Supplied Iraq's Weapons Program
(courtesy of The Memory Hole)
Guess which North American superpower is home to 24 of the corporations that helped build Saddam's army toys. . .
- Walt Kelly (my italics) -
The Corporations That Supplied Iraq's Weapons Program
(courtesy of The Memory Hole)
Guess which North American superpower is home to 24 of the corporations that helped build Saddam's army toys. . .
Monday, January 06, 2003
The following poem is currently under consideration in the offices of a prospective publisher here in the Bay Area. They've been sitting on it since July '02 and I hope it poses no breach of trust or policy regarding prior publication for me to post it on this tiny, out of the way strand of the www.
I don't much care at this point. As I say, they've been sitting on it for more than five months. Besides, I've been spinning The Doors penultimate album, Morrison Hotel the last couple of days, it's about time to update this blog, and Jim is on my mind.
For Jim with Aplogies
I�ve seen the end that waits,
with open arms and starry eyes,
for each and every one of us.
I took a chance
and rode with Jim
at the back of that big blue bus.
Iridescent, a scale rolling
on a serpent�s tail,
we drove
and drove
to a sandy, fly flecked cove.
"The Lake of Days,� said Jim
and I followed him
from the bus into motionless air.
�Do you see,� he asked, pointing,
�someone sailing there?�
The fog haunted water
revealed a craft, a dinghy, perhaps,
or a raft, small and distant.
�That�s me,� he said,
�and you. We�re going to that place
we always guessed but never knew.
Where the least is the greatest
and the greatest the least.�
Silent as a stone I closed my eyes,
gazing West, feeling East.
I don't much care at this point. As I say, they've been sitting on it for more than five months. Besides, I've been spinning The Doors penultimate album, Morrison Hotel the last couple of days, it's about time to update this blog, and Jim is on my mind.
For Jim with Aplogies
I�ve seen the end that waits,
with open arms and starry eyes,
for each and every one of us.
I took a chance
and rode with Jim
at the back of that big blue bus.
Iridescent, a scale rolling
on a serpent�s tail,
we drove
and drove
to a sandy, fly flecked cove.
"The Lake of Days,� said Jim
and I followed him
from the bus into motionless air.
�Do you see,� he asked, pointing,
�someone sailing there?�
The fog haunted water
revealed a craft, a dinghy, perhaps,
or a raft, small and distant.
�That�s me,� he said,
�and you. We�re going to that place
we always guessed but never knew.
Where the least is the greatest
and the greatest the least.�
Silent as a stone I closed my eyes,
gazing West, feeling East.
Friday, January 03, 2003
Having recently upgraded to Blog*Spot Plus, I am eager to take advantage of the features now available to me as an actual Blogger customer. I would love, for instance, to add an about page and, perhaps, some poetry pages to begin with. My eagerness, however, has run headlong into my technical ignorance, which abounds. I know nothing about the FTP protocol necessary for the creation of those pages mentioned above. Of course, I knew nothing about HTML when I started this blog nearly a year ago and, after educating myself enough to get by in the blogosphere, I know next to nothing. I hope I can say the same soon about FTP.
If anybody out there would care to assist in my File Transfer Protocol education, especially as it relates to publishing on Blogger, feel free to drop me a line at the e-mail address near the top of this page. In the meantime I'm off to see what I can find on-line about this subject - Blogger support seems to be down at the moment : (
If anybody out there would care to assist in my File Transfer Protocol education, especially as it relates to publishing on Blogger, feel free to drop me a line at the e-mail address near the top of this page. In the meantime I'm off to see what I can find on-line about this subject - Blogger support seems to be down at the moment : (
Tuesday, December 31, 2002
My Sarah, prior to meeting me some thirteen years ago, led a life filled with enough drama and pathos to fill approximately six and a half movies of the week. Born in Cluj, Romania in 1950 to a Rom (Gypsy) mother and a Russian Jew father (who met in one of Mr. Hitler's Holiday Camps) and given the name Anna Sarah Alexshevna Derashenko, the little girl who would one day be my wife was soon to learn that this is a cruel, cruel world.
She Spent her formative years in the post WWII Europe of Romania, Germany and England. One of the horrid highlights of her younger years occured in Frankfurt, where she was attacked in a dark alley and stabbed in the ribs by a sinister couple driven to such outrage by unknown motives. She escaped their grasp and their hungry blade ultimately, of course, but bears the signature of both in the form of a two inch scar down her right side.
Things did not get any better from there. Soon after the family (mother, father, Sarah, younger sister) moved to San Francisco in the early 60's, Sarah and her younger sister, Louise, were orphaned when their mother, long ill, died of leukemia and their father, Alexis, followed his wife out of this life shortly thereafter. Sarah, separated from Louise (who ultimately returned to the Old Country) was adopted by one of her mother's sisters and her wealthy American husband. Things might have improved for her a bit here if the aunt in question had not decided to play the evil stepmother role to the hilt. The troublesome relationship with her aunt/stepmom proved a major influence in Sarah's life, which from this point went on to include (among many other things, of course. I have no intention of writing Sarah's biography here. She would have to start her own blog or write the autobiography she has been considering for the real and complete story to emerge.) marriage and children well before the age of 18, many years of self medication, a short modeling career, and a number of husbands who got their hands and hearts burned by a woman stirred simultaneously by wild Gypsy blood and a sick heart.
When Fate brought the two of us together in 1989, Sarah had nothing from her past that was not carried in that injured heart or in her mind. The things many of us take for granted such as family photos, heirlooms and family itself had all been left behind in the constant comings and goings of her life before me. We were together many years before I even met her youngest daughter, Molly. The rest of Sarah's family, dead or living, has long been for me nothing but the stories I have heard of them. Without even photographs to accompany those stories, their faces were indistinct in my imagination.
Now, thanks to a cousin Sarah has only just contacted in an effort to reconcile her past, I have not only some faces to go with those stories but a photo of my beautiful wife celebrating her first birthday! There is no doubt that the three pictures below, offering me a glimpse into a part of my Sarah's life that I have not been privy to before, constitute one of the best Christmas presents I have ever received. I can only hope that you, dear reader, enjoy them, too.
-Sarah's mother, Josephine. Probably taken in Romania circa 1920 something-
-Sarah's sister, Louise. Taken in the U.S. circa 1960 something-
-Sarah on her first birthday with her aunt (not the wicked one) Georgette. 1951-
She Spent her formative years in the post WWII Europe of Romania, Germany and England. One of the horrid highlights of her younger years occured in Frankfurt, where she was attacked in a dark alley and stabbed in the ribs by a sinister couple driven to such outrage by unknown motives. She escaped their grasp and their hungry blade ultimately, of course, but bears the signature of both in the form of a two inch scar down her right side.
Things did not get any better from there. Soon after the family (mother, father, Sarah, younger sister) moved to San Francisco in the early 60's, Sarah and her younger sister, Louise, were orphaned when their mother, long ill, died of leukemia and their father, Alexis, followed his wife out of this life shortly thereafter. Sarah, separated from Louise (who ultimately returned to the Old Country) was adopted by one of her mother's sisters and her wealthy American husband. Things might have improved for her a bit here if the aunt in question had not decided to play the evil stepmother role to the hilt. The troublesome relationship with her aunt/stepmom proved a major influence in Sarah's life, which from this point went on to include (among many other things, of course. I have no intention of writing Sarah's biography here. She would have to start her own blog or write the autobiography she has been considering for the real and complete story to emerge.) marriage and children well before the age of 18, many years of self medication, a short modeling career, and a number of husbands who got their hands and hearts burned by a woman stirred simultaneously by wild Gypsy blood and a sick heart.
When Fate brought the two of us together in 1989, Sarah had nothing from her past that was not carried in that injured heart or in her mind. The things many of us take for granted such as family photos, heirlooms and family itself had all been left behind in the constant comings and goings of her life before me. We were together many years before I even met her youngest daughter, Molly. The rest of Sarah's family, dead or living, has long been for me nothing but the stories I have heard of them. Without even photographs to accompany those stories, their faces were indistinct in my imagination.
Now, thanks to a cousin Sarah has only just contacted in an effort to reconcile her past, I have not only some faces to go with those stories but a photo of my beautiful wife celebrating her first birthday! There is no doubt that the three pictures below, offering me a glimpse into a part of my Sarah's life that I have not been privy to before, constitute one of the best Christmas presents I have ever received. I can only hope that you, dear reader, enjoy them, too.
-Sarah's mother, Josephine. Probably taken in Romania circa 1920 something-
-Sarah's sister, Louise. Taken in the U.S. circa 1960 something-
-Sarah on her first birthday with her aunt (not the wicked one) Georgette. 1951-
Monday, December 30, 2002
Saturday, December 28, 2002
Tuesday, December 24, 2002
To Jesus on His Birthday
For this your mother sweated in the cold,
For this you bled upon the bitter tree:
A yard of tinsel ribbon bought and sold;
A paper wreath; a day at home for me.
The merry bells ring out, the people kneel;
Up goes the man of God before the crowd;
With voice of honey and with eyes of steel
He drones your humble gospel to the proud.
Nobody listens. Less than the wind that blows
Are all your words to us you died to save.
O Prince of Peace! O Sharon's dewy Rose!
How mute you lie within your vaulted grave.
The stone the angel rolled away with tears
Is back upon your mouth these two thousand years.
-Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1928 -
For this your mother sweated in the cold,
For this you bled upon the bitter tree:
A yard of tinsel ribbon bought and sold;
A paper wreath; a day at home for me.
The merry bells ring out, the people kneel;
Up goes the man of God before the crowd;
With voice of honey and with eyes of steel
He drones your humble gospel to the proud.
Nobody listens. Less than the wind that blows
Are all your words to us you died to save.
O Prince of Peace! O Sharon's dewy Rose!
How mute you lie within your vaulted grave.
The stone the angel rolled away with tears
Is back upon your mouth these two thousand years.
-Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1928 -
Friday, December 20, 2002
Earlier this month, I touched upon the idea of Bigfoot as an aspect of an archetypal wild man. Now, as we move headlong into the Christmas holiday, I bring you:
Santa Claus: Last of the Wild Men
Summarizing her book of the same name (available at Amazon) for Fortean Times (in an article originally published two years ago), Phyllis Siefker paints a fairly compelling portrait of the "jolly old elf" as a modern adaptation of a fertility god/wild man possibly pre-dating homo sapiens.
As the Christmas season engulfs us, Santa Claus, Father Christmas, and their international counterparts beam at us from every medium, hawking earthly treasures to delight our loved ones.
As we watch this portly figure entice us with baubles, we are witnessing the last remnant of the oldest sacred figure that exists, for Santa's past is full of ancient mysteries, with a depth few imagined. In the Middle Ages he was a Wild Man, a beast-man who jousted with knights in Merrie Olde England and dashed through Germanic streets during Carnival, frightening children and adults alike. In the Sixth Century, he was a beast-god so powerful that Pope Gregory the Great chose him to be Christianity's poster child for evil � the cloven-hoofed, goatish devil figure that persists even today. For millennia before that, he was worshiped as a god whose annual death was a necessity for life on earth itself.
And to all a good night, indeed!
Santa Claus: Last of the Wild Men
Summarizing her book of the same name (available at Amazon) for Fortean Times (in an article originally published two years ago), Phyllis Siefker paints a fairly compelling portrait of the "jolly old elf" as a modern adaptation of a fertility god/wild man possibly pre-dating homo sapiens.
As the Christmas season engulfs us, Santa Claus, Father Christmas, and their international counterparts beam at us from every medium, hawking earthly treasures to delight our loved ones.
As we watch this portly figure entice us with baubles, we are witnessing the last remnant of the oldest sacred figure that exists, for Santa's past is full of ancient mysteries, with a depth few imagined. In the Middle Ages he was a Wild Man, a beast-man who jousted with knights in Merrie Olde England and dashed through Germanic streets during Carnival, frightening children and adults alike. In the Sixth Century, he was a beast-god so powerful that Pope Gregory the Great chose him to be Christianity's poster child for evil � the cloven-hoofed, goatish devil figure that persists even today. For millennia before that, he was worshiped as a god whose annual death was a necessity for life on earth itself.
And to all a good night, indeed!
Monday, December 16, 2002
Thanks to The Buddha Project (one of many new blogs on my ever growing roll to the left) for highlighting this story about the "Tibetan Festival of Compassion" currently in progress in the Indian capital of New Delhi (Sarah tells me the name has recently changed). His Holiness the Dalai Lama himself will be delivering the keynote speech - "Compassion: An Antidote to Terrorism" - on the last day of the festival.
While reading the story linked above I came across this description of the festival, a single element of which disturbed me not a little:
To the casual visitor, the venue of the festival being held in the Indian capital for the first time presents a purely cultural picture. Stalls cater to anything from Tibetan medication to meditation and friendly faces are all around, including that of Dolma Tsering, selected as Miss Tibet at a modest beauty pageant at Dharamsala in October.
If you are unable to determine what is wrong with this italicized picture, I will isolate it for you:
. . .selected as Miss Tibet at a modest beauty pageant at Dharamsala in October.
While I want in no way to detract from the more than important message of compassion His Holiness will be delivering on December 18, I must say. . . a Tibetan beauty pageant!?
As the event in question ocurred in October this is rather old news. My shock, however, is quite fresh since this is the first I've heard of it. For anybody reading this who is unaware:
I believe beauty pageants to be rituals of sexual objectification sprung from a patriarchal world view that is anachronistic at best. At its worst, the force of this Dominator mode is deadly (can you say fascism, suppression, war?).
The organizers of this event obviously don't agree with me:
"The Miss Tibet beauty competition will bring Tibetan culture forward in
time," the event organisers told the BBC's Outlook programme.
- BBC News, Thursday, 8 August, 2002 -
Responding to an official denouncement from the Tibetan Prime Minister and general claims from critics that the competition was "un-Tibetan", pageant producer Lobsang Wangyal offers the following:
"Our religion is from a foreign country," fumes Wangyal. "Buddha was Indian. Our food is Chinese, our clothes come from Mongolia. We have always borrowed from other cultures. A beauty pageant is just one more thing."
- Time Asia, October 21, 2002 / VOL. 160 NO. 15 -
Perhaps, Lobsang, but ask yourself, "What would Buddha do?" At least in the cases of Chinese cuisine and Buddhism you were getting the respective creams of China and India! Beauty pageants are the dregs at the black bottom of the worst of Western culture. Mr. Wangyal hopes, supposedly, to improve the plight of the Tibetan people with this competition.
The actual leaders of the Tibetan people, like me, don't approve of his methods:
"The Tibetan government feels that it is against the spirit of the teachings of Buddha," Thupten Psamphel, spokesman of the Tibetan government in exile, told Reuters. "The whole purpose of Buddhist civilization is to liberate the ego from the tyranny of the human body."
-LatelineNews: 2002-10-12 -
If any good does (or has) come out of this beauty competition then it will not have been completely bad. But exploitation of women is not a step forward, Mr. Wangyal. It is a big step back.
Related reading: Women In Theravada Buddhism
While reading the story linked above I came across this description of the festival, a single element of which disturbed me not a little:
To the casual visitor, the venue of the festival being held in the Indian capital for the first time presents a purely cultural picture. Stalls cater to anything from Tibetan medication to meditation and friendly faces are all around, including that of Dolma Tsering, selected as Miss Tibet at a modest beauty pageant at Dharamsala in October.
If you are unable to determine what is wrong with this italicized picture, I will isolate it for you:
. . .selected as Miss Tibet at a modest beauty pageant at Dharamsala in October.
While I want in no way to detract from the more than important message of compassion His Holiness will be delivering on December 18, I must say. . . a Tibetan beauty pageant!?
As the event in question ocurred in October this is rather old news. My shock, however, is quite fresh since this is the first I've heard of it. For anybody reading this who is unaware:
I believe beauty pageants to be rituals of sexual objectification sprung from a patriarchal world view that is anachronistic at best. At its worst, the force of this Dominator mode is deadly (can you say fascism, suppression, war?).
The organizers of this event obviously don't agree with me:
"The Miss Tibet beauty competition will bring Tibetan culture forward in
time," the event organisers told the BBC's Outlook programme.
- BBC News, Thursday, 8 August, 2002 -
Responding to an official denouncement from the Tibetan Prime Minister and general claims from critics that the competition was "un-Tibetan", pageant producer Lobsang Wangyal offers the following:
"Our religion is from a foreign country," fumes Wangyal. "Buddha was Indian. Our food is Chinese, our clothes come from Mongolia. We have always borrowed from other cultures. A beauty pageant is just one more thing."
- Time Asia, October 21, 2002 / VOL. 160 NO. 15 -
Perhaps, Lobsang, but ask yourself, "What would Buddha do?" At least in the cases of Chinese cuisine and Buddhism you were getting the respective creams of China and India! Beauty pageants are the dregs at the black bottom of the worst of Western culture. Mr. Wangyal hopes, supposedly, to improve the plight of the Tibetan people with this competition.
The actual leaders of the Tibetan people, like me, don't approve of his methods:
"The Tibetan government feels that it is against the spirit of the teachings of Buddha," Thupten Psamphel, spokesman of the Tibetan government in exile, told Reuters. "The whole purpose of Buddhist civilization is to liberate the ego from the tyranny of the human body."
-LatelineNews: 2002-10-12 -
If any good does (or has) come out of this beauty competition then it will not have been completely bad. But exploitation of women is not a step forward, Mr. Wangyal. It is a big step back.
Related reading: Women In Theravada Buddhism
Wednesday, December 11, 2002
While channel surfing the other night (AT&T digital broadband) we stumbled upon The Crow: City of Angels and, despite the fact that both Sarah and myself were completely underwhelmed by the first movie, we watched for a few minutes before moving on to something more worthwhile.
Those few minutes have remained in my memory, however, due to a line uttered by the undead anti-hero of the film. As he wreaks his vengeance upon some lowly murderous thug, The Crow, in response to the thug's plea that he was only following orders and had no choice but to commit murder, makes the following pained observation as he dispatches the creep to the great beyond:
"You always have a choice."
This line has stuck in my head because it echoes a truth that revealed itself to me in the not too distant past.
Each of us, indeed, has a choice. Boiled down to its essence, this choice is between Good and Evil. These terms might seem a bit dramatic for most of us but I hold that they are appropriate, and that this choice is one made daily. Yes, that's right. . . we are dealing with choices of Good and Evil on a daily basis.
Consider, please, these twin verses from The Dhammapada as translated by Juan Mascaro:
Hold not a sin of little worth, thinking "This is little to me." The falling of drops of water will in time fill a water jar. Even so the foolish man becomes full of evil, although he gather it little by little.
Hold not a deed of little worth, thinking "This is little to me." The falling of drops of water will in time fill a water jar. Even so the wise man becomes full of good, although he gather it little by little.
We have the option of acting and interacting everyday in ways that are positive, constructive and beneficial to ourselves, the people around us and the world in general - whether it be something simple as helping a blind man cross the street (assuming he needs or desires help) or complex as disobeying rules you know to be wrong - or not.
I think this is what The Crow was trying to tell the poor sap who crossed him. Of course, he might have followed the path of his own logic and refrained from compounding violence with violence by murdering the murderer. But The Crow as a non-violent pacifist would be another movie. . .
Those few minutes have remained in my memory, however, due to a line uttered by the undead anti-hero of the film. As he wreaks his vengeance upon some lowly murderous thug, The Crow, in response to the thug's plea that he was only following orders and had no choice but to commit murder, makes the following pained observation as he dispatches the creep to the great beyond:
"You always have a choice."
This line has stuck in my head because it echoes a truth that revealed itself to me in the not too distant past.
Each of us, indeed, has a choice. Boiled down to its essence, this choice is between Good and Evil. These terms might seem a bit dramatic for most of us but I hold that they are appropriate, and that this choice is one made daily. Yes, that's right. . . we are dealing with choices of Good and Evil on a daily basis.
Consider, please, these twin verses from The Dhammapada as translated by Juan Mascaro:
Hold not a sin of little worth, thinking "This is little to me." The falling of drops of water will in time fill a water jar. Even so the foolish man becomes full of evil, although he gather it little by little.
Hold not a deed of little worth, thinking "This is little to me." The falling of drops of water will in time fill a water jar. Even so the wise man becomes full of good, although he gather it little by little.
We have the option of acting and interacting everyday in ways that are positive, constructive and beneficial to ourselves, the people around us and the world in general - whether it be something simple as helping a blind man cross the street (assuming he needs or desires help) or complex as disobeying rules you know to be wrong - or not.
I think this is what The Crow was trying to tell the poor sap who crossed him. Of course, he might have followed the path of his own logic and refrained from compounding violence with violence by murdering the murderer. But The Crow as a non-violent pacifist would be another movie. . .
Saturday, December 07, 2002
Bigfoot is dead?
Long live Bigfoot!
While I have maintained an active interest in Bigfoot news and lore for some years now, I have never been one to argue either for or against the actual existence of such a beast. With the recent passing of Bigfoot hoaxer Ray Wallace, and the posthumous assertion by his son that bigfoot accompanied his father to the grave ("The reality is, Bigfoot just died. . ."), I feel a need to speak up on behalf of the big hairy guy who has been haunting our imaginations if not our woods for millennia.
Ray Wallace may have introduced the hairy man to the modern world back in 1958 with his good natured pranks as Mark Chorvinsky states:
"The fact is there was no Bigfoot in popular consciousness before 1958. America got its own monster, its own Abominable Snowman, thanks to Ray Wallace,"Mark Chorvinsky, editor of Strange Magazine, told The Seattle Times.
The fact remains, however, that Bigfoot and his kind have roamed the landscapes of mythology (and, perhaps, reality) for as long as we have been walking upright. As wild man and animal person he has lurked at the fringes of cultures around the world. Certainly the native peoples of North America knew him under many names, Sasquatch the most recognizable. They have known him in China for a very long time as the Yeren and in Australia he is called Yowie. He answers to Alma in Russia and, of course, Yeti in the Himalayan ranges.
In the Pacific Northwest, where Mr. Wallace's family claim their loved one "created" big foot, the "creature" that would one day acquire that name thanks to Mr. Wallace was making news long before 1958. In 1884 a mysterious ape-like creature (either a young Sasquatch, a chimpanzee or a complete fabrication depending upon whom you get the story from) was captured by railroad workers in British Columbia and later named Jacko. 1924 saw the infamous Ape Canyon attack, in which a group of miners were allegedly terrorized by a group of ape like creatures near Mt. St. Helens.
Even now reports of sightings, encounters and mysterious footprints continuing to accumulate around the globe. I'm sure they will continue to do so in spite of and because of people like Ray Wallace.
And what are we to make of these stories? What we will, I suppose. I tend to think that if and when the Bigfoot mystery is ever solved, we will pull that wild man from the woods and find that he looks a lot like the recently departed Mr. Wallace, after all, and a lot like you and me.
Long live Bigfoot!
While I have maintained an active interest in Bigfoot news and lore for some years now, I have never been one to argue either for or against the actual existence of such a beast. With the recent passing of Bigfoot hoaxer Ray Wallace, and the posthumous assertion by his son that bigfoot accompanied his father to the grave ("The reality is, Bigfoot just died. . ."), I feel a need to speak up on behalf of the big hairy guy who has been haunting our imaginations if not our woods for millennia.
Ray Wallace may have introduced the hairy man to the modern world back in 1958 with his good natured pranks as Mark Chorvinsky states:
"The fact is there was no Bigfoot in popular consciousness before 1958. America got its own monster, its own Abominable Snowman, thanks to Ray Wallace,"Mark Chorvinsky, editor of Strange Magazine, told The Seattle Times.
The fact remains, however, that Bigfoot and his kind have roamed the landscapes of mythology (and, perhaps, reality) for as long as we have been walking upright. As wild man and animal person he has lurked at the fringes of cultures around the world. Certainly the native peoples of North America knew him under many names, Sasquatch the most recognizable. They have known him in China for a very long time as the Yeren and in Australia he is called Yowie. He answers to Alma in Russia and, of course, Yeti in the Himalayan ranges.
In the Pacific Northwest, where Mr. Wallace's family claim their loved one "created" big foot, the "creature" that would one day acquire that name thanks to Mr. Wallace was making news long before 1958. In 1884 a mysterious ape-like creature (either a young Sasquatch, a chimpanzee or a complete fabrication depending upon whom you get the story from) was captured by railroad workers in British Columbia and later named Jacko. 1924 saw the infamous Ape Canyon attack, in which a group of miners were allegedly terrorized by a group of ape like creatures near Mt. St. Helens.
Even now reports of sightings, encounters and mysterious footprints continuing to accumulate around the globe. I'm sure they will continue to do so in spite of and because of people like Ray Wallace.
And what are we to make of these stories? What we will, I suppose. I tend to think that if and when the Bigfoot mystery is ever solved, we will pull that wild man from the woods and find that he looks a lot like the recently departed Mr. Wallace, after all, and a lot like you and me.
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
Life, that diligent poet
Life, that diligent poet, day by day
Scrawls his work upon us
In blood and tears and sweat and spit
Until our time is measured in years
And we are covered in lines that he has writ.
Death, contrary, is in no hurry
To share her darker verse,
Saving the craft of her rhyme
For a quieter time
When we are more likely to enjoy it.
- R. Cody -
Scrawls his work upon us
In blood and tears and sweat and spit
Until our time is measured in years
And we are covered in lines that he has writ.
Death, contrary, is in no hurry
To share her darker verse,
Saving the craft of her rhyme
For a quieter time
When we are more likely to enjoy it.
- R. Cody -
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