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Thursday, July 9, 2009

A Friday routine. An excerpt from my unpublished novel, S'mothered



This week's excerpt is from an early chapter and takes place in November,1941,a few weeks before the Pearl Harbor attacks by Japan:


At the weekly Friday night dance at the NCO club, Suzie and Hank were dancing the night away. The club was only a few hundred yards from the residence quarters where they had lived since their marriage two years ago.

Both were excellent dancers, moving effortlessly and fluidly to the Glenn Miller “eight to the bar” recording being piped over the ballroom speakers. He was wearing his military NCO uniform while Suzie was in her brand new jewel-toned, ankle length satin gown.

“You look dreamy, Monkey,” Hank whispered, while nibbling her ear. The gown was covered with rhinestone jelly buttons which sparkled in the soft romantic lighting, The front was low cut showing her bosom, but in an appropriate way. “It looks expensive hon,” he said and immediately wished he hadn’t expressed it that way.

Suzie's impoverished upbringing made her sensitive to remarks about her spending habits.

She worked in the Base Commissary and the gown had only cost $5.00 after her employee discount. Money was an issue only because she sent $20.00 a back home to her mother each month to help pay for the kid’s clothing and school expenses. Hank never objected to any help they could send to his mother-in-law. Without her they could not be out here together.

They fully intended to send for the children soon. Suzie told her sister Vera and her mother this before she left home. She reiterated this promise when they made a emergency visit home a few months ago.

She was out here with Hank less than a year when she received word her father had died suddenly. He was only fifty-five. She was saddened but not shocked. He dealt with so many hardships in his life without once letting them affect him emotionally. He was a Rock of Gibraltar to his wife and his children. Inside his strong muscular, seemingly impregnable body his heart absorbed the stress which slowly weakened it. Before she left home, she noticed how easily he tired.

She remembered with sadness the night he approved of her plan to marry Hank and the agreement to take care of the children but “only until they were settled in California.” Hank now was her rock. Her Papa was gone. She sobbed in her new husband's arms the night she learned of his death

When they flew home for the funeral, Vera reminded her of the things she had promised their father before she left for California.

Suzie told her “we have been trying to get permission from the base Commander, Momma; it should only be a few more months.” She was telling the truth, but only partially. Because of rising tensions all over the world, Germany invading Poland and a threat of a conflict in the Pacific, the base Commander temporarily prohibited any children on the base. There was very little likelihood the ban would be lifted in the near future.

Suzie could not tell her Momma this right now. Rose Villani was in deep mourning over the loss of her husband of thirty-eight years, Suzie knew the right thing for her to do would be to move back to New Jersey and take the children off her hands. Many times, she faced similar situations where she let her mind overrule her heart. She no longer was capable of doing this, faced with a choice of staying with her husband or being with her children, she went with her heart.

Suzie was not a deep thinker.When she made a decision her heart told her was right she never brooded about the consequences. She was always aware of her shortcomings as a mother. She laid the blame for this directly at the feet of her own parents.

She did not have a normal childhood; her parents were not affectionate, did not provide her an adequate education, and never really treated her as a child.
She would never abuse her children or deliberately neglect them but she could give them no more, and no less than she was given. Society might consider her cold-hearted, so be it. She was a survivor and dealt with life with the cards dealt her. Society could go to hell.

The band had picked up the tempo and the man she loved was twirling her around the floor, she was laughing and jiving and New Jersey and her children were the last things on her mind.

“Monkey, were any two people ever happier than we are right now?” Hank whispered into her ear.

He had a nice voice and liked to sing to her when they slow danced. He smiled and began singing a song in her ear from the Broadway play they saw before he left for California:

“If they asked me, I could write a book, about the way you walk and whisper and look. I could write a preface on how we met. So the world would never forget, and the simple secret of the plot, is just to tell them I love you a lot. and the world discovers la la ...”

She looked up at him. Now they were both crying unashamedly, hugging, kissing and lost in each other.

They snapped out of their reverie when the band picked up the beat. She scolded him with a smile on her face “no more silly, sappy, weeping monkey, let's show these people how to have fun.” He twirled her around inhaling her fragrance, totally bewitched by her.

After an hour or more of wild dancing and two cocktails each, they now had enough and went back to their quarters. In their bedroom now, Hank waltzed her towards their bed and slowly, gently began to make love to her.

He was an incredibly thoughtful and sensitive lover, always putting her needs first. She loved him for this but sometimes wished he would just take her. She never told him this. She had been too open about this kind of stuff when she was younger. The fewer men knew how much she needed them, the easier they were to keep in line. Any sex, any kind of sex, was better than no sex at all to her. That would never change.

Their weekends were idyllic, touring the wineries, a Saturday night movie and usually a leisurely late Sunday morning breakfast at their favorite cafe overlooking the river.

Their only conflicts arose when she caught him glancing at women. It was as if a
switch was suddenly turned off inside her, a bolt of lightening short circuited the lights and darkened her mood. She turned ice cold and stop talking to him for hours.

He first denied looking at anyone, and then minimized it as inconsequential.
Soon, his pleadings turned to begging, he assured her she was the only woman he could ever love. He would rave about how beautiful she was, cajole and implore her, but it was too late.

Immediately, the very instant she doubted for one second his faithfulness, she withdrew into a protective mode. Images of her ex-husband flashed before her; she despised the very thought of him. When she withheld from her new husband what he wanted sexually, she symbolically struck back at Johnny and all men.

Hank Chiego spent his days at March Air Field preparing to defend his country in the event the looming war became reality. He was in a pursuit squadron being trained to strike back at enemy forces in daring nighttime raids most likely in the Pacific Theater of Operations.

In his position as a tail gunner, his extraordinary night vision and dogged bulldog type patience would serve him well. His supervising Officers greatly admired how calm and yet alert he could be in the almost daily training flights.

These very same qualities kept the marital arguments and subsequent silent spells from escalating into major crises. The intensive physical nature of the routine maneuvers left him little time to brood over his wife’s petulance. He kept busy and did not overreact to her moodiness. Their relationship eventually returned to normal.

What happened on a dreary December Sunday a few months later was anything but normal. At almost the same moment Suzie's son, Johnny Orlando, Jr. was patrolling his 5th grade school patrol guard corner station in New Jersey, every siren at the March air Field was blasting loudly through the base speakers.

Pearl Harbor with all its gory forebodings was bursting rudely into the lives of all Americans and nowhere more spectacularly than at this large U.S. Army Air Corps Base.

Hank jumped from their bed and, while dressing, told Suzie he had to report immediately to a reassigned area. He knew something extremely serious had happened but for now could tell her nothing more.

She was terrified, started crying, and wanted to make him some coffee. There was no time for coffee. Before he left, he told her “Monkey, something is wrong and I’ve got to get to my position fast. I’ll try to get back to you later, give me a kiss quick. I have to get outta here!”

As soon as he left, Suzie turned on the radio and immediately learned why the alarms had sounded and droned on. An announcer, somberly, in a crisply enunciated tone, told the country of the surprise attack. Suzie didn’t read newspapers. The announcer’s mood, and the rapid departure of Hank, shocked her into hyperventilating. She sat down, poured herself a cup of coffee, lit a cigarette and tried to calm down.

Panic began to develop among the civilians later in the day. Rumors spread that Japanese bomber formations were headed toward the California coast. Hank finally called at noon and told her "Calm down Suzie,the reports haven't been confirmed.We are sure they are rumors. Our forces in the Pacific are already starting to respond. But Monkey the base is being put on alert and all dependents living on the base have to leave by the weekend.

Suzie immediately phoned her mother and told her what was going on and to prepare for her return the following week.

Rose Villani had predicted to Suzie two years earlier this would happen and warned she would not take her back this time. Once again, Suzie had her backed into a corner. Following the phone call,Rose slumped in her favorite soft, billowy chair and reflected.

She had given birth to nine children, immigrated to a strange land and survived a depression, illnesses and countless other challenges. Now,she was a widow with eight of her children still living under her roof. Another World War had broken out and she must absorb some of the consequences.

Scrambling through her handbag, she took out her rosary beads and silently prayed for direction to the Virgin Mary. Old Italian women seldom prayed directly to Jesus, His Holy Mother was their spokesperson. She was expected to intercede with her son on their behalf. Rose was raised in this manner by her mother who she never saw again after she sailed to America. The unspoken orders handed down from generation to generation for centuries, ordained women deferred to men but not in issues involving the raising of children.

Alone now, near the end of her life, she could no longer turn to her husband and have him tell Suzie to find her own place to live. She knew in her heart what his decision would have been.

“Rose, we can’t blame Pearl Harbor on Suzie” he most certainly would have argued.
Of course it also wasn’t Suzie’s fault Johnny Sr. was a bum and it wasn’t Suzie’s fault the base Commander wouldn’t let the kids live with them in California.
Whose fault was it Suzie hadn’t stayed in New Jersey? She might have saved her money and been able to afford her own apartment. It was never Suzie’s fault. Rose sighed resignedly. She knew she would take her daughter back in again.

It would be a chaotic home once again. Jenny and Gina would raise a commotion, try to talk her out of it and then grudgingly accept it. Vera was practically living with her boyfriend now and would wed him in the spring. Suzie’s brothers would be okay with their sister’s return and too concerned with their draft status to dwell on it anyhow.

Vera just came in from work a few minutes ago. Rose called to her “Vera, come in here honey, I want to talk with you, your sister is coming back to live here.”

With Sal and Suzie both gone, Vera had been a godsend to her. Especially with Junior. She didn’t know how she would have handled him without Vera.

Vera came into the kitchen and kissed her mother, “Momma I’m so glad. Since I heard about the bombings and maybe war breaking out, I've been worried sick about Suzie”

Vera’s main concern was the two children who had such a hard time adjusting to their mother’s absence when she went to live with Hank. She especially worried about Junior. He had been sick almost constantly since Suzie left, a strep throat, tetanus infection in his foot a horrible poison oak rash last summer. Her mother thought it was because Suzie didn’t breast feed Johnny and compared him to Jaycee who never missed a day of school

Johnny was doing so much better now, making friends, studying hard in school, hardly ever getting sick any more. He seemed happier and healthier than he had ever been. Jaycee would be happy to have her Mom back but she didn’t know about Junior.

“Vera, you helped me so much with Johnny,” Rose said, grabbing her daughter and hugging her, “but still, he needs his mother. I don’t understand how that girl can leave kids who have no father and go gallivanting all over the country?”

Johnny’s father was no help of course. He never called either of the kids. He sent an occasional message to her, or by letter to Suzie. He asked how they were doing, but in the past two years, even these infrequent contacts had ceased.

Vera had heard from a friend of a friend Johnny,Sr. was very ill and in a hospital but this was never confirmed. Rose felt he was too nasty to get sick, it was an old Italian superstition. Was he sick or just trying to dodge the draft?

Back in Riverside, Suzie was packing whatever she could take with her on the plane. Hank would ship the rest by rail. Since he was going to be deployed to an overseas base closer to the war front, they decided to sell any furniture they had purchased. When the war ended, they would buy a house and start from scratch.

Meanwhile, back in Riverside, Hank’s impending departure and the long separation they faced, bonded the couple closer than when they had wed. The unthinkable possibility he might never return at all, changed Suzie’s attitude completely. She realized now how deeply she loved him, and felt ashamed of how she had acted just a few days ago at the Sunday breakfast.

The evening before her flight back home, they dined at their favorite Spanish restaurant inside the Mission Inn and vowed to write to each other every single day.

He was stoic about the dangers he faced, but completely heartbroken over leaving Suzie. Her eyes, normally sparkling were misty tonight.

“I’ve been trying to describe your eyes to other people monkey,” he said,"and now I know the words I’ve been searching for. You have frivolous eyes, carefree eyes. They are not that way tonight though; they look lovely, but more serious. I hate to see them this way.”

They talked about how happy they would be when the war ended and they could start a family. “I love your children Suzie,” he said, gazing into her now tear filled eyes “and I’ll be good to them, but you know how much I want children of my own.”

She assured him they would have at least one child when they were back together again but would not commit to any more than one. "Sweetie," Suzie consoled him,"I don’t think I am made to have too many children.I’m too selfish to take on that much responsibility”

He knew this wasn’t the right time for this kind of conversation and changed the subject. “I’m being reassigned to a Bombardment Group, monkey. For a while, we will be staying here to patrol the coast in case the Japs have any ideas about invading, but eventually we will start training on this new plane, a B-24. Don’t worry about me, the plane is unbelievable and the Commander told us the enemy doesn’t have a plane anywhere near as heavy as this. Wish I could show it to you, but no way now. I shouldn’t even talk about it. Don’t mention it to anybody when you get home.”

Suzie didn’t understand most of the military terms he used but she loved how excited he got when he talked about the upcoming battles. He didn’t have an ounce of fear in him so she felt sure the war wouldn’t last long and they would be together again. It was better neither of them knew what was lay ahead. The next few years were horrendous.

Hank’s crew flew hundreds of extremely dangerous missions over the Marshall Islands, Wake Island, Iwo Jima, and Guam.

Suzie worked with her sister Vera in a rug factory recently converted to a munitions factory. Her brothers fought the Germans in Europe. Soon she would be trying to adjust to being a mother again. The War would affect everyone from children to aging parents.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

Why does Senator Sessions view Supreme Court nominee Sotomayer thru a looking glass darkly?

Because he has flirted with a racist mindset most of his public life.

Sessions was turned down for an Alabama district court judgeship appointment in 1986, by the U.S. Senate Judiciary Committee, because of charges of "racial insensitivity".

Now, twenty three years later, he is the ranking Republican of that same Senate Committee which will be holding hearings on Judge Sonia Sotomayors nomination.

Sessions is particularly sensitive to charges that Judge Sotomayor may have too much empathy. This humanitarian attitude may block her ability to hand down objective opinions from the highest court.

Wow, here we go again with that dreaded word "empathy", possibly the least understood word in the English language.Conservatives believe the word symbolizes everything "bleeding heart" liberals stand for. Sessions and his ilk, have spent 230 years fighting these humanitarians, the very people who he believes gave this country to the minorities.

I devoted an entire post to the definition of "empathy" on this blog several months ago when I was fighting a lonely battle against fraudulent criminals in the household goods moving industry,a battle I eventually won but at a great and lasting cost. So, forgive me if I get excited when I hear this word tossed around loosely by a do no-gooder like the Alabama Senator.

Empathy simply means a feeling or emotion by which someone expresses that he or she shares a sense of outrage or even shock with victimized beings.It sounds simple but it isn't. I have found that most people lack some genetic ability to share the shock and/or outrage of the oppressed or enslaved or criminalized against.

Even normally upstanding people quickly distanced themselves from me. The feeling left with me was that I had brought it on myself.

This is the very same feeling that the minorities in this country live with.Our black population have this feeling almost inbred in them because of the vicious crimes committed against them for centuries.

When people are viewed as inferior, they will eventually feel that they are indeed inferior and will begin to doubt whether they have invited their misery onto themselves.Of course when their minds clear they will fight back.

Judge Sotomayor was raised by a widowed mother in a project in the Bronx. Sessions and other right wing members of the Judiciary Committee, like the silky Senator Lindsey Graham,Rep.,S.C, assume that her background makes it more likely the Judge will empathize with citizens with similar childhood experiences.

Well la de da ! What's wrong with that?

Well here is how Sessions puts it: "The idea that a judge should use his or her personal feelings about a particular group or issues to decide a case stands in stark contrast to the impartiality that we expect in the American courtroom."

He goes on further in his published quotes but I don't want to bore you with ludicrous statements from a twisted man,stained by his own childhood growing up among rednecks.

Impartial American courtrooms? Hah !

Is that why there are 10 black men rotting in our prisons for every one lily white man?

As for Session's fellow Committeeman,Senator Lindsey Graham, let me remind my readers of his background.

This is the man who stood to the right of John McCain throughout the Presidential election campaign; the man who fed lines to McCain when the candidate stumbled on his words,which was just about every day.

Flanking McCain every day on his left was the Benedict Arnold of the 20Th century, Joe Lieberman, the Senator from anywhere.

Graham is an intelligent,patriotic man, I'll give him that. But ironically this stamps him as a hypocrite for strongly supporting the lipstick mom from Alaska for V.P.. He knew damn well Palin could not even read or write. Pathetic cronyism.

Lindsay, who is so smooth I cannot watch him for more than 30 seconds without having to reach for a tums, made some other news this week. He is a very vocal supporter of Mark Sanford of Argentina and urges him to not give in to those calling on him to resign as Gov.. Of course. the normally holier than thou Senator Graham, was in the forefront of the impeachment process of Bill Clinton.

Clinton should have been impeached by Hillary but she turned the other cheek.Was that an act of empathy? Hell no; she was setting herself up for her presidential run and wasn't about to run as a divorcee. These days ,wives of adulterers get lots more sympathy than divorcees.

So there you have it folks, day after day, crooked politicians and judges judging other judges.

When will we humans start discovering what empathy really means?

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

WHY IS THE SANSA FUZE 4G MP 3 PLAYER REFERRED TO AS THE NANO KILLER?


Because it is a better player than the the vastly overrated iPod and costs about half as much.

Please bear in mind that this comparison refers to both products functioning specifically as audio MP-3 players.

The devil is in the details:

First of all the iPod is not a safe product for people with high blood pressure as it has more glitches than a weather forecast.

The iPod has a feature called syncing which can delete in one second 800 songs which it took you 10 years to accrue.

It is fragile; drop it and you better be standing on soft ground.

Most importantly you have to put up with the I-tunes application on your PC or your iPod is worthless.I-Tunes has satanic qualities. It can take control of your computer and your Windows media and reduce you to tears.

I lost my I-tunes from my laptop 6 months ago. Every day I searched for it and googled it and visited every geek store within a 50 mile radius. I followed every suggestion, no matter how absurd. I deleted it and all its files and all Quick Time files, bonjour and mobile device files and then reinstalled it. I must have done this at least 50 times to no avail. It would download but would not launch.

Finally I gave up and went shopping for a new MP-3 player, an "anything but iPod" Mp 3 player. I read all the reviews on the web, checked Consumer reports etc etc.

I finally decided on a Sansa Disk Fuze 4-g which is the equivalent in capacity to the iPod Nano 4g. It cost me $89.00 at Best Buy and it is one of the best purchases I have ever made. I have escaped from my I-tunes prison after 10 years of misery.

First of all the Sansa Fuze is better looking than iPod, sturdier and has a clearer screen. It is smaller than a credit card and thinner than a pencil.

It has FM radio with 20 preset stations.Why is this important. Well if you have satellite radio, Sirius or XM, you can set any FM radio in your home to 88.1 frequency and listen to Howard Stern through headphones on your Fuze.I happen to like Stern but i sure don't want my neighbors overhearing some of the language on that show. So now I sit on my patio and listen in private while they wonder what I am guffawing about.

The Sansa Fuze has a built in recorder so I can record reminders to myself of what I have to do on a given day.

It has a 24 hour battery life. Since I normally use it about and hour a day, I can go at least 3 weeks without running out during my morning walk, which happened constantly with my iPod.

It holds 800 songs but is expandable to 10g with the purchase of an inexpensive card.

To load new songs on to your player you simply click and drag your music from your computer's library into the Fuze file. This is a zillion times simpler than Apple's complicated, proprietary music file system.

To sum up, the iPod is more of a status symbol than a practical player. It can't hold a candle to the SanDisk Fuze. Don't be a snob, break free from the mob and light up with the Fuze.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

MANIC MONDAY



A POTPOURRI OF STRANGE FIREWORKS THIS HOLIDAY WEEKEND:

(some funny and some very serious)

Maureen Dowd, Op Ed,Sunday's NY Times,as usual,sums it up best:

Sarah wants to leave and Sanford wants to stay.

GOP turning gray?

Dowd's tongue in cheek 2012 Ticket....... Palin/Sanford ?

FWIW: Can Ken and Barbi succeed where GW failed?


Great NFL QB(Steve McNair) meets untimely end in possible murder/suicide!


South Carolina serial killer still on the loose.
FWIW: How in hell can one determine who's a serial killer in a state where every citizen carries a gun??

Foreclosures in progress soar to 844,389.

Serena and Roger win again at Wimbledon.
FWIW: No Ken/Barbi here, just two raw talented, legendary tennis greats who deserve all the accolades.

Memorial at Staples Center Tuesday for Michael Jackson.
FWIW:King of pop was King of popsicles and never was my cup of tea.... but memorial is appropriate because of his talent.
Certainly not for the life he lived, no way.

Safety Net Fraying for the Very Poor... Page 15 of Sunday NY Times.
Because of the recession/depression, fewer families are being pulled out of the "deepest poverty" demo., defined as income below half the poverty level threshold.
FWIW: I have lived below the poverty threshold for most of the past 13 years.However I am grateful I do not qualify for the new "deep poverty" level.Thank God for Franklin Delano Roosevelt!

Bernie Madoff,71, sentenced to 150 years.
FWIW: Lenient Judge could have given him life

FWIW: If i was 20 years younger I would marry Maureen Dowd,the smartest woman in America.

That's it for today.

Friday, July 3, 2009

V E DAY, MAY 8,1945


An excerpt from my novel, S'mothered, about a 14 year old boy coming of age during
W W 11

I was getting ready for school on a Tuesday in May when I heard a commotion outside. Peeking through the window curtain, I saw a crowd was gathering. It was obvious something important had happened. The old woman up the block, the scary lady they called Calabraze was shouting to seven or eight people out on the street, I couldn’t make out what she was screaming about because of her heavy accent. I opened the window and could hear more clearly.

“Did anyone hear the news on the radio?” She shouted. “The war is over in Europe, the War is over, and President Truman is on the radio announcing it right now.”

Apparently, her neighbors also heard the bulletin on their radios and ran outside to tell others. Within a few minutes, ten or twenty more people joined in and everyone in my house started to scream “It’s V-E Day; it’s V-E Day!”

My Uncle Jimmy barged in from his apartment across the hall and shouted so loud I thought my eardrums would break “turn the radio on, Germany has surrendered, open the windows, look what’s going on!”

The crowd outside had swelled to about 50 people; they came from all directions to congregate on our corner. I put some water on my cowlick and flew down the stairs, taking them four at a time. I would often take them three at a time, but this was a four-step level of excitement. I would have been trampled on if I went slower. By now everyone in the house was following me down the stairs and out of the house. It was like a stampede I saw in a Gene Autry movie.

Outside now, I could not believe my eyes, the area in front of our house, the whole block was filled with hundreds of people and it was getting noisy, noisier than New Years Eve when many people came out at midnight and shot guns into the air.

Cars started to blow their horns, women were crying, men were laughing at first and then even they were crying, everyone was hugging everyone and the people who stayed in the house were throwing confetti out of windows. The only time I had ever seen men cry was at Grandpa’s wake. The confetti made it look like it was snowing but it was May, and even in New Jersey it didn’t snow in May.

Cars stopped and had their windows rolled down. They had turned their radios up as loud as they could; playing patriotic songs intermixed with broadcasts of people shouting from all over the country.

I looked up the block on both sides of the street. Every window was open with radios on window sills facing outward. Patriotic music was blasting from the radios and combining with the noise of wailing air raid sirens. Church bells were chiming mournfully and the noise level was getting louder every minute. It was surreal like nothing I had ever even imagined or had seen in the movies.

I was excited and scared at the same time, like I couldn’t tell if it was the end of the world or the beginning.

Then I saw the bus from the defense factory where my mother and aunts all worked, pull around the corner. I guessed the owner had closed the plant and sent everyone home. I saw my Aunt Vera jump out first, then Dorothy and then my mother. They ran through the crowd, hugged and kissed all the kids and me. We kids were all laughing but my aunts and even my mother cried.

All the pent up emotions, the years of anxiety which dragged so slowly they seemed like decades, the remembering of the G.I. who wouldn’t be coming home, the joy of realizing no more would die; apparently all of these feelings exploded at once on this cool cloudy morning in May on the streets of Rose Point.

Bedlam erupted but there was no need for cops. Some were sprinkled in the crowd .They weren’t there to maintain order; they were also celebrating and hugging.

People ran back into their homes, rummaged through boxes, cabinets and iceboxes and returned to the street party with New Years hats, noisemakers and horns. Others followed with bottles of beer and fruit and candy. Several men were carrying tables out into the street while the women were decorating them with festive tablecloths.

It was crazy, everything was there for anyone to take and eat and drink. It turned into a Fiesta, an espozolitzio, right before my eyes, with laughing and shouting, people dancing, men with women and women dancing with other women. Kids were dancing with adults, and then someone was dancing with my old Grandma.

And my old grandma was crying because her beloved husband wasn’t alive to see this glorious day. Six other women were weeping hysterically over six sons from our neighborhood who could not share in this celebration. The mangled bodies of their sons were buried in a cemetery somewhere in Europe.

It was 10 o’clock in the morning!

My Uncle Jimmy was dancing with his wife Dorothy and then with my mom, then with Gina, Jenny and Vera. Even my usually grouchy Uncle Joe was dancing with Aunt Lucy.

For one of the few times, I saw him smiling.

There were five times as many women as men. The men who hadn’t gone to war were dancing with two women at a time and before long huge circles were forming. Large groups of women and men and kids were all dancing with each other in and out of the circle. My cousin Larry and I were pushed inside the circle. I wasn’t shy anymore, thank God.

Some of the younger women, with boy friends or husbands overseas, ran back in the house and tried to send telegrams. It was impossible to get through. All the phone lines in the world were tied in knots. When my mother told me this, it dawned on me how incredible this event was. This was not just a block party in my neighborhood or in my hometown. All over the world, millions were celebrating just as they were right here.

I doubted I would ever again see something this spectacular. Maybe I was a little too young to grasp the full meaning of all this but the complete lack of anger and hostility was obvious to anyone who viewed it. For this brief moment in time, everyone loved everyone. No one avoided hugging someone because of his or her nationality: Polish, Irish, Italian, or Jewish. It wasn’t because everyone here was American. It was simply the war finally being over. A feeling of peaceful, joyous serenity had spread throughout the world and I watched a microcosm of it right here in front of my house.

I felt a little depressed, just for a second. ‘Wow,” I shouted aloud, while thinking to myself, Is this what the world could be like?”

The celebration continued throughout the day as word spread to other parts of town. When darkness arrived and the air grew chilly, the party broke up into smaller gatherings and moved indoors. Anyone could go into any home they wanted; it was a gigantic open house all over the town and apparently all over the country.

Some day I hoped I could tell my children what I witnessed today. For now, I just collapsed into bed and lay there, too excited to sleep.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO THE FOUR STAR MOVIE?

It has gone the way of the dinosaur!

Here is a breakdown of the number of Four Star rated American movies put out by Hollywood during the past 7 decades. Source: Video Hound's Golden Retriever

The Forties (i.e. 1940-49)......................................34
The Fifties........................................................29
The Sixties .......................................................13
The Seventies ...................................................11
The Eighties .....................................................8
The Nineties .....................................................6
2000-2009 .......................................................7

Can you believe it?, From 1970 to right now, 39 years, 32- 4 star movies.

That's about one a year.

So if you are paying about $80.00 a month for standard tier television programming plus 2 movie channels you are paying about $1000.00 per 4 star movie

For that much you could almost film your own home movie.

Break it down further, there were 63 movies with the highest rating between 1940 and 1960. From 1960 to the present, there have been only 45 4 star classics.

Obviously Hollywood is tanking and I have my ideas as to why:

Too many sequels
Too many horror movies
Too many animated movies
Too many vampire movies
Too many Ben Stiller movies
Too many Adam Sandler movies
Too many Will Farell movies
Too many Aston Kucher mvoies
Too many Demi Moore movies
Too many Helen Mirren movies
Too many girlfriend movies
Too many stoned out Hollywood Directors
Too many stoned out Hollywood Screenwriters
Too many stoned out Holywood actors and actresses
Too many Movie Reviewers addicted to Heroin

So what can we do about this sad state of affairs?

Really not much. Maybe pray for a major earthquake to hit Hollywood dead on?


Wednesday, July 1, 2009

How important is Al Franken's official victory in Minnesota?

Extremely important!

FOr the first time in over 30 years a major party will have a filibuster proof vote margin.

This is a majority you would think would be welcomed by President Obama but the answerman sees it differently. You see, the president sees himself as a compromise chief executive and prides himself on his ability to work with the opposition to achieve bi-partisan results. His hero is Lincoln,who used incredible mediating skills to attain previously unreachable goals.

Well that was yesterday and today is today. There is no longer any reason for Obama to reach across the aisle. He has a solid majority and can now undo the damage done to this country by the Reagen-Bush axis during the past 30 years.

Clinton,also, did very little to push forward the left wing agenda; in fact he basically eliminated the welfare program.

There are millions of defaulted mortage holders who would love to have the welfare option right now, many of them GOP supporters who would normally blanch at the use of that word.

Make no mistake about it; the liberals and progressives put Obama in the White House and we expect him to start moving our platform today. The time for compromise and excuses is over Mr. President. You called for change and the people responded.I don't recall a period when the citizens of this country were more fed up with the status-quo.

We rank disgracefully low among civilized countries in two significant areas, health care and illiteracy. The time for action is now. Hold a symbolic news conference this week with Senator-elect Franken by your side. Make it known to Congress that the numbers game is over.

We demand better schools,brighter more prepared graduates. We insist on health care for all regardless of income; the calibre of health care the members of congress have had for decades.

This is a historic period and you have the opportunity to go down in history as the president who to told the obstructionist minority to get lost.

This window of opportunity will slam shut with a thud in 6 months because Jan.1,2010marks the beginning of a congressional election year. Politicians running for re-election will not advance anything even slightly controversial.

I am confident this president has greatness in him and will speak out on this new situation, but we voters to the left of center are not sure of this. It's possible he will not budge,at least publically, from the center.

He may not feel he has to. He may be too cocky and assume we,his main supporters have no where else to go if he obstinately tries to get 70 votes from senators by watering the health care bill down?

He might be in for a shock come November, 2010.We don't care about numbers 60 or 70, we want legislation sooner than later.Do not take us for granted. Staying home can sometimes be as effective as forming a third party.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Is God dead?

The year was 1883,the month is unknown.

God died metaphysically sometime that year when the Friedrich Nietzsche epic "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" was published. Through the words of the mythical persian poet, Zarathustra, Nietzsche laid out the strongest case ever as to why God had to die.

Actually Neitzsche asserted that God had begun to suffer through a long slow death 2000 years ago, an agonizingly slow death as his creatures immediately and without letup through the centuries suffocated him by demanding his pity.

Here is an excerpt from Neitzsche's classic to clarify in his own words:

From Part 4:

"WHAT does all the world know at present?" asked Zarathustra of the old pope he encountered on his journey.

"Perhaps that the old God no longer lives,the God in whom all the world once believed?"

"You speak the truth O godless one," answered the old man sorrowfully. "And I served that old God until his last hour.

"You served him to the last?" asked Zarathustra thoughtfully,after a
deep silence,"you know HOW he died? Is it true what they say, that
sympathy choked him. That he saw how MAN hung on the cross,and could not endure it?

"So you are saying to me that his love for man became his hell, and at last suffocated him with pity ?

The old pope however did not answer,but looked aside timidly,with a
painful and gloomy expression.

"Let him go,"said Zarathustra,after prolonged meditation,still looking
the old man straight in the eye.

"Let him go,he is gone.Though it is honorable of you to only speak
in praise of this dead God,you know as well as I WHO he was,and that he had curious ways."

"I speak among three eyes," said the old pope jestfully(he was blind in
one eye),"in divine matters,I am more enlightened than Zarathustra
himself,believe me you utterly godless one.

"I served him many long years, my will followed all his will. A good
servant, however, knows everything, many a things which a Master
hides from himself.

"He was a hidden God, always very secretive. Even with his own son
he operated with secrecy as to his conception. At the door of his faith stands the hint of adultery.

"Whoever honors him as a God of love,does not think highly enough of love itself.Did not that God want also to be Judge?

"But one who truly loves does not seek reward and requital.

"When he was young,that God out of the Orient,he was harsh and revengeful,and built himself a hell which delighted those who loved him most.

"At last,however,he became old and soft and mellow and pitiful.
he became more like a grandfather than a father,but most like a tottering old grandmother.

"Then did he sit shrivelled in his chimney corner,
fretting on account of his weak legs,world-weary,will-weary,until one day he suffocated of his all too great pity."

"You,old pope,"said here Zarathustra,interrupting,"have you seen THAT
with your own eyes?

"It could well have happened in that way:in that way,but maybe otherwise.
When Gods die they always die many kinds of death.

"Well!"said the old pope,"regardless of the actual specifics,one way or other,he is gone.God is dead! He was counter to the taste of my ears and eyes; worse than that I will not speak against one who died.

Zarathustra replied,"I love everything that looks bright and speaks honestly.

You know this to be true,old priest.
There was something of your own type in him.
He was the priest type.He was equivocal.

"He was also indistinct.How he raged at us,this wrath-snorter,because we
understood him badly! But why did he not speak more clearly?

"if the fault lay in our ears,why did he give us ears that heard him badly?

"If there was dirt in our ears,well was it not this dead God who put it in them?

"So much died with him,this potter who had not learned thoroughly how to shape clay!

"But what was unforgiveable was that he took revenge on his pots and creations, because they turned out badly. That was truly a sin against GOOD TASTE.

"There is also good taste in piety, at last the great godless poet concluded.

"Away with SUCH a God! Better to have no God, better to set up destiny on one's own account,better to be a fool, better to be God oneself!'"

End of excerpt......

There you have it. God was "equivocal" and "indistinct", a "wrath snorter", too much like a priest. As I interpret this, in Nietzsche's view God gradually became ineffective as he morphed from a harsh and revengeful creator into an old, soft pitiful, world weary,will weary, grandfather and eventually a tottering old grandmother smothered in pity.

So Man murdered God. Forced to be a judge, God could not, at the same time be the ultimate LOVER that mankind insisted he be, a distinct,unequivical unconditional Father.

Does this perhaps explain why most people are self-indulgent, obsessively self-centered and unhappy?

Possibly.

I am just a simple man, an athiest who can think up questions but most of the time cannot answer them. A hypocrite who has the chutzpah to call himself The Answerman

I can understand how most religions will label this blasphemy but for the confirmed disbeliever it makes sense.