Miss Luther is the Yalie caught on tape screaming at Dr. Christakis for offenses that did not appear to be worthy of the vitrol that she yelled at him.
She is/was apparently as senior [has probably graduated by now] and comes from a semi-affluent home.
She is a nice looking young lady and at least one defender suggested she was actually a nice person.
I AM WILLING TO BELIEVE THAT.
Best case scenario, she got caught up in the heat of the moment and acted in a manner that was untypical of her. I hope that is true.
She has removed all evidence of her existence from social media sites; sadly it may be a long time before she sees anything positive written about herself.
To Miss Luther; I do hope you will get on with your life in the coming months.
I also hope you personally apologized to the Doctors Christakis. They look like kindly, forgiving type people who would accept an honest apology.
Finally, Please do prove me right; you're actually a decent young lady, hard working, loyal to your friends and a loving daughter.
Now suck it up and get up and go on with your life. It's not over; not by a long shot.
Friday, May 27, 2016
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
THE FAMILY IS TOGETHER
Tonight, my little family is all together; me and my wife, our 2 adult kids, one son-in-law and the sole grandbaby. It is a good night in which to rejoice. We haven't been all together in a couple of years. I am blessed.
Wednesday, September 03, 2014
CHINATOWN and the TWO JAKES - what FILM NOIR is all about.
These two movies have immensely poignant endings; Originally it was to be a trilogy but the 3rd movie was never made.
Jack Nicholson starred in both.
"Chinatown" while a specific place, is also indicative of the unknown where motives/behaviors are never clearly understood and the hope is you do no harm by doing "as little as possible."
Jack Gittes ( Nicholson) is a private detective who used to be in the L.A. Police department where his beat was Chinatown. In his attempt to help a Chinese girl, he ends up inadvertently getting her killed because he does not understand "Chinatown" and he forgot the one rule, "Do as little as possible."
He leaves LAPD and becomes a high profile private detective. He's asked to investigate an adultery case which ends up being a murder case and deepens into a swamp of unseen conflicts and family tragedies
At the end of the movie in Jake's attempt to help the woman who's husband was killed by her own father who also raped her and got her pregnant with her daughter, Kathryn, he ends up getting her shot and killed by the LAPD while the wealthy but evil grandfather/father ends up with the daughter, the prize.
In the final scene as Jake is starring at the dead woman while the car horn continues to blare he mutters softly -
"As little as possible."
Lt Escobar yells, "What's that? what's that?
You wanna do your partner a big favor? Take him home, take him home. Just get him the hell out of here. Go home Jake, go home. I'm doing you a favor."
Jake is finally turned away from the scene and his associate utters one of the saddest most poignant lines in movie history.
"Come on Jake," (Jakes turns back for a moment) "Forget it Jake, it's Chinatown."
THE TWO JAKES:
The second movie's time frame is a few years later. There is a troubled mystery woman who's infidelity gets her husband's business partner killed with whom she's been having the affair. The young woman turns out to be Kathryn, the young girl who's mother and step-father were killed by her grandfather - who was actually her biological father.
Jake becomes involved in the case, then the husband of Kathryn, dying of cancer, blows himself up to settle some debts and insure Kathryn's safety.
In the final scene; Kathryn is talking to Jake in his office.
“KATHYRN, ( long pause )
Jack Nicholson starred in both.
"Chinatown" while a specific place, is also indicative of the unknown where motives/behaviors are never clearly understood and the hope is you do no harm by doing "as little as possible."
Jack Gittes ( Nicholson) is a private detective who used to be in the L.A. Police department where his beat was Chinatown. In his attempt to help a Chinese girl, he ends up inadvertently getting her killed because he does not understand "Chinatown" and he forgot the one rule, "Do as little as possible."
He leaves LAPD and becomes a high profile private detective. He's asked to investigate an adultery case which ends up being a murder case and deepens into a swamp of unseen conflicts and family tragedies
At the end of the movie in Jake's attempt to help the woman who's husband was killed by her own father who also raped her and got her pregnant with her daughter, Kathryn, he ends up getting her shot and killed by the LAPD while the wealthy but evil grandfather/father ends up with the daughter, the prize.
In the final scene as Jake is starring at the dead woman while the car horn continues to blare he mutters softly -
"As little as possible."
Lt Escobar yells, "What's that? what's that?
You wanna do your partner a big favor? Take him home, take him home. Just get him the hell out of here. Go home Jake, go home. I'm doing you a favor."
Jake is finally turned away from the scene and his associate utters one of the saddest most poignant lines in movie history.
"Come on Jake," (Jakes turns back for a moment) "Forget it Jake, it's Chinatown."
THE TWO JAKES:
The second movie's time frame is a few years later. There is a troubled mystery woman who's infidelity gets her husband's business partner killed with whom she's been having the affair. The young woman turns out to be Kathryn, the young girl who's mother and step-father were killed by her grandfather - who was actually her biological father.
Jake becomes involved in the case, then the husband of Kathryn, dying of cancer, blows himself up to settle some debts and insure Kathryn's safety.
In the final scene; Kathryn is talking to Jake in his office.
KATHRYN: Does it ever go away?
JAKE: What’s that?
KATHRYN: (The) Past.
JAKE: Well, I think you have to work real hard on that.
KATHRYN: I can’t do it alone.
JAKE: I don’t suppose you’ll have to.
( KATHRYN attempts to kiss Jake who backs away)
JAKE: That’s wrong.
KATHRYN: Don’t be too sure.
JAKE: That’s your problem kid, you don’t know who you’re
kidding.
KATHRYN (getting ready to leave): You take too good a care of
me Mr. Giddes
JAKE: Tough habit to break
KATHRYN: I’ll think of you from time to time.
( KATHRYN leaves the office and heads down the stairs – there's a pause –
then Jake burst out of the office and yells)
(quietly) it never
goes away."
_____________________________
Both movies had brilliant but ultimately sad endings. There was no redemption and no reason to think anybody lived happily ever after. But if you like your movies "straight up," you might give them a shot. [ NOT sure of the ratings; but both should be "R" for violence and some sexuality. The scenery, cars and shots of SoCal were gorgeous. ]
Monday, September 01, 2014
Dr. Maurice Robinson
Rarely does one know the greatest living expert on any one thing. But a good friend of mine for the last 30 years is Maurice Robinson and he IS the acknowledged world authority on the Majority Text. It is thru his efforts that the Majority Text has been updated, published and put into seminaries through-out the land.
He's been a good friend, he has a wonderfully dry sense of humor and he has been an upright guy. He's given hours and hours to the Majority Text and will never be financially rewarded for all his effort. It truly has been a passion for him and he has given it his all.
I'm glad he's my friend.
He's been a good friend, he has a wonderfully dry sense of humor and he has been an upright guy. He's given hours and hours to the Majority Text and will never be financially rewarded for all his effort. It truly has been a passion for him and he has given it his all.
I'm glad he's my friend.
Wednesday, August 06, 2014
A MORAL BONE IN MARK KNOPFLER'S BODY
"PRIVATE DANCER" (1984) was made famous by the sultry songstress Tina Turner.
It is ultimately a sad song about a woman working in the flesh trade with hopes of making a lot of money and achieving a normal life. The song is a woman's lament; it was written by Mark Knopfler of Dire Straits. What kind of man empathizes with the ultimately sad profession of a sex dancer? Perhaps someone with a sense of morality; not always found in the music business.
Mark also wrote "ON EVERY STREET" - ( 1991)
A three-chord symphony crashes into space
The moon is hanging upside down
I don't know why it is I'm still on the case
It's a ravenous town
KNOPFLER talks about "the sacred and profane." He's tracking a psychopath who has no guilt or feelings if his mistreatment of a woman leads to her death. His attitude would appear to be, "no big deal" as he moves on to his next victim.
Knopfler's lament is that of the detective who, long after the case has been closed, continues a seemingly fruitless search for a man who will escape judicial justice but needs to be caught never-the-less. "She threw herself under my wheels." NO, one way or another, he killed her and Knopfler does not want that great moral injustice go unpunished. He's actually obsessed. He's a moral man pursuing an immoral man.
Knopfler is in his later 60's, started his working life as a journalist and a teacher (lecturer at Loughton College) before he hit it big with Dire Straits in the late 70s.
He's been pretty reticent about his personal life; he is in his third marriage - whatever that says. But somewhere, behind the rock-n-roll persona, is a man with a moral sense of what should and shouldn't be. I hope it continues as he enters the last decade or two of his life.
All the men come in these places
And the men are all the same
You don't look at their faces
And you don't ask their names
And the men are all the same
You don't look at their faces
And you don't ask their names
You don't think of them as human
You don't think of them at all
You keep your mind on the money
Keeping your eyes on the wall
You don't think of them at all
You keep your mind on the money
Keeping your eyes on the wall
I'm your private dancer, a dancer for money
I'll do what you want me to do
I'm your private dancer, a dancer for money
And any old music will do
I'll do what you want me to do
I'm your private dancer, a dancer for money
And any old music will do
I wanna make a million dollars
I wanna live out by the sea
Have a husband and some children
Yeah, I guess I want a family
I wanna live out by the sea
Have a husband and some children
Yeah, I guess I want a family
It is ultimately a sad song about a woman working in the flesh trade with hopes of making a lot of money and achieving a normal life. The song is a woman's lament; it was written by Mark Knopfler of Dire Straits. What kind of man empathizes with the ultimately sad profession of a sex dancer? Perhaps someone with a sense of morality; not always found in the music business.
Mark also wrote "ON EVERY STREET" - ( 1991)
There's gotta be a record of you some place
You gotta be on somebody's books
The lowdown, a picture of your face
Your injured looks
You gotta be on somebody's books
The lowdown, a picture of your face
Your injured looks
The sacred and profane
The pleasure and the pain
Somewhere your fingerprints remain concrete
The pleasure and the pain
Somewhere your fingerprints remain concrete
And it's your face, I'm looking for
On every street
On every street
A lady killer, regulation tattoo
Silver spurs on his heels
Says, what can I tell you as I'm standing next to you
She threw herself under my wheels
Silver spurs on his heels
Says, what can I tell you as I'm standing next to you
She threw herself under my wheels
Oh, it's a dangerous road
And a hazardous load
And the fireworks over liberty explode in the heat
And a hazardous load
And the fireworks over liberty explode in the heat
And it's your face, I'm looking for
On every street
On every street
A three-chord symphony crashes into space
The moon is hanging upside down
I don't know why it is I'm still on the case
It's a ravenous town
And you still refuse to be traced
Seems to me such a waste
And every victory has a taste that's bittersweet
Seems to me such a waste
And every victory has a taste that's bittersweet
And it's your face, I'm looking for
On every street
On every street
And it's your face, I'm looking for
On every street
On every street
KNOPFLER talks about "the sacred and profane." He's tracking a psychopath who has no guilt or feelings if his mistreatment of a woman leads to her death. His attitude would appear to be, "no big deal" as he moves on to his next victim.
Knopfler's lament is that of the detective who, long after the case has been closed, continues a seemingly fruitless search for a man who will escape judicial justice but needs to be caught never-the-less. "She threw herself under my wheels." NO, one way or another, he killed her and Knopfler does not want that great moral injustice go unpunished. He's actually obsessed. He's a moral man pursuing an immoral man.
Knopfler is in his later 60's, started his working life as a journalist and a teacher (lecturer at Loughton College) before he hit it big with Dire Straits in the late 70s.
He's been pretty reticent about his personal life; he is in his third marriage - whatever that says. But somewhere, behind the rock-n-roll persona, is a man with a moral sense of what should and shouldn't be. I hope it continues as he enters the last decade or two of his life.
Sunday, June 08, 2014
Me 'n HAROLD CAMPING
Mr. Harold Camping died in Dec. of 2013 at the ripe old age of 92. He had his 15 minutes of fame and more. He gained incredible notoriety with his prediction that the world would come to an end May 21, 2011 or October 21, 2011. He had previously predicted with "99.9%" certainty that the world would end Sept. 6, 1994 ( and 11 other dates in the following 24 months).
From a Christian perspective, one tends to think the "anti-christ" will be a charismatic, likeable, glib salesman - smooth, suave and persuasive. Bill Clinton comes to mind. Harold was the antithesis of Bill Clinton.
He lived very frugally, drove a 10 year old pick-up truck. Hadn't accepted a salary from Family Radio in years and there was never a hint of sexual scandal about him. He was, by all accounts, a faithful and loving husband. He was short, he had bad teeth, big ears - he was a homely man. He never acquired any theological degrees; just had an engineering degree from Cal. Berkeley. He was never "Doctor" Camping.
Why was he an "anti-Christ?" Because he made it his goal in the last decade to drive Christians away from their churches; good, bad or indifferent. He wished to destroy "the Bride of Christ."
Early on he told people that the "Church Age" was over (in 1988) and if you were a "true believer" you would leave your church. To make sure there were no "fence sitters," he told people that if they didn't leave their church, even if they believed in his Rapture calendar, they would not be saved. He announced that instead of church, all one needed was Family Radio and like minded ministries. In actuality, there were no other "like minded ministries." It was just Family Radio and some scattered individuals who parroted Harold's doctrine of heresy. He once suggested that people who believed similarly could simply, instead of going to church, get together at somebody's house and gather around the radio to get all the spiritual nourishment they would need via the gospel according to Family Radio. IRONICALLY, by 2010 groups of people were meeting every Sunday morning at a hall in Alameda where there would be prayers, collections of offerings, gospel singing and Harold teaching his version of Scripture. They staunchly denied this was in any way comparable to a church meeting.
Soon after Harold announced the Rapture would be May 21, 2011 a new website appeared in the blogosphere. It was DEPARTOUT.COM. The format was simple. It allowed members to make new posts or respond to old ones. The creator of the website never gave details of his beliefs though clues were left that, in all probabilty, he believed Harold calendar was right and the Rapture would appear in May of 2011. In it's hey-day leading up to the first Rapture day it saw a plethora of posts, comments and counter-comments by a few who advocated for Harold's calendar and by the majority who believed Harold was wrong. The "nay sayers" included a number of individuals who had, at first, believed the calendar was correct but then came to reject it. Other naysayers, like myself, having seen the failure of Harold's date setting in 1994 knew Harold was simply repeating his earlier mistakes and that he could not be the End Time Prophet.
I believe Harold Camping spent way too many years worry about his legacy. I think he desired to be the End-Time prophet and deserved it because of his years of Bible study and teaching. He did indeed end up with an amazing legacy; epic failure. His followers have been scattered, many of them have been significantly impoverished and ultimately embarrassed. FAMILY RADIO carries on but appears to be a drifting derelict, replaying Harold teachings including the heresy of "Depart-Out." They have always depended upon their listeners gifts but that has surely dried up. They have sold their 3 biggest stations as they have attempted to financially survive. They won't.
I still listen, they have a small station in my town. I find it so ironic when Harold attacks the "false teachers" of the churches when, during his time, there has been no one who was a greater false prophet than himself.
God will not be mocked; His Word is quite plain. In the New Testament 13 times He said, "No One Knows." That included Harold, he just didn't believe that but he knows now.
*
Harold's legacy: False prophet, heretic.
From a Christian perspective, one tends to think the "anti-christ" will be a charismatic, likeable, glib salesman - smooth, suave and persuasive. Bill Clinton comes to mind. Harold was the antithesis of Bill Clinton.
He lived very frugally, drove a 10 year old pick-up truck. Hadn't accepted a salary from Family Radio in years and there was never a hint of sexual scandal about him. He was, by all accounts, a faithful and loving husband. He was short, he had bad teeth, big ears - he was a homely man. He never acquired any theological degrees; just had an engineering degree from Cal. Berkeley. He was never "Doctor" Camping.
Why was he an "anti-Christ?" Because he made it his goal in the last decade to drive Christians away from their churches; good, bad or indifferent. He wished to destroy "the Bride of Christ."
Early on he told people that the "Church Age" was over (in 1988) and if you were a "true believer" you would leave your church. To make sure there were no "fence sitters," he told people that if they didn't leave their church, even if they believed in his Rapture calendar, they would not be saved. He announced that instead of church, all one needed was Family Radio and like minded ministries. In actuality, there were no other "like minded ministries." It was just Family Radio and some scattered individuals who parroted Harold's doctrine of heresy. He once suggested that people who believed similarly could simply, instead of going to church, get together at somebody's house and gather around the radio to get all the spiritual nourishment they would need via the gospel according to Family Radio. IRONICALLY, by 2010 groups of people were meeting every Sunday morning at a hall in Alameda where there would be prayers, collections of offerings, gospel singing and Harold teaching his version of Scripture. They staunchly denied this was in any way comparable to a church meeting.
Soon after Harold announced the Rapture would be May 21, 2011 a new website appeared in the blogosphere. It was DEPARTOUT.COM. The format was simple. It allowed members to make new posts or respond to old ones. The creator of the website never gave details of his beliefs though clues were left that, in all probabilty, he believed Harold calendar was right and the Rapture would appear in May of 2011. In it's hey-day leading up to the first Rapture day it saw a plethora of posts, comments and counter-comments by a few who advocated for Harold's calendar and by the majority who believed Harold was wrong. The "nay sayers" included a number of individuals who had, at first, believed the calendar was correct but then came to reject it. Other naysayers, like myself, having seen the failure of Harold's date setting in 1994 knew Harold was simply repeating his earlier mistakes and that he could not be the End Time Prophet.
I believe Harold Camping spent way too many years worry about his legacy. I think he desired to be the End-Time prophet and deserved it because of his years of Bible study and teaching. He did indeed end up with an amazing legacy; epic failure. His followers have been scattered, many of them have been significantly impoverished and ultimately embarrassed. FAMILY RADIO carries on but appears to be a drifting derelict, replaying Harold teachings including the heresy of "Depart-Out." They have always depended upon their listeners gifts but that has surely dried up. They have sold their 3 biggest stations as they have attempted to financially survive. They won't.
I still listen, they have a small station in my town. I find it so ironic when Harold attacks the "false teachers" of the churches when, during his time, there has been no one who was a greater false prophet than himself.
God will not be mocked; His Word is quite plain. In the New Testament 13 times He said, "No One Knows." That included Harold, he just didn't believe that but he knows now.
*
Harold's legacy: False prophet, heretic.
LEWIS HOHENSTEIN - spiritual father
I want to pay tribute to Lewis Hohenstein, my pastor at the Whittier Grace Brethren Church during my teen years. My Dad had been asked to lead the music there when I was 10, so the the family left a Baptist church and joined the Brethren Church. It was a small church but they had a great pastor in Lewis C. Hohenstein. Three years later, when I was 13, my Mom and Dad felt led to go to another church and couldn't decide if they would make me go with them or let me stay at the Brethren Church with my two older sisters, 15 and 17. They decided to let me remain. I was thrilled. A) my best friend, Don Downs [ later known as Dr. Donald Downs DDS] , was there and B) I would be out from under my Mom and Dad's eagle eyes. I stayed until I was 19 and "Bud" Hohenstein was forced out, due to accusations of a moral failing.
But in those crucial teen years, he regularly taught the teenagers on Wednesday notes at one of the member's homes. He was a man familiar with C.S. Lewis, Francis Schaeffer and was ahead of his time in having a "Biblical Worldview." He prepared me mentally and philosophically for the world of secular academia. He was a bright and thoughtful man and he, in a sense, adopted me. My father was a fine Christian man but we were never on the same wave-length. Bud was on my wave length and could put in words my questions and concerns and provide logical answers. He was always my pastor, not my best friend, but he became my mentor ultimately and helped prepare me for adulthood.
He pastored two other churches and my Mom and Dad actually rejoined him for a few years when I was in my 20s. But I was no longer in the area, and had gotten married and began attending churches in the area in which my wife and I lived.
Bud's wife was Kay Hohenstein, a nurse and fine lady; plus 3 children, Judy, David and Leslie.
God knew I needed Bud Hohenstein if I was to survive the 60s in some kind of rational state and I believe, to this day, my parents were led to his church as much for my sake as anything else.
Bud Hohenstein has been dead a number of years now, died in his late 80s. He wasn't a perfect man but he was a Godly man and understood grace. He passed that legacy on to me.
But in those crucial teen years, he regularly taught the teenagers on Wednesday notes at one of the member's homes. He was a man familiar with C.S. Lewis, Francis Schaeffer and was ahead of his time in having a "Biblical Worldview." He prepared me mentally and philosophically for the world of secular academia. He was a bright and thoughtful man and he, in a sense, adopted me. My father was a fine Christian man but we were never on the same wave-length. Bud was on my wave length and could put in words my questions and concerns and provide logical answers. He was always my pastor, not my best friend, but he became my mentor ultimately and helped prepare me for adulthood.
He pastored two other churches and my Mom and Dad actually rejoined him for a few years when I was in my 20s. But I was no longer in the area, and had gotten married and began attending churches in the area in which my wife and I lived.
Bud's wife was Kay Hohenstein, a nurse and fine lady; plus 3 children, Judy, David and Leslie.
God knew I needed Bud Hohenstein if I was to survive the 60s in some kind of rational state and I believe, to this day, my parents were led to his church as much for my sake as anything else.
Bud Hohenstein has been dead a number of years now, died in his late 80s. He wasn't a perfect man but he was a Godly man and understood grace. He passed that legacy on to me.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
FINDING WAYS AROUND THE STRUCTURE
ON THE ONE HAND, I'm not the kind of guy to run a police road block. But on the other side, if there IS a way to work around a roadblock, of any kind, I'd like to explore it.
I've been flying for 45 years, it used to be easier to change flights, there wasn't a whole lot of problems in changing not only flights but carriers.. My most interesting experience happened on a flight scheduled to leave the East Coast and fly into Eureka on the NoCal coast for my Dad's college graduation.
I flew United down to Orlando to catch a Non-Stop to San Francisco and then on to Eureka. The flight is on time, I have only a carry-on, I never take luggage if I can help it. After landing I walk over to the gate holding the plane headed for San Francisco. It's a very big plane and they start loading early. I get in one of the cheap seats towards the back; they are using both front and rear doors to load. We all get seated, the doors are closed and we sit there for a bit. The Captain comes on to announce we're free to wander around the cabin and at the same time, the flight attendants re-open the doors. That's generally a sign that all is not well. Being restless I walk to the back door ask the attendant if I can step out. She says, "Sure." I walk up the jetway and as I near the desk hearing another flight attendant say to the desk attendant, "I guess we're not going anywhere soon."
I'm immediately thinking, "Oh No. We could be here for hours." Across the hallway is another big United Jet headed for Los Angeles. It appears everyone is boarded and they're getting ready to close the door. I ask my gate attendant, "Can you get me to San Francisco by the jet going to L.A.?" She says, "Did you check any luggage?" I told her no, she said, "If you've got a carry-on got get it now. Hurry. I'll see if there are any seats." I rush back down the jetway, grab my bag (with at least 50 people watching me intently) and head back up the jetway running. As I enter the hall the L.A. flight attendant is yelling at me to "come on." I rush across the hallway and as I am about to enter the plane the gate attendant at the San Francisco desk yells, "What is your name." All of this had taken place within a couple of minutes and they got me a seat on the plane to L.A. before they even knew what my name was. I looked over my shoulder, yelled my name, ran down the jetway, was pointed towards a seat, buckled up and we were off on the 5 hour flight into L.A., Later on somebody tells me to go to the United desk when I land.
I deplane at L.A.X., run to the United desk, a couple of people in front of me. It's my turn, I tell them my name and how I come to be in L.A. instead of San Francisco. The desk attendant says, "Yep, you are on the next plane to Frisco, you have 10 minutes to get to your gate." " Run!" I run to the gate, they're waiting for me. I walk on, they close they door and we head for San Fran. I still had another plane to catch, this one a small regional prop. A plane is getting ready to leave, they tell me it's full and because of the graduation this weekend, I can't catch another plane until very late. They small plane takes off, the desk attendant calls me over and says, "Oops, you WERE booked on that flight. We're sorry. What would you like to do? Why don't you spend the night on our dime and then be on the first flight tomorrow morning? I was pretty tired by now, I said, "that sounds good." So I spent the night in Frisco on United's dime and flew into Eureka the next morning alert and rested (well at least rested.)
With the changes in security precautions these days, the last scenario is highly unlikely to happen again. At the very least, it's gonna cost you. But it was kinda of fun; finding a way around a roadblock required some fairly quick thinking on my part. Kudos to United however, they did the rest - never even hesitated in trying to make it happen and in fact did make it happen.
I've been flying for 45 years, it used to be easier to change flights, there wasn't a whole lot of problems in changing not only flights but carriers.. My most interesting experience happened on a flight scheduled to leave the East Coast and fly into Eureka on the NoCal coast for my Dad's college graduation.
I flew United down to Orlando to catch a Non-Stop to San Francisco and then on to Eureka. The flight is on time, I have only a carry-on, I never take luggage if I can help it. After landing I walk over to the gate holding the plane headed for San Francisco. It's a very big plane and they start loading early. I get in one of the cheap seats towards the back; they are using both front and rear doors to load. We all get seated, the doors are closed and we sit there for a bit. The Captain comes on to announce we're free to wander around the cabin and at the same time, the flight attendants re-open the doors. That's generally a sign that all is not well. Being restless I walk to the back door ask the attendant if I can step out. She says, "Sure." I walk up the jetway and as I near the desk hearing another flight attendant say to the desk attendant, "I guess we're not going anywhere soon."
I'm immediately thinking, "Oh No. We could be here for hours." Across the hallway is another big United Jet headed for Los Angeles. It appears everyone is boarded and they're getting ready to close the door. I ask my gate attendant, "Can you get me to San Francisco by the jet going to L.A.?" She says, "Did you check any luggage?" I told her no, she said, "If you've got a carry-on got get it now. Hurry. I'll see if there are any seats." I rush back down the jetway, grab my bag (with at least 50 people watching me intently) and head back up the jetway running. As I enter the hall the L.A. flight attendant is yelling at me to "come on." I rush across the hallway and as I am about to enter the plane the gate attendant at the San Francisco desk yells, "What is your name." All of this had taken place within a couple of minutes and they got me a seat on the plane to L.A. before they even knew what my name was. I looked over my shoulder, yelled my name, ran down the jetway, was pointed towards a seat, buckled up and we were off on the 5 hour flight into L.A., Later on somebody tells me to go to the United desk when I land.
I deplane at L.A.X., run to the United desk, a couple of people in front of me. It's my turn, I tell them my name and how I come to be in L.A. instead of San Francisco. The desk attendant says, "Yep, you are on the next plane to Frisco, you have 10 minutes to get to your gate." " Run!" I run to the gate, they're waiting for me. I walk on, they close they door and we head for San Fran. I still had another plane to catch, this one a small regional prop. A plane is getting ready to leave, they tell me it's full and because of the graduation this weekend, I can't catch another plane until very late. They small plane takes off, the desk attendant calls me over and says, "Oops, you WERE booked on that flight. We're sorry. What would you like to do? Why don't you spend the night on our dime and then be on the first flight tomorrow morning? I was pretty tired by now, I said, "that sounds good." So I spent the night in Frisco on United's dime and flew into Eureka the next morning alert and rested (well at least rested.)
With the changes in security precautions these days, the last scenario is highly unlikely to happen again. At the very least, it's gonna cost you. But it was kinda of fun; finding a way around a roadblock required some fairly quick thinking on my part. Kudos to United however, they did the rest - never even hesitated in trying to make it happen and in fact did make it happen.
Friday, January 03, 2014
Edward Snowden's Impact
http://www.tomnoir.com/2014/01/the-snowden-affair.html
Terrific assessment of Edward Snowden's revelations of the NSA.
Terrific assessment of Edward Snowden's revelations of the NSA.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
"WHY DON'T YOU JUST GO HOME"
I spent a couple of years of my life as a weekend psych aide at a regional medical center. It was often entertaining, rarely was it particularly sad but there were those moments.
She was in her mid 30's, shoulder length curly hair, she had a bruise on her cheek. She'd come in the day before, very stressed, tearful and a little confused. They admitted her though she seemed to be basically intact. She'd come by herself. For the weekend, she was on my list of 8 to 10 patients who I had to keep an eye on and then write a brief nursing note at the end of the shift. Being an unmotivated weekend warrior I generally avoided getting to caught up in tears and drama if possible. Of course, being a male psych aide, you were in the first line of defense if someone got "chippy." But I ended up talking to her a few hours over the weekend.
She was living in a motel with her boyfriend, She had been his secretary, they had an affair, she left her husband and her two teenage sons and she and her boyfriend came to SoCal to start a new life.
It turned out he drank too much, was verbally abuse and would slap her if he was mad enough and had a few drinks in him. She didn't know what to do so she had admitted herself into the hospital. Off and on we spent Saturday talking about her relationship with her boyfriend and what her options were, could they work things out. She felt rather desperate, thought she had burned her bridges with her ex-husband and her boys, did not know where to go; didn't have a place to go to.
Sunday afternoon towards the end of the shift I asked her about her ex-husband. Was he mean? "No." Was he an alcoholic? "No." Was he cheating on her? "No." Was he a bad father? "No, he was a good father." But he had some physical issues that were somewhat off-putting though nothing terrible.
I asked, "Did he love you?" She said, she thought he did. I asked if she had talked to him recently. She said she had when she called back home to talk to her sons. I asked, "He's a decent man?" She said that he was. She figured he deserved better than her. I said. "Has he found himself a girlfriend?" She said she didn't think so.
Well the shift was over, it was time for me to leave. I said the obvious, "Why don't you just call him up and ask if you can come home." She was silent; then she said, " I don't think he'd want me back." I replied, "I'm a guy, I'm betting he'd take you back." And then I left.
When I came back the next weekend she had been discharged. Nobody knew where she had gone. 30 years later I still wonder what decisions she made. Did she call up her ex and ask if she could come home or did she return to the motel where she had been living with her boyfriend. I know what her ex would have done; he'd have taken her back in a heartbeat. The guy she described to me was the kind of man who would have forgiven her and made all attempts to put his family back together. I no longer remember what her face looked like but I can still see the shoulder length curly hair. I hope she worked her life out. I hope she called her ex and went home.
She was in her mid 30's, shoulder length curly hair, she had a bruise on her cheek. She'd come in the day before, very stressed, tearful and a little confused. They admitted her though she seemed to be basically intact. She'd come by herself. For the weekend, she was on my list of 8 to 10 patients who I had to keep an eye on and then write a brief nursing note at the end of the shift. Being an unmotivated weekend warrior I generally avoided getting to caught up in tears and drama if possible. Of course, being a male psych aide, you were in the first line of defense if someone got "chippy." But I ended up talking to her a few hours over the weekend.
She was living in a motel with her boyfriend, She had been his secretary, they had an affair, she left her husband and her two teenage sons and she and her boyfriend came to SoCal to start a new life.
It turned out he drank too much, was verbally abuse and would slap her if he was mad enough and had a few drinks in him. She didn't know what to do so she had admitted herself into the hospital. Off and on we spent Saturday talking about her relationship with her boyfriend and what her options were, could they work things out. She felt rather desperate, thought she had burned her bridges with her ex-husband and her boys, did not know where to go; didn't have a place to go to.
Sunday afternoon towards the end of the shift I asked her about her ex-husband. Was he mean? "No." Was he an alcoholic? "No." Was he cheating on her? "No." Was he a bad father? "No, he was a good father." But he had some physical issues that were somewhat off-putting though nothing terrible.
I asked, "Did he love you?" She said, she thought he did. I asked if she had talked to him recently. She said she had when she called back home to talk to her sons. I asked, "He's a decent man?" She said that he was. She figured he deserved better than her. I said. "Has he found himself a girlfriend?" She said she didn't think so.
Well the shift was over, it was time for me to leave. I said the obvious, "Why don't you just call him up and ask if you can come home." She was silent; then she said, " I don't think he'd want me back." I replied, "I'm a guy, I'm betting he'd take you back." And then I left.
When I came back the next weekend she had been discharged. Nobody knew where she had gone. 30 years later I still wonder what decisions she made. Did she call up her ex and ask if she could come home or did she return to the motel where she had been living with her boyfriend. I know what her ex would have done; he'd have taken her back in a heartbeat. The guy she described to me was the kind of man who would have forgiven her and made all attempts to put his family back together. I no longer remember what her face looked like but I can still see the shoulder length curly hair. I hope she worked her life out. I hope she called her ex and went home.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
LOSS
She said she couldn't face changing the sheets for the first three months after her husband died. She was clinging to him the only way she could thru the faint smell of him in the sheets. I asked how come she finally changed the sheets. She said sadly, "My granddaughter spit up on them one morning and I knew it was time."
They were are their 35th high school reunion at the Friday nite dinner and dance. She said it was simply the best time ever. She and her husband were dancing and talking, she was very happy. The last song was about to be played and her husband asked if they could sit down. A few second later, he fell to the floor in the midst of a massive coronary and never came to. The ambulance arrived promptly, rushed him to the hospital but he was dead on arrival.
She found out later, he'd seen the cardiologist recently; he was in his very early 50s. Oh was she mad when she found out. Simultaneously crying and cursing him for not letting her know there might be something wrong. She wasn't one of those who didn't want to know about upcoming challenges; she was one of those who wanted to face them head on and her husband never gave her that option. She lectured me as she would have lectured her husband if he'd been there. She looked me in the eye and told me I'd better never do that to my wife. I promised her I wouldn't.
I had come to know her because two years previously, her teenage son died of unexpected heart failure. That' was crushing. Two weeks before he died, he had passed out in the shower. He wasn't a kid who did drugs, did stupid things. They of course had taken him to the doctor who ran him thru all the normal tests. But then he died one day at home. The autopsy said heart disease.
Well I've long since lost track of her and her remaining children. She kept going to church, took over the bills, made all the decisions, fixed the house up; she coped. I was staggered by her strength in the face of crushing adversity. Luckily, her husband had not only been a fine man but a good worker with a company who had a good retirement program. She'd be okay for many years to come if "ok" simply means you have money to pay the bills. But she'd also be "ok" because she and her husband had a strong marriage and he had given her 30 plus years of love. I met him once a year before he died. He was one of those good guys. Worked hard, cared about his wife, cared about his children and served his God.
My lingering prayers are that her other children are doing well (they'd be young adults now) and that she has peace and has friends. If time heals all wounds, I think she's okay.
They were are their 35th high school reunion at the Friday nite dinner and dance. She said it was simply the best time ever. She and her husband were dancing and talking, she was very happy. The last song was about to be played and her husband asked if they could sit down. A few second later, he fell to the floor in the midst of a massive coronary and never came to. The ambulance arrived promptly, rushed him to the hospital but he was dead on arrival.
She found out later, he'd seen the cardiologist recently; he was in his very early 50s. Oh was she mad when she found out. Simultaneously crying and cursing him for not letting her know there might be something wrong. She wasn't one of those who didn't want to know about upcoming challenges; she was one of those who wanted to face them head on and her husband never gave her that option. She lectured me as she would have lectured her husband if he'd been there. She looked me in the eye and told me I'd better never do that to my wife. I promised her I wouldn't.
I had come to know her because two years previously, her teenage son died of unexpected heart failure. That' was crushing. Two weeks before he died, he had passed out in the shower. He wasn't a kid who did drugs, did stupid things. They of course had taken him to the doctor who ran him thru all the normal tests. But then he died one day at home. The autopsy said heart disease.
Well I've long since lost track of her and her remaining children. She kept going to church, took over the bills, made all the decisions, fixed the house up; she coped. I was staggered by her strength in the face of crushing adversity. Luckily, her husband had not only been a fine man but a good worker with a company who had a good retirement program. She'd be okay for many years to come if "ok" simply means you have money to pay the bills. But she'd also be "ok" because she and her husband had a strong marriage and he had given her 30 plus years of love. I met him once a year before he died. He was one of those good guys. Worked hard, cared about his wife, cared about his children and served his God.
My lingering prayers are that her other children are doing well (they'd be young adults now) and that she has peace and has friends. If time heals all wounds, I think she's okay.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
ROBERT "Bob" O'BRIEN - Kudos to a fine man.
High School functions under a fairly rigid caste system; Rule 1) Seniors have nothing to do with freshman unless it's the quarterback of the football team flirting or dating the prettiest Jr. Varsity cheerleader in view. Otherwise, seniors do not generally acknowledge that freshmen even exist. Why would they.
Being a "gym rat" I entered the all but deserted gymnasium one afternoon to practice my shots. I was 5'5" tall, I weighed 115 pounds. Even other freshmen don't know I exist. It's a big high school. I was pretty comfortable being anonymous. It lessened your chance of being "pantsed" by arrogant and nasty sophomores who are celebrating their newly acquired status of no longer being freshmen; the lowest of the low in the high school caste system, by trying to humiliate them. My freshman goal in life; avoid being humiliated.
At the far end of the gym shooting baskets is Bob O'Brien. As it turns out, Bob is also a "gym rat." There are 6 baskets in the gym; Bob's at one end, I, being an undersized and anonymous freshmen head to the other. I hear Bob say, "Why don't you come down here and shoot with me." I realize there must be someone else in the gym beside me and Bob. I carefully look for the third basketball player. There isn't one. Bob must be talking to me. That doesn't make sense.
I look at Bob, point towards myself and squeak "Me?". He says, "Come on down." I slowly and somewhat suspiciously walk down to his end of the gym. He walks up to me and says, "I'm Bob. What's your name." I stammer - "er Jim." He shakes my hand and invites me to shoot.
Now here's the problem. He WASN'T just "Bob." He was "Bob O'Brien" President of the senior class, ALL C.I.F. basketball player HIS JUNIOR YEAR and acknowledged to be the school stud. He was 6'3", he weighed a muscular 190 and he was the quintessential B.M.O.C. There wasn't a soul on the campus who didn't know who Bob O'Brien was. And yet, he had initiated a conversation with me - nameless, faceless freshman of no particular ability or claim to fame. We shot baskets for awhile, I spent the whole time trying to unravel the mystery, why did Bob O'Brien ask me to shoot with him. Being seen on the same court with me would not enhance his status with other B.M.O.Cs nor B.W.O.Cs. He didn't seem to care. Well, finally he had to go, told me "bye" and left. Through-out the rest of the year, if he saw me, he generally acknowledged my existence. Because we both played high school basketball ( He at the Varsity level, me at the "Dee" level) we did cross paths on occasion. He would look at me and smile. Then he graduated and went off to college. At least once after that, I ended up shooting baskets with him at the community gym one Christmas when he was home from college. He saw me, walked over and started talking to me like we were peers. I was quite flattered that he remembered me a couple of years after matriculating off to college.
I've never forgotten Bob, kind of kept an eye on what became of him as best I could.
Today, I wanted to write a post on him and did a google search. He ended up getting a doctorate and has been on the faculty of the University of Oregon many years after a career at the University of California, Riverside. Here's a link: http://sociology.uoregon.edu/faculty/obrien.php
Kudos to you, Bob O'Brien, for breaking all the rules of the high school caste system to chat with a kid who was never in your league athletically or socially. It meant so very much to me. I tried to emulate him in high school, failed athletically but did end up feeling free to initiate conversations with other students who were not juniors or seniors. He showed me how it was done
Bob is in his late 60s now. He can probably retire anytime. I'm thinking when he does, the University of Oregon will have lost a great professor. Here's to you Bob.
Being a "gym rat" I entered the all but deserted gymnasium one afternoon to practice my shots. I was 5'5" tall, I weighed 115 pounds. Even other freshmen don't know I exist. It's a big high school. I was pretty comfortable being anonymous. It lessened your chance of being "pantsed" by arrogant and nasty sophomores who are celebrating their newly acquired status of no longer being freshmen; the lowest of the low in the high school caste system, by trying to humiliate them. My freshman goal in life; avoid being humiliated.
At the far end of the gym shooting baskets is Bob O'Brien. As it turns out, Bob is also a "gym rat." There are 6 baskets in the gym; Bob's at one end, I, being an undersized and anonymous freshmen head to the other. I hear Bob say, "Why don't you come down here and shoot with me." I realize there must be someone else in the gym beside me and Bob. I carefully look for the third basketball player. There isn't one. Bob must be talking to me. That doesn't make sense.
I look at Bob, point towards myself and squeak "Me?". He says, "Come on down." I slowly and somewhat suspiciously walk down to his end of the gym. He walks up to me and says, "I'm Bob. What's your name." I stammer - "er Jim." He shakes my hand and invites me to shoot.
Now here's the problem. He WASN'T just "Bob." He was "Bob O'Brien" President of the senior class, ALL C.I.F. basketball player HIS JUNIOR YEAR and acknowledged to be the school stud. He was 6'3", he weighed a muscular 190 and he was the quintessential B.M.O.C. There wasn't a soul on the campus who didn't know who Bob O'Brien was. And yet, he had initiated a conversation with me - nameless, faceless freshman of no particular ability or claim to fame. We shot baskets for awhile, I spent the whole time trying to unravel the mystery, why did Bob O'Brien ask me to shoot with him. Being seen on the same court with me would not enhance his status with other B.M.O.Cs nor B.W.O.Cs. He didn't seem to care. Well, finally he had to go, told me "bye" and left. Through-out the rest of the year, if he saw me, he generally acknowledged my existence. Because we both played high school basketball ( He at the Varsity level, me at the "Dee" level) we did cross paths on occasion. He would look at me and smile. Then he graduated and went off to college. At least once after that, I ended up shooting baskets with him at the community gym one Christmas when he was home from college. He saw me, walked over and started talking to me like we were peers. I was quite flattered that he remembered me a couple of years after matriculating off to college.
I've never forgotten Bob, kind of kept an eye on what became of him as best I could.
Today, I wanted to write a post on him and did a google search. He ended up getting a doctorate and has been on the faculty of the University of Oregon many years after a career at the University of California, Riverside. Here's a link: http://sociology.uoregon.edu/faculty/obrien.php
Kudos to you, Bob O'Brien, for breaking all the rules of the high school caste system to chat with a kid who was never in your league athletically or socially. It meant so very much to me. I tried to emulate him in high school, failed athletically but did end up feeling free to initiate conversations with other students who were not juniors or seniors. He showed me how it was done
Bob is in his late 60s now. He can probably retire anytime. I'm thinking when he does, the University of Oregon will have lost a great professor. Here's to you Bob.
Monday, September 23, 2013
BASKETBALL FOR OLD MEN
In 7th grade for my Christmas present, my Dad and Mom got me a backboard, a hoop and a basketball. Dad attached the backboard and hoop to the garage on Christmas Day and I began to shoot baskets. I became a fanatic. Until I left home at 18, I played basketball pretty much every day of my life. I played or simply shot baskets for the pleasure of it all. Then I graduated from college, got married and pretty much retired the basketball. Oh I still played a little but the daily schedule of playing basketball ended - until now.
9 months ago, for my birthday present, my wife suggested I buy myself a gym membership. The gym I joined actually had a inside basketball court. I spent the first month lifting weights but one day decided to wander in and shoot a couple of baskets between liftings. After 40 years the ball felt heavy, I felt awkward and I couldn't quite figure out how to get it thru the basket. I was so awkward I felt embarrassed. I shot for about 10 minutes then left. But I started coming back, just shooting by myself at one end of the gym. Periodically there would be other guys shooting and I would be invited to play in a 1/2 court game. At first I refused but then decided to accept (against the advice of my knee doctor). Well I found the games to be quite a "rush" and though I didn't contribute much offensively, at least the months of practice insured I didn't embarrass myself. Since then I shoot at least 3 days a week and when I have an opportunity, play a little 1/2 court basketball. For the most part, it's been quite fun.
Not surprisingly, the next oldest guy I've played with has been in his late 40s, about 16 years younger than me. So I am the "old man" in the gym but have developed some rules that I thought I would pass on to any other old men who wanted to try and revive their basketball skills after decades of retirement.
FIRST RULE: Fuggedaboutit. Basketball is NOT for the plus 60 crowd unless you are a natural, thin athlete that runs twice a day ( I'm not.) Even then, fuggedaboutit.
Your odds of destroying an ankle, a knee, or tearing an achilles tendon are quite good. Basketball remains a physical sport and you can injure yourself very easily. Also, old backs generally dislike the kind of movements associated with playing basketball. But in case you chose to ignore First Rule, let's go to the next rule.
SECOND RULE: Don't even dream about trying to play full-court. "Are you kidding me?" as John McEnroe used to say. You can have just as much fun playing 1/2 court as you can trying to run full court. You need to minimize your chances of a heart attack; playing full court basketball may well shorten your life span at this age. And the odds of a significant injury increase exponentially.
THIRD RULE: Don't jump. You're just asking for it if you try to do a lot of jumping. Your ankles, knees and back are begging you, "No Jumping Puhleese." As an interesting side note, if you watch the old pros in the NBA, those 35 and above, you will notice that they actually don't do a whole lot of jumping. Their game changes over the years and as their injuries add up, they learn to play the game without any explosive jumping. If you're in your 60s, keep your Red Ball Jets tennis shoes in contact with the wood floor. You'll be better for it.
FOURTH RULE: Play smarter not harder. At my age when playing defense, I simply can't chase guys all over the court. My basic defensive strategy, don't give up any lay ups; keep your self positioned between them and the basket. NO LAY UPS. Foul them if necessary but foul them politely. ( I always say "Oops" when I have delivered a particularly vicious chop to their shooting arm. I also wear glasses so they won't try to punch me in the nose. Always smile after a particularly fierce foul and tell them it's the Alzheimers that made you do it.)
FIFTH RULE: Never move faster than a modest trot. Trying to take the quick step is going to get you in trouble. Groin pulls are not your friend when you're in your 60s. Baby steps, they're a good way to avoid E.R. visits.
SIXTH RULE: Learn to shoot the "three." If you're in your 60s, you never shot three pointers because when you were playing basketball they didn't yet exist. I actually had to practice about 4 months before I could begin to knock down the occasional 3 pointer. it was a whole new shot and I had to build up the strength and form to get it to the basket. But if you don't develop a 3 pointer, you're going to expend all kinds of energy ( which you don't have ) trying to put up shots when they're guarding you. Thankfully, most kids today don't get a rat's behind about playing perimeter defense so you're generally pretty free to hoist up a three pointer without them being up in your face. Ninety per cent of the players will simply give you that shot. Take it, it requires so much less energy then trying to either run around or back them down into the key and then attempt some turnaround shot you can't make because you're exhausted.
SEVENTH RULE: Wear knee braces. Personally, I wear those ACE type elastisized knee wraps. They seem to work pretty good for me. If you have worse problems then I do, get and wear the more serious knee braces. They'll give you a convenient excuse if you lose.
EIGHTH RULE; Don't play longer than an hour - too much risk. The more tired, the more injuries. The worst injury in my long career came when I played "just one more game" that I really didn't want to play. My ankle never fully recovered from that high sprain.
NINETH RULE: Pick on someone worse then you were when you were their age. Then you at least have a chance. Playing someone who is better than you is a guaranteed loss. And at 60 plus, who wants to lose?
TENTH RULE: ENJOY the heck out of it. One day I played Danny who worked at the gym, was 22 and was a GREAT 3 point shooter. He killed me. But I had a great time. I ran around, got lots of shots off while he beat me 3 games straight without it ever being close. But I went out intending to have fun and fun I had.
It was good exercise, I was still just beginning to develop my 3 point shot and I saw my game improve. Danny had a great time too, beat me three zip. (When I was his age, I would have beat him two out of three).
So if you refuse to "fuggedaboutit" - don't worry too much about winning, just go out, have a good time and play smartly taking as much care as you can to avoid unnecessary injuries.
9 months ago, for my birthday present, my wife suggested I buy myself a gym membership. The gym I joined actually had a inside basketball court. I spent the first month lifting weights but one day decided to wander in and shoot a couple of baskets between liftings. After 40 years the ball felt heavy, I felt awkward and I couldn't quite figure out how to get it thru the basket. I was so awkward I felt embarrassed. I shot for about 10 minutes then left. But I started coming back, just shooting by myself at one end of the gym. Periodically there would be other guys shooting and I would be invited to play in a 1/2 court game. At first I refused but then decided to accept (against the advice of my knee doctor). Well I found the games to be quite a "rush" and though I didn't contribute much offensively, at least the months of practice insured I didn't embarrass myself. Since then I shoot at least 3 days a week and when I have an opportunity, play a little 1/2 court basketball. For the most part, it's been quite fun.
Not surprisingly, the next oldest guy I've played with has been in his late 40s, about 16 years younger than me. So I am the "old man" in the gym but have developed some rules that I thought I would pass on to any other old men who wanted to try and revive their basketball skills after decades of retirement.
FIRST RULE: Fuggedaboutit. Basketball is NOT for the plus 60 crowd unless you are a natural, thin athlete that runs twice a day ( I'm not.) Even then, fuggedaboutit.
Your odds of destroying an ankle, a knee, or tearing an achilles tendon are quite good. Basketball remains a physical sport and you can injure yourself very easily. Also, old backs generally dislike the kind of movements associated with playing basketball. But in case you chose to ignore First Rule, let's go to the next rule.
SECOND RULE: Don't even dream about trying to play full-court. "Are you kidding me?" as John McEnroe used to say. You can have just as much fun playing 1/2 court as you can trying to run full court. You need to minimize your chances of a heart attack; playing full court basketball may well shorten your life span at this age. And the odds of a significant injury increase exponentially.
THIRD RULE: Don't jump. You're just asking for it if you try to do a lot of jumping. Your ankles, knees and back are begging you, "No Jumping Puhleese." As an interesting side note, if you watch the old pros in the NBA, those 35 and above, you will notice that they actually don't do a whole lot of jumping. Their game changes over the years and as their injuries add up, they learn to play the game without any explosive jumping. If you're in your 60s, keep your Red Ball Jets tennis shoes in contact with the wood floor. You'll be better for it.
FOURTH RULE: Play smarter not harder. At my age when playing defense, I simply can't chase guys all over the court. My basic defensive strategy, don't give up any lay ups; keep your self positioned between them and the basket. NO LAY UPS. Foul them if necessary but foul them politely. ( I always say "Oops" when I have delivered a particularly vicious chop to their shooting arm. I also wear glasses so they won't try to punch me in the nose. Always smile after a particularly fierce foul and tell them it's the Alzheimers that made you do it.)
FIFTH RULE: Never move faster than a modest trot. Trying to take the quick step is going to get you in trouble. Groin pulls are not your friend when you're in your 60s. Baby steps, they're a good way to avoid E.R. visits.
SIXTH RULE: Learn to shoot the "three." If you're in your 60s, you never shot three pointers because when you were playing basketball they didn't yet exist. I actually had to practice about 4 months before I could begin to knock down the occasional 3 pointer. it was a whole new shot and I had to build up the strength and form to get it to the basket. But if you don't develop a 3 pointer, you're going to expend all kinds of energy ( which you don't have ) trying to put up shots when they're guarding you. Thankfully, most kids today don't get a rat's behind about playing perimeter defense so you're generally pretty free to hoist up a three pointer without them being up in your face. Ninety per cent of the players will simply give you that shot. Take it, it requires so much less energy then trying to either run around or back them down into the key and then attempt some turnaround shot you can't make because you're exhausted.
SEVENTH RULE: Wear knee braces. Personally, I wear those ACE type elastisized knee wraps. They seem to work pretty good for me. If you have worse problems then I do, get and wear the more serious knee braces. They'll give you a convenient excuse if you lose.
EIGHTH RULE; Don't play longer than an hour - too much risk. The more tired, the more injuries. The worst injury in my long career came when I played "just one more game" that I really didn't want to play. My ankle never fully recovered from that high sprain.
NINETH RULE: Pick on someone worse then you were when you were their age. Then you at least have a chance. Playing someone who is better than you is a guaranteed loss. And at 60 plus, who wants to lose?
TENTH RULE: ENJOY the heck out of it. One day I played Danny who worked at the gym, was 22 and was a GREAT 3 point shooter. He killed me. But I had a great time. I ran around, got lots of shots off while he beat me 3 games straight without it ever being close. But I went out intending to have fun and fun I had.
It was good exercise, I was still just beginning to develop my 3 point shot and I saw my game improve. Danny had a great time too, beat me three zip. (When I was his age, I would have beat him two out of three).
So if you refuse to "fuggedaboutit" - don't worry too much about winning, just go out, have a good time and play smartly taking as much care as you can to avoid unnecessary injuries.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
TAKING OUT THE TRASH
I'M actually good at taking out the trash; rarely do I forget.
There is a reason; I LIKE removing trash from my house, my office, my garage. It actually pleases me to put it out so, VOILA, I'm very good at not forgetting. On trash or recycle day, I get home in the afternoon and feel a great sense of relief if I see that the garbagemen have indeed done their job and emptied out the trash barrels.
So I have to admit; I don't actually do this for my wife but I do it for myself. However, I like to ACT as if I'm doing this for my wife hoping to earn bonus points.
I wonder if the rest of the husbands feel the same way I do; a sense of accomplishment when the accumulated trash is removed from the premises.
There is a reason; I LIKE removing trash from my house, my office, my garage. It actually pleases me to put it out so, VOILA, I'm very good at not forgetting. On trash or recycle day, I get home in the afternoon and feel a great sense of relief if I see that the garbagemen have indeed done their job and emptied out the trash barrels.
So I have to admit; I don't actually do this for my wife but I do it for myself. However, I like to ACT as if I'm doing this for my wife hoping to earn bonus points.
I wonder if the rest of the husbands feel the same way I do; a sense of accomplishment when the accumulated trash is removed from the premises.
Tuesday, March 05, 2013
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Mark Sandford; Redemption/Re-election
MARK SANDFORD is running for election and seeking redemption.
"The disgraced ex-South Carolina governor is back on the trail seeking forgiveness for the sins that caused his political career to collapse in spectacular fashion four years ago: The mysterious days-long disappearance, the lies about hiking the Appalachian Trail and the extramarital affair with an Argentine woman that splintered the Republican’s picture-perfect family and shattered his presidential aspirations.
Read more: http://www.politico.com/story/2013/02/the-mark-sanford-confessional-campaign-87411.html#ixzz2KY7ybAHB
"The disgraced ex-South Carolina governor is back on the trail seeking forgiveness for the sins that caused his political career to collapse in spectacular fashion four years ago: The mysterious days-long disappearance, the lies about hiking the Appalachian Trail and the extramarital affair with an Argentine woman that splintered the Republican’s picture-perfect family and shattered his presidential aspirations.
“I’m not in any way unaware of how I’ve let you down. I’m not in any way unaware of my well-chronicled failings as a human being,” Sanford told a Hilton Head Island Republican group last week, in the first public speech of his campaign. “But I am equally aware that God forgives people who are imperfect.”"
Read more: http://www.politico.com/story/2013/02/the-mark-sanford-confessional-campaign-87411.html#ixzz2KY7ybAHB
At times like this, one wishes for god like knowledge to judge the heart and motives of Mark Sandford.
I certainly believe in forgiveness; I'm in constant need of it. But it's also easy to be a little cynical about a politician who failed miserably, lost his source of status and income and now asks for forgiveness and re-instatement. His abandoned wife, Jenny Sandford, has not spoken yet, maybe never will.
Sandford puts forth an interesting doctrinal statement that is true but incomplete.
"....God forgives people who are imperfect."
A) I believe that statement is true --
B) But there are often long lasting consequences that follow moral failings ( sins).
He and Jenny are divorced and he intends to marry the Argentinian lady with whom he had his affair. I don't know him, I don't know her but I am uneasy about his continuing the relationship with the woman of his affair. I'm not sure it shows good judgment. The odds of them having a lasting marriage are pretty poor. She will be in a very difficult position; the "home-wrecker" wife of a high level politician. I suspect the gossip and innuendo will be be difficult and ongoing. It can take years to live something like that down. His political enemies will forever use it against him as they embarrass her.
Then there is the wife he has betrayed, Jenny. Bright, very attractive, appears to be quite the lady. You think to yourself, "Who in their right mind would leave her?"
Of course we do not know the details of their relationship; we don't know where all the fractures were but it does appear, she was/is a stand-up lady.
At least on the surface, Mark Sandford continues to make bad choices; not working to save his long marriage to his wife and the mother of his children, but instead chasing a Argentinian lady who's moral compass appears somewhat suspect.
Based upon current available information, I don't think I could vote for him But then again I have my own skeletons.
UPDATE: Jenny Sandford has spoken - in fact wrote a book. Here's one review.
http://www.slate.com/articles/double_x/doublex/2010/02/jenny_sanfords_gentle_revenge.single.html
UPDATE: Jenny Sandford has spoken - in fact wrote a book. Here's one review.
http://www.slate.com/articles/double_x/doublex/2010/02/jenny_sanfords_gentle_revenge.single.html
Monday, February 04, 2013
PIEDMONT HIGH SCHOOL Class of 1969.
A few years ago, while searching YOUTUBE for the Blood, Sweat and Tears version of "Fire and Rain," I discovered this video which honored the now deceased members of Piedmont High School Class of '69. The faces look familiar, they are very much my era and Piedmont appears to be similar to my own suburban high school. The video was created by Robert Nelson, himself a member of the class.
The video itself is a wonderful tribute to the now deceased classmates.
At their 40th reunion, they paid tribute to those deceased classmates and teachers; choosing 1 alumni for each of the departed classmates. Each classmate was given a eulogy.
The eulogies are well done, it gives one a desire to have known these individuals being eulogized. They all experienced adult life, a couple died within 20 years of the high school graduation, others died only in the last couple of years, but all of them before their "time."
Also eulogized were several teachers and the librarian. They too were wonderfully remembered.
The Piedmont High School Class of '69 must have had some extraordinary people because they have shown great caring and respect for their teachers and classmates who were a part of their lives, a part of their school community and who have now gone on to meet their creator and God.
KUDOS, Piedmont High School, Class of 1969.
The video itself is a wonderful tribute to the now deceased classmates.
At their 40th reunion, they paid tribute to those deceased classmates and teachers; choosing 1 alumni for each of the departed classmates. Each classmate was given a eulogy.
The eulogies are well done, it gives one a desire to have known these individuals being eulogized. They all experienced adult life, a couple died within 20 years of the high school graduation, others died only in the last couple of years, but all of them before their "time."
Also eulogized were several teachers and the librarian. They too were wonderfully remembered.
The Piedmont High School Class of '69 must have had some extraordinary people because they have shown great caring and respect for their teachers and classmates who were a part of their lives, a part of their school community and who have now gone on to meet their creator and God.
KUDOS, Piedmont High School, Class of 1969.
Friday, February 01, 2013
MAYBE SHE DIDN'T HAVE A FATHER
Sitting at a light on a very busy street in my city, I note the car ahead of me has a dangerously low rear tire. I roll down my window, honk a few times and wave my arm. The driver looks around and I point towards the rear tire. She opens her door, peers back at the tire and yells "thank you" as she closes the door. I am relieved. She appears to be about my daughter's age. The light turned green, she edged over into the right lane and then, to my utter amazement, headed up a freeway onramp heading North on I 95. I watched helplessly thru my rearview mirror as she accelerated on up the cloverleaf.
I thought to myself, "What in the world is wrong with you" as I drove on down the road. What kind of young lady would purposely get onto the freeway with a very low tire?
Later I thought, maybe she didn't have a father. My own children, in their driving careers, have been lectured (sometimes rather loudly) when they have encountered problems on the road; running out of gas, having oil light indicators come on or temperature gauges climbing into the red zone or calling to ask why their car is pulling to one side or making loud thumping noises or asking why there's smoke coming out from under the hood..
I have a standard, intense response; "PULL OVER IMMEDIATELY." "STOP THE CAR IN THE FIRST SAFE PLACE, TURN OFF THE ENGINE." I believe I say this in my best Shouting-Dad-Tone-of-Voice. I think this is what Dads do. For most fathers my age ( the plus side of 60) our first vehicles were generally "beaters." You quickly learned from your own father or from sad experience that your car needs careful attention and maintenance if you intend to drive it a few thousand miles then sell it to your most gullible friend.
Then somewhere along the line you become a father and watch in horror as your 16 year old takes your car to school. But I guarantee this; they don't drive without a list of safety measures yelled into their ear. Even today if I were to discover that my married daughter purposely drove onto a freeway knowing she had a low tire, I'd be doing the Dad Bellow despite the fact she has a husband and lives in another country. That's what Dad's do. You try to help your children fend off vehicle disaster as best you can; generally that involves a lot of yelling.
So I'm thinking, maybe this young lady with the dangerously low rear tire didn't have the benefit of growing up in a family where Dad yelled at her to protect her from harm and vehicular disaster. 'Cause if she'd had that yelling Dad, she would NEVER have driven up the freeway on ramp before getting the tire inflated immediately (32-34 P.S.I) at the nearest gas station or tire store..
That's exactly why Dads exist.
I thought to myself, "What in the world is wrong with you" as I drove on down the road. What kind of young lady would purposely get onto the freeway with a very low tire?
Later I thought, maybe she didn't have a father. My own children, in their driving careers, have been lectured (sometimes rather loudly) when they have encountered problems on the road; running out of gas, having oil light indicators come on or temperature gauges climbing into the red zone or calling to ask why their car is pulling to one side or making loud thumping noises or asking why there's smoke coming out from under the hood..
I have a standard, intense response; "PULL OVER IMMEDIATELY." "STOP THE CAR IN THE FIRST SAFE PLACE, TURN OFF THE ENGINE." I believe I say this in my best Shouting-Dad-Tone-of-Voice. I think this is what Dads do. For most fathers my age ( the plus side of 60) our first vehicles were generally "beaters." You quickly learned from your own father or from sad experience that your car needs careful attention and maintenance if you intend to drive it a few thousand miles then sell it to your most gullible friend.
Then somewhere along the line you become a father and watch in horror as your 16 year old takes your car to school. But I guarantee this; they don't drive without a list of safety measures yelled into their ear. Even today if I were to discover that my married daughter purposely drove onto a freeway knowing she had a low tire, I'd be doing the Dad Bellow despite the fact she has a husband and lives in another country. That's what Dad's do. You try to help your children fend off vehicle disaster as best you can; generally that involves a lot of yelling.
So I'm thinking, maybe this young lady with the dangerously low rear tire didn't have the benefit of growing up in a family where Dad yelled at her to protect her from harm and vehicular disaster. 'Cause if she'd had that yelling Dad, she would NEVER have driven up the freeway on ramp before getting the tire inflated immediately (32-34 P.S.I) at the nearest gas station or tire store..
That's exactly why Dads exist.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Tossing out Floppys: Computer Spring Cleaning
A 3 1/2 inch floppy labeled, "DOS 3.3 - backup"; O.S.2 Warp - a box full of disks that puts the O.S.2 program on to your harddrive; I gritted my teeth and tossed them out today.
A Quicken Home and Business ‘99 C.D. Several CDs that have the utility drivers for long since lost and destroyed motherboards. I THREW THEM ALL OUT this afternoon. Spring cleaning has come to my home computer center and when I walked in this afternoon my wife pointed to a file of floppys, CDs and manuals stacked near my chair and suggested I needed to do something about it. I said, "What?" She smiled and said brightly, "The trash pick-up is tomorrow?" I wailed, "But what if O.S.2 Warp makes a comeback?" Her smile suggested that the Mental Health S.W.A.T. could be at the house in under 5 minutes if needed.
I purchased my first computer in 1985, an IBM clone. I got the one with two floppies; it turned out to be handy. I figured it would last me 10 years, at least that what I promised my wife. [Within 2 years it had been replaced by an upgrade.] She was afraid I was wasting my money. I’ve long since lost count off how many computers my family has owned but my wife and I currently have 6 working computers between the two of us. If we want, we could be on 3 computers a piece at one time. Of course you only end up using one at a time though laptops and chrome books (my latest acquisition} are handy to drag around.
Not only are floppies long since passe, the youngest generation is bypassing laptops for sophisticated smart phones, leaving the "boomers", such as me, way behind. Oh, I now have an obsolete iPhone and I can make calls on it and text too. It actually does a lot of stuff, I just don't know how to use it. I can still mostly find my way around a P.C.
But I can't on a unit that has Windows 8; the O.S. from hell. I don't own it but I know about it. I talked my little old neighbor into buying a new laptop since his 10 year old would no longer load, and ended up being confronted by Microsoft's newest demon; Windows 8. I don't LIKE Windows 8. Windows 7 is an excellent O.S. Windows 8 makes every attempt to make sure you can't find things; or if you can, you can't move them around. It's been pretty successful at that. Sooner or later, against your will, you're going to own it. It will be pre-installed on your next soon-to-be-obsolete P.C.
But back to the floppys CDs and manuals. If you were wise (and after a few major errors we all became wiser) you made backups of everything, particularly drivers and utilities. But now they're all available on the internet? Need a Dell computer or printer driver? Go to dell.com and with a little searching you'll find all you need. It was a huge advance when companies started putting their utility drivers on the internet for downloading.
A big "shout out" to that advancement in acquiring needed information.
So all those backup floppys, all those CDs with the utilities and drivers on them; "Historie" Kaput, needless, obsolete. Computers quit being built with floppys a few years back. For now they have flash-drives, but I have no doubt they'll also be obsolete not so distant future. But what about your priceless pictures and documents? Don't we need to back those up? Maybe not .......
BECAUSE now we have "THE CLOUD." Write a post using google docs and google Chrome and your work is automatically saved somewhere out in the internet ether where only God actually knows where it is stored. Theoretically it will always exist in "THE CLOUD." Pictures will be there too. And the cloud is cheap and they say you'll never have to worry about backups. But, if the Google Server Farm is ever hit by a nuclear device, we'll no longer exist.
In the modern era, I am only what Google knows about me; But that's a post for another day.
SPRING CLEANING; where do the years go.
A Quicken Home and Business ‘99 C.D. Several CDs that have the utility drivers for long since lost and destroyed motherboards. I THREW THEM ALL OUT this afternoon. Spring cleaning has come to my home computer center and when I walked in this afternoon my wife pointed to a file of floppys, CDs and manuals stacked near my chair and suggested I needed to do something about it. I said, "What?" She smiled and said brightly, "The trash pick-up is tomorrow?" I wailed, "But what if O.S.2 Warp makes a comeback?" Her smile suggested that the Mental Health S.W.A.T. could be at the house in under 5 minutes if needed.
I purchased my first computer in 1985, an IBM clone. I got the one with two floppies; it turned out to be handy. I figured it would last me 10 years, at least that what I promised my wife. [Within 2 years it had been replaced by an upgrade.] She was afraid I was wasting my money. I’ve long since lost count off how many computers my family has owned but my wife and I currently have 6 working computers between the two of us. If we want, we could be on 3 computers a piece at one time. Of course you only end up using one at a time though laptops and chrome books (my latest acquisition} are handy to drag around.
Not only are floppies long since passe, the youngest generation is bypassing laptops for sophisticated smart phones, leaving the "boomers", such as me, way behind. Oh, I now have an obsolete iPhone and I can make calls on it and text too. It actually does a lot of stuff, I just don't know how to use it. I can still mostly find my way around a P.C.
But I can't on a unit that has Windows 8; the O.S. from hell. I don't own it but I know about it. I talked my little old neighbor into buying a new laptop since his 10 year old would no longer load, and ended up being confronted by Microsoft's newest demon; Windows 8. I don't LIKE Windows 8. Windows 7 is an excellent O.S. Windows 8 makes every attempt to make sure you can't find things; or if you can, you can't move them around. It's been pretty successful at that. Sooner or later, against your will, you're going to own it. It will be pre-installed on your next soon-to-be-obsolete P.C.
But back to the floppys CDs and manuals. If you were wise (and after a few major errors we all became wiser) you made backups of everything, particularly drivers and utilities. But now they're all available on the internet? Need a Dell computer or printer driver? Go to dell.com and with a little searching you'll find all you need. It was a huge advance when companies started putting their utility drivers on the internet for downloading.
A big "shout out" to that advancement in acquiring needed information.
So all those backup floppys, all those CDs with the utilities and drivers on them; "Historie" Kaput, needless, obsolete. Computers quit being built with floppys a few years back. For now they have flash-drives, but I have no doubt they'll also be obsolete not so distant future. But what about your priceless pictures and documents? Don't we need to back those up? Maybe not .......
BECAUSE now we have "THE CLOUD." Write a post using google docs and google Chrome and your work is automatically saved somewhere out in the internet ether where only God actually knows where it is stored. Theoretically it will always exist in "THE CLOUD." Pictures will be there too. And the cloud is cheap and they say you'll never have to worry about backups. But, if the Google Server Farm is ever hit by a nuclear device, we'll no longer exist.
In the modern era, I am only what Google knows about me; But that's a post for another day.
SPRING CLEANING; where do the years go.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Murder-suicide in my little neighborhood
[ This is not a good story. You really don't need to read it. ]
They moved in across the street about a couple years after we did A Dad, a Mom, an older brother and a younger brother my age. The older brother was lively and funny, his name was Davey. The younger brother was more serious but he and I got along well enough. His name was Jimmy. That's a picture of him. He was 10 years of age when his father killed him and then committed suicide, apparently in response to his mother asking the father for a divorce and forcing the father to move out.
The father had visitation, came to pick up both boys one weekend but Davey didn't go.
The father took Jimmy to the motel where he was staying and shot him to death then turned the gun upon himself.
I really didn't live in "that kind of a neighborhood." But I guess I did.
Jimmy wrote a suicide note;
It is a terrible thing.
Below is a picture of Jimmy's mother.
I suppose those are the detectives talking to her, I'm not sure.
My parents were very devout and we always went to church. My father recognized, after the separation, that the father was struggling and he invited him to come to church one Sunday. The father came and sat next to my Dad. At the end of the service there was an "altar call" for people to come forward and give their lives to Jesus Christ vowing to follow after His ways, not ours.
So we're standing, singing the invitation hymn and the father is gripping the pew in front of him so hard that his knuckles are white. But he didn't go ask for help, ask for salvation and he never came to church with us again. Then a few/couple of weeks later the father and Jimmy were dead.
"Sad" inadequately describes the story. Decades later I still have trouble with it.
Davey and his Mom soon moved out of the neighborhood never to return.
I've often wondered how Davey is doing. I hope he was able to find some hope, joy and love in his own life. Maybe he became a follower of Jesus Christ. I know my folks prayed for him and his Mom after the tragedy. I hope he made it out of the family trauma alive.
He was funny, personable and he made the other kids in the neighborhood laugh. He had a lot going for him.
I hope Davey made it.
They moved in across the street about a couple years after we did A Dad, a Mom, an older brother and a younger brother my age. The older brother was lively and funny, his name was Davey. The younger brother was more serious but he and I got along well enough. His name was Jimmy. That's a picture of him. He was 10 years of age when his father killed him and then committed suicide, apparently in response to his mother asking the father for a divorce and forcing the father to move out.
The father had visitation, came to pick up both boys one weekend but Davey didn't go.
The father took Jimmy to the motel where he was staying and shot him to death then turned the gun upon himself.
I really didn't live in "that kind of a neighborhood." But I guess I did.
Jimmy wrote a suicide note;
It is a terrible thing.
Below is a picture of Jimmy's mother.
I suppose those are the detectives talking to her, I'm not sure.
My parents were very devout and we always went to church. My father recognized, after the separation, that the father was struggling and he invited him to come to church one Sunday. The father came and sat next to my Dad. At the end of the service there was an "altar call" for people to come forward and give their lives to Jesus Christ vowing to follow after His ways, not ours.
So we're standing, singing the invitation hymn and the father is gripping the pew in front of him so hard that his knuckles are white. But he didn't go ask for help, ask for salvation and he never came to church with us again. Then a few/couple of weeks later the father and Jimmy were dead.
"Sad" inadequately describes the story. Decades later I still have trouble with it.
Davey and his Mom soon moved out of the neighborhood never to return.
I've often wondered how Davey is doing. I hope he was able to find some hope, joy and love in his own life. Maybe he became a follower of Jesus Christ. I know my folks prayed for him and his Mom after the tragedy. I hope he made it out of the family trauma alive.
He was funny, personable and he made the other kids in the neighborhood laugh. He had a lot going for him.
I hope Davey made it.
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