Bachelorette Wipeout

Frank:

If the main idea in life is to have as much fun for as long as possible, I'd say the gated community golf course types down in Florida are probably on the right track.  Sure, it's not Love Boat, but it's pretty much the same idea... a well-designed plan for trying to be carefree and fun as much as possible, in a vacation-like setting, that takes into consideration the fact that the people are now old and unattractive to most of society.  So build a wall and keep most of society out, and establish a new society where age is in, and fun and games are still where it's at.  I mean, you've got to hand it to these people, they have moved on and are doing their best with the hand they've been dealt.  I'm sure the alcohol flows pretty freely in there, and that they do their best to make it Love Boat-like.

Yes, the Bachelorette.  The only thing is, now that I've seen an hour of it, I feel like I've experienced about 95% of what the show is all about and I don't need to spend an inordinate amount of time getting the rest of the details of what happens from here on out.  The drama of the roses, the weird, schmaltzy dramatic music that almost makes it seem like it's all some kind of ironic spoof, the secret visits, the passionate kisses.  Sure, I don't know who will get chosen in the end, but I think I got a decent bang for my hour of viewing.  You could even say it was a good investment of my time. After that, though, it's a definitely a matter of diminishing returns.  I've seen what the dog looks like, I don't need to spend twelve more hours inspecting each square inch of its fur with a magnifying glass.  Peggy, on the other hand, did not get much out of her time with the show.  She was asleep after about five minutes.  So, what other shows should I watch one episode of, just to get my finger on the pulse of America? This is a real question; I'm asking for the names of more important shows. Actually, I did notice they had advertisements for another show-- Wipeout, and I thought, "Now that's entertainment!"  The beauty of Wipeout is that it makes no pretensions that it's anything more than a big steaming pile of dog shit, which makes it charming and admirable in a way.  Not that I actually watch it, but I have fond memories of watching it with Katherine one time when she was here on a visit.

I see that Obama has done some "executive privilege" thing to keep Eric Holder from being held in contempt in the "Fast and Furious" case.  Well, that will get the conservatives whirling on their heads in rage, no doubt, like old white break dancers, which will be a lot of fun for them.  I don't even know what this whole "Fast and Furious" thing is about, but I know it's very, very important to the Fox News republicans.  It's the headline item day after day on the online Fox website, while the New York Times airily ignores the whole thing.  Here.... let's just see what Fox has to say now....  Ah, here's the most recent headline:  "WHY is the White House Hiding Details of Agent's Death?"  Yes, that sounds about right.  Do you know about the Fast and Furious tempest?  I'm sure if I were a tea party type, I would be outraged over it, too, and the fact that all the "liberal" media are choosing to ignore this important story-of-the-century.

I was looking for something to read on the trip, and Peggy suggested a book called Be Fearless: Change Your Life in 28 Days.  So maybe I'll read that.  When I see you, we will both be experts in confronting fear.  Do the have some sort of Niagara Falls-type place near you, that we can go over in a barrel?

--edward

Donkeys on Pleasure Island

Frank:

Well, gee, that's interesting how you have thrived in these jobs where it's basically a lot of young people partying and having fun in a vacation-like atmosphere.  I would really suck in a situation like that.  I would become more and more morose and difficult, casting a pall wherever I went.  I wouldn't last long, or rather, I wouldn't be hired in the first place.  It's pretty good that you continued to do well in a job like that, fairly recently, the Park City job.  What were you at that point, fifty?

If that's the environment where you feel at your best,  I have no idea what the next step is.  Those jobs sound to me like "Pleasure Island" in Pinocchio, where all the boys all run off to the fun theme park and become donkeys.  I'm not sure what happens when you're a donkey and you're in your mid-fifties, but I'd imagine you're not welcome at Pleasure Island any more, except maybe as a maintenance guy, somebody a moralist can point to and say "So, boys, you see what happens if you run off to Pleasure Island?"  But then, middle age is where a whole lot of people have to make difficult transitions, so you're certainly not the only one.  The unfortunate thing is that you are now afflicted with this discomfort around people, so I'm assuming that even if you found a Pleasure Island for people in their mid-fifties, you still wouldn't be interested.  

Well, I can see why you like television, anyway, because television is mostly all based on watching supposedly attractive young people running around, partying in a vacation-like setting. It's like being part of the gang again, except you're only watching. You will be interested to know that we watched the last hour of "The Bachelorette" last night -- we were in between DVD's.  Wow, that's all I can say.  Where do they get these people?  It's like they've all being given some kind of steroids that take whatever physical features are considered handsome or pretty in American TV culture, and they exaggerate those features to a preposterous, laughable degree -- kind of like Dudley Do-Right, with his overdone cleft chin -- and they they hair gel all these monsters and ship them off to Croatia, give them unlimited alcohol, and then….. shit.  All I can say is, who needs LSD?

Speaking of Croatia, maybe you could become a vampire.  I think that's pretty much the background on most vampires… they spent their early lives partying at some Transylvanian resort, until the awful day comes when they realize they are getting old, and the carefree babes don't feel carefree around them any more.  So they become vampires.  Have you tried biting a young woman on the neck?

I wonder if you can make the transition from having fun being around young, attractive people, to having fun being around middle-aged, not-so-attractive people?  That pretty much sounds like the crux of the matter to me. 

Okay, so I understand I'll be in Tahoe at a time when it's not at its best, the weekend.  That's okay, as long as I don't get run over by an RV or something.   

--edward

Melanie and her Shame Exile take LSD

Frank:

I distinctly remember the point in Self Therapy where I said, "Okay, I quit."  It was the heading: "Melanie Reparents and Retrieves the Shame Exile," along with an illustration captioned "Melanie brings her Shame Exile into a forest."  That pretty much did it for me.  I was already teetering on the edge of pushing the eject button, because of the repeated references to Lisa's dealing with the "Sooty Demon."

Okay, so I'm thinking of your depiction of yourself in seventh grade as a shy, isolated person who just wanted to be left alone.  Flash forward to 1981, where you've just had an "adventure summer in Oregon where I worked at the Inn of the 7th Mountain, and practiced drunken debauchery with a lot of like-thinking workers."  And then the next thing you know you're heading home to rekindle friendships with all the pretty girls in Crestline, before moving on to the new grand and fun things.  So what was the process that took you from the little wallflower seventh grader to the swaggering, successful stud of 1981?

So now that you've decided to live life to the fullest, I expect in your next e-mail you will tell me that you just purchased an online kit -- so you don't have to leave the house and actually buy the thing -- that will allow you to retrofit your house into a 60's style bomb shelter, and that you are vacuum packing two years worth of food, so that you will be able to go at least two years without seeing any humans.  That seems to be the way these things go.

You're talking about being old and decrepit now, but what about in twenty years?  I went to church on Sunday, and saw some very old men, all bent over and shuffling around with their canes, and I was thinking, gee, that can't be fun.  And no doubt they still kind of feel like they have the minds of young people, and they are horrified every time they look in the mirror, thinking, "What happened to me?  I remember being nine years old!  Damn!  Look at my hands!  It's embarrassing! Oh if only I was fifty seven again!"

Actually, it doesn't bother me all that much.  I mean, it's not like it was some kind of well-kept secret that everyone gets get old, and then they die.  The evidence has been out there in our faces every day of our lives.  So I just say, fine, bring it on.  Seriously.  I mean, I'd have a problem with it if only some people get wrinkly and old, and there were some assholes who just go on eternally, fresh and young, but it's a fair, across-the-board thing.  It's nice to have something in life be fair.  My only problem with getting old is that  -- as I've said before -- I think it's not right that they don't let really old people have LSD if they want it.  There should be at least a few special treats that are allowed to the elderly, and I think that should be one of them.  Sixteen year olds get to look forward to getting their driver license and all sorts of stuff like that, but what do 65 year olds have to look forward to?  LSD when I'm sixty-five? Sign me up! The drug should be administered in some beautiful setting, and there would be fresh-faced just-out-of-college girls around as specially trained "trip stewardesses" to provide snacks and conversation, and comfort for any of the old fools who start showing signs of having a "bad trip".... something I certainly never experienced.  Plus, I know that the other sixty-five-year olds who'd be signing up for their free LSD retreats (it would be paid for by medicare) would be really unusual, interesting people, so it would be a good way to meet fun, like-minded folks.

--edward

Slaughtering Your Inner Demons

Frank:

Nice picture of the big bird.... you said it was a vulture.  We don't have vultures around here, just crows and ravens.  The other day, I did see a pair of very big hawks soaring over a field where I walk our dog.  A little songbird seemed to be trying to drive one of them off and it was interesting to watch this little bird repeatedly swooping at a predator that was about ten times its size.

Yeah, I sympathize with the guilt you're talking about.  I get that too, usually from an inner voice that's saying something like, "Well, you sure made a damned fool of yourself."  After a life interaction comes guilt -- actually, for me I'd call it shame -- and of course before there's often anxiety. You get hit both ways, coming and going.  What gets me is that most people, the thick skinned doers of the world, don't feel any of this stuff.  They just barrel along, thinking, "I'm doin' great!"  I don't even think they have dreams at night, at least not dreams they remember.  And the stuff you're feeling guilty about, they do stuff that's five times worse, but they're feeling just fine.

That Self Therapy book would say you've got this inner "part" -- like a little person inside you --  that is causing you to feel that guilt, and it would say you should make friends with it, and get to know it, and figure out why it's doing that.  That's good advice, but I've also come up with another solution that is more satisfactory and fun.  When I feel what you're talking about, let's say it's either shame or anxiety, I  sometimes picture the being inside me that's causing me to feel that way.   But then, instead of imagining myself being all nice to it, like some little boy trying to make friends with Uncle Steve, I imagine myself murdering it.  In my imagination, I'm screaming, and hacking it to death, and blood is splashing everywhere, and it's very satisfying.  It actually seems to work sometimes, too, the guilt or anxiety recedes.  Then, when it returns the next time, I don't get all upset and think, "O darn, it didn't work."  No, I treat it like one of the villains in an action movie.  They always come back, too. "I knew you'd come back," I say, and  I just go after it again, with a battle axe this time maybe, and very graphically chop it all up again.  It's my imagination, after all.  I can do whatever I want.  I think you should try this.  Seriously.  As far as I'm concerned, whatever gets me though each day, it's all good... as long as it's not something that's obviously self destructive, like developing a heroin habit.  I'm thinking I should write a self-help book.  It would be titled, "Slaughtering Your Inner Demons." 

Here's what I think -- there's a part of you that wants to shut you down for some reason.  It wants you to end up barricaded inside your house, with aluminum foil over the windows, trying to keep you inside, and everything else outside.  You could view it as a frightened part of yourself, probably some little kid version of you, or you could picture it as an enemy... as a kind of  "demon."   Or better yet, picture it one way one time, and another way another time.  At any rate, whether this part of your is your friend or your enemy, you can't let it have its way, at least not before you're in a nursing home somewhere, at the mercy of high school drop-out aides... at that point, withdrawing into depression/isolation would actually probably be a reasonable response.

Yes, this is a nice time in Maine.  It's a very green time.  You can feel life bursting out everywhere.  As opposed to April, when everything just feels dead.  April in Maine is like being depressed at Christmas.  You know you're supposed to be happy, it's supposedly spring, and that theoretically "life" is happening all around you. But you look around and everything still looks and feels empty and dead.

We hike once in awhile, but the problem where we live is that if we actually want to hike somewhere in the mountains, it's at least an hour and a half away.  So we go on a lot of shorter walks, along the coast, in meadows, or in the woods, or whatever.  We also go on bike rides sometimes.  We have ocean kayaks, too, but I tend to drag my feet about going out in them, because to me it's a big hassle putting them on the car, driving to the ocean (it's only five minutes away), taking them off the car, etc. etc.  I'm really lazy about stuff like that.  A big lazy baby.

We should have lobster one of these days, now that you mention lobster.  I see the nearby farm stand, which also sells live lobster, is selling lobster for $4.99 a pound, which is a pretty good price.

Yes, I'm planning on getting to your place in  the evening of June 22.  I'd be there for the 23rd and 24th, then have to leave on the morning of the 25th.  I'm looking forward to it.

--edward

scared of strangers

Frank:

Interesting that it is such a puzzle, getting from your place to Carson City.  How about paddling that 18 ft canoe of yours, down to the south end of the lake?  You could camp overnight along the way.  The whole adventure, and an explanation of the difficulties that led you to it, would make a great article for the local newspaper.  It might even get picked up by the Associated Press, and you'd end up being a guest on David Letterman (I'm assuming David Letterman still has a show on TV) or Jay Leno, or whatever.  Of course, you'd first have to round up some Mexicans to help you get the boat from your place down to the lake, but the story of that would just add more fascinatingness to the piece.  Or is the canoe still sitting in Jane's garage?  This is a brilliant idea but, no, you'll end up getting there in some not-newsworthy way.

Okay, so let's address this discomfort with people thing....

Well sure every stranger you meet is a potential rattlesnake. Or it could be like one of these insects that injects its eggs inside its prey so they can hatch in there, and then slowly devour the thing from the inside.   I've definitely always felt wary of people, and on my guard, to the point where my face starts twitching and I can't look people in the eye. My dad did a great job of teaching me, and demonstrating, that people are scary and not to be trusted easily, and the world is a terrifying place. But everything is dangerous and unpredictable.  That's what makes it life as we know it. Catastrophe can strike any time and anywhere, with or without people.   Every decision or non-decision could be the one that kills you. And if you try to seal yourself off from all these dangers, bingo, you're dead already... you just have to wait for your heart to stop beating.   Sure, the world is an unsafe place, and people can be rattlesnakes. I've always assumed that everyone has a dark, secret underbelly. All I have to do is look at myself honestly and I realize, okay, people are complicated, and a mixture of good and evil.   I think everyone is, to a greater or lesser degree, a fraud.  That's the human condition.  I feel like I've got a fairly decent radar for when people are seriously being fake and trying to manipulate me and that sense gives me a certain amount of confidence, I guess, that every person I might encounter isn't a complete unknown scary question mark, with an equal, random chance of being a rattlesnake.  Did you start out thinking that people are basically good and trustworthy?  Have you always had this intense wariness and suspiciousness of people, or did it come over time from many repeated experiences where you misjudged or trusted someone, and they turned out to be a rattlesnake?  If you can't generally tell the difference between a cherry bomb and a pebble, then all pebbles seem dangerous.

Jesus said this to his followers when he sent them out into the world to interact with people: "Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: so be wise as serpents and harmless as doves.”  Be wise as serpents.... a very interesting thing for Mr. Son-of-God to say to his friends.  He didn't tell them to just go out and be trusting fools.

At this point in my life, the rewards of trying to make connections with other people outweigh the dangers.  It's like being on the second story of  a burning house.  It feels like the choice between a gamble and guaranteed emotional death.  Sure, it's scary to jump out the window, but given the alternative... bring it on! That's a fairly new thing with me, this interest in getting emotionally intimate with other people.  I am by nature a very, very solitary person, more so than almost anyone I've ever met. I love solitude. I love quiet. That will never change.   It's only in the last four or five years, as I've stumbled through some pretty intense psychological and spiritual crises, that I've felt I need other people to somehow complete my destiny, for lack of a better way of putting it.  But that's just me, my personal situation.  For you, I guess the question is, can you be happy and fulfilled without other people?  And that's not even the question, because you've got Jane and the others in your family, and you've got me, and who knows who else you've already got.  If what you've got is sufficient, then there you go, there's no problem at all. 

I attached one more cartoon from Dilbert, that comic strip you think is dumb and humorless and incomprehensible.  Do you see any humor in this one?

I feel like an embarrassing dope after writing this e-mail, for some reason, but I'm sending it anyway.  If you're not an embarrassing dope once in awhile, then you're not really living.  That's my motto.

--edward

George Whittell

Frank:

Well, that's exactly what I said, that you haven't changed, it's the political parties that have changed. 

Those were interesting comments about the French guy's statement.  It probably is true that it's because he's generally a caring, generous person, with a socialized French conscience, that he thinks it's not possible to be happy without being generous.  Then there's the question of what it means to be happy.  There's happiness that is a kind of fun/pleasure, and then there is something else which is a deeper rooted sense of fulfillment and peace.  I'm pretty sure the two are different, and even contradictory a lot of the time.  There are all sort of pills and drugs and video games and things like sex and eating, and stuff like that, that are pleasurable, sort of like a rat pushing its little bar to get a brief moment of stimulation,  but a lot of the time those things are like taking out a loan that you need to repay later,  with an I.O.U. for an equal payment of unhappiness and suffering at an unspecified future date.  The fulfillment/peace thing comes from something else.  I think that's more the thing the French guy was referring too.  But that doesn't mean other people find fulfillment in the same way, or that everybody even cares about something like that.  Maybe for some people, it's limited to just trying to find ways to press that little pleasure bar as much as possible, until they die.  That sounds horrible to me, like some kind of ghastly dark nightmare.  It would be like somebody who masturbates as many times as possible each day, every day.  There would be a lot of moments of pleasure each day, I guess, but I can't say it sounds like a very good recipe for happiness.

Which kind of leads to the whole question, is life purely materialistic, where we are just a bunch of atoms running around experiencing little bursts of energy and unconsciously demonstrating the laws of physics, or is there something more to it than that.  Each person has to answer that question for themselves.

For sure, I do think that life consists of both joy and sorrow, and there's no way around that.  In Asian cultures, they totally accept the idea that suffering is a big part of life, but here in America, we do everything we can to avoid that.  We're supposed to be happy all the time, just like we're supposed to be young all the time, and I think that in itself is a big source of unhappiness.... it's particularly bitter to be sad in a culture that denies the legitimacy and meaning of sadness. 

So how were the festivities surrounding John's birthday party?

I've been thinking about this George Whittell guy you told me about, which is kind of hard to do since I hardly know anything about him.  But I was wondering if at one time in his life he really had enjoyed and cared about people, and so it was a shocking change of character that he ended up scurrying around in underground tunnels so he could be alone, or if his whole recluse stage was just a foreseeable ending of the way he had always lived his life.  My guess would be that he always treated people the way he treated his Duesenberg and his fancy wooden power boat -- as things to collect and show off and move here and there in ways that amused him.  If that's the case, it makes sense that in the end he'd get fed up and just take his toys and live in a tunnel. If that's the case, I feel sorry for anyone who got close to him in his lifetime, if they were at all caring or sensitive people.  Fortunately, the kind of person who likes to "collect" other people as fun accessories, tends to attract people who are also manipulators, so it's all fair game.

--edward

conservative vs conservative

Frank:

I have to laugh.... right next to the e-mail you sent me, was an e-mail from "Michelle Obama,"  wondering if I would take the time to wish Barack a happy Father's Day.  I won't bother to hit the "yes" button, knowing the next step is a screen asking how much I'd like to donate.

Yes, why aren't you a tea partier?  Like everything else,  it's all genetics, right?  Thanks to your genes, I'd say you are temperamentally conservative.  Conservative in the meaning of the word that is talking about being moderate, cautious, somewhat adverse to risk and novelty/craziness, and also interested in conserving elements of the past and of nature.  A "saver."  The tea-partiers call themselves conservative, but it's a whole different thing, in some ways they're almost the opposite of that meaning of conservative.  They wouldn't admit it, but they're more radicals than conservatives, like some kind of barbarian tribe, bent on destroying civilization. So, actually, if your description of yourself as a selfish beast -- I remember your family used to call you "Beast" ... was that short for "Selfish Beast?" -- is accurate, then it all makes sense.  When you were young and forward moving and hoping to be a accumulator who was going to amass a successful material life then make sure it was sheltered and secure, then political conservatism made perfect sense.  Now that you're more on the fringes of society, no longer a person who is actively working at raking together a hoard of wealth, and fending off any hungry mother fuckers who might try to challenge you for it, it makes sense that you'd be politically left leaning.  You are being consistent.... a true sign of a conservative.  The ones who aren't being consistent are the uneducated, futureless morons who have been duped into thinking that if only government was abolished, they would rise to the top like helium balloons, and once again enjoy the benefits of being Americans,  destined by God to be like the New York Yankees -- always dominant, happy and free.

Back to what that French guy said, which you never commented on:  "I think it's not possible to be happy without being generous to other people."  This guy is not religious, by the way.  France is considered a "Catholic" country, but very few French people believe in god, mostly just the older ones that are dying off.  Anyway, if that statement of his were true, then a truly selfish person would need to find a away to be generous to others.  Otherwise, he'd end up making himself miserable. 

Yeah, it's too bad Jane and Paul were into these GM and Chrysler trucks.  It's kind of a mini-tragedy to be responsible about careful maintenance and all that stuff, but to start out with a vehicle that is essentially rotten to begin with.  What a lesson it gives to people, when most stuff is shoddy and disposable -- there's no point in taking care of anything.  Just throw it away when it's broken, and buy a replacement. 

I have to admit, I'm not at excited about Obama as I once was.  I think part of it is that I'm psychologically withdrawing a bit, to prepare myself for not being devastated if he loses.  It would be a different story if he was out there making a difference, but right now he just seems like a guy who knows he's been stalemated in chess, and he's only moving the pieces around so it seems like he's still trying.  But I'll still vote for him, since his opponent is high-school bully boy Romney.

--edward

The Introverts

Frank:

Too bad about the truck breakdown, and all the troubles that followed.  I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that these vehicles are American-made, from the era when the Japanese were kicking our butts with reliability, but the American car makers didn't seem to care.  Or was that the case in the early 2000's?

You trying to get back and forth to the mechanic in Carson City, it reminds me of that guy, Hubcap Charlie, in Palm Springs.  If you keep having these car troubles, and have to keep going to Carson City, you could become a minor celebrity.  Little kids will be staring out the window of the cars, trying to spot Broken Truck Frank.

I'm delighted to hear that Bruce Jenner looks like Jessica Tandy now.  That is a very satisfying turn of events. 

I am reading a very good book right now.  It's called Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking.  As you can probably guess from the title, it's all for introverted people ...  kind of a feel-good read for introverts, just like someone might come up with a book for people with buck teeth, with all sorts of research, and information about famous people who had buck teeth, and shit like that.  But actually, it's a well-written, interesting book, very thought provoking. Peggy read it, and told me I should read it.  I wasn't all that enthused, but I did start it eventually, and I'm glad I did. One introvert to another:  you should read it too. One interesting point it makes is that the United States is more culturally extroverted, and has more extroverted people that your average country, because it was pretty much settled by risk takers who pulled up stakes and set out for the new world.... the introverts probably all stayed home in Ireland and Germany and wherever. So there's a lot more extrovert tendencies in our gene pool than a country that has been settled for thousands of years.  Anyway, you should read this book.  There's a whole lot of stuff I've never really thought about before that is surprisingly helpful and useful.  My experience has always been that a person gets the feeling there's something wrong with them in this society we live in, if we're not out there with a big grin on our faces, slapping people on the back, absolutely loving to be around people, and drawing energy from social events, rather than being drained by them.   Yes, you should track down this book.  It's written by Susan Cain.  I'd buy a used copy and send it to you, but it was published in 2012 and it's still new enough that it costs $14 or $15 used.  In about six months it'll be available for about a penny on Amazon.  I'm reading a copy from our town library.  Maybe you can get a copy at the King's Beach Branch Library.  If nothing else, you'll like all the scientific data to back up your conjecture that our temperaments are largely derived from genetic influences.

Yes, you're right that the Republicans seems pretty successful at getting middle class people to support politicians and policies that will eventually destroy them.  They've managed to convince a whole lot of people that nothing good ever came from government.  I heard some politician say exactly those words the other day and I realized, wow, if that's what these people actually believe, then we are in some serious shit.  Actually, this is the downside of America.  We've had a very short history, compared with most other countries of the world.  Culturally, we're at about the teenage level of development, I'd say.... we think we know best about everything, just like some fool high school jock. The other countries of the world have experienced thousands of years of wars, good times, famines, golden ages, plagues, victory and defeat and on and on.  They have a basic understanding that humans can be completely barbarous, and that government at least offers at least the possibility of encouraging our better natures.

--edward

Bruce Jenner vs. Robert Crumb

Frank:

Okay, this is going to be an all-Bruce Jenner e-mail. All Bruce Jenner, all the time.

Well, that's interesting, that Bruce Jenner is married to Kim Kardashian.  Who the fuck is Kim Kardashian?  Anyway, it's Bruce Jenner, the pretty-boy track and field athlete who rode the crest of that wave of fame and glory to even further heights, to become a spokesman for Wheaties?   I had no idea he was still a functioning celebrity, or even that he was still alive.  So I go on Wikipedia  and learn that the guy has been a very active celebrity indeed.  I've got to give him his due, he never rolled over and quit, despite the fact that he's just a big dumb hunk of shit. He was in a couple of Hollywood movies, and both of them won the "Golden Raspberry Award for Worst Picture of the Year."  Now that's hard to do. Since then he's done everything from Skating with Celebrities to serving as a guest judge on the Animal Planet show Pet Star. He's done all kinds of stunts, shows and gimmicks.  He's lucky he was born at the right place and time.  If he'd been born about twenty years earlier, his options would have been so much more limited....  maybe a semi-regular spot on Hollywood Squares, and .... what else was available for a celebrity of his caliber back then?  I suppose he and Kim will remain together just so long as they figure they can milk more celebrity points and money as a team, then they'll cash in and get more celebrity credit when they get divorced. 

Well, my dislike of Bruce Jenner -- which never existed before you tipped me off that he's still running around on the planet -- is all jealousy, of course.  His track and field accomplishments are admirable, but everything else about him ticks me off.  Wikipedia describes him as a "motivational speaker, socialite and television personality" and each of those things is a huge negative for me, and then you combine that with the fact that everyone was already swooning over him from the start because he was dealt golden boy handsome genes.  So, I hate him.  But I wish I could run into him some time,  and have a little chat with him, one human to another.  For all I know, maybe he's a likeable guy.  But for now, I'm am consoled by my religious belief that there is a special, extra-hot circle of hell reserved for motivational speakers, socialites and television personalities.

Maybe what I'm really jealous of is that Bruce Jenner seems to have no sense of shame.  Pretty much everything I read about him, all the stuff he is up to, would be prohibitively humiliating for me.  Let's just pick one thing... say, appearing for five episodes  as Officer Steve McLeish on CHiPS, when Erik Estrada (who I see is also a "star" of both  reality TV shows and infomercials) was on strike for a better contract. So Jenner was essentially an unwanted picket line-crossing scab, on one of America's all time dumbest shows. This whole CHiPS  thing alone would have been enough for me to go out and commit suicide, out of pure embarrassment, if I was Bruce Jenner.  But, because he doesn't have any sense of personal shame, embarrassment or introspection, the guy just goes out and enjoys life.  If a producer approached him with a pitch for a show called American Top Celebrities Smear Dog Feces On Their Faces, he'd probably say, "I'm in!"  And he'd have fun with it, and be proud of it.  And I'm sitting here, filled with bitterness and disdain.

I have had a bad headache all day, with nausea.  I get these things about every couple of weeks.  I think it's maybe a form of migraine headache, and I don't like it.  I feel like Bruce Jenner is drilling a hole in my skull with his god damned little RC helicopter repair drill, next to my right eyebrow, and once he's done with that I'll hear him thumping about in his southern california mega-mansion, along with the high-pitched whine of the rotor blades.  The only thing good about these headaches might be that maybe my doctor will prescribe me some kind of euphoria-inducing narcotic pain medication.  If I had something like that to take when I got up this morning, this wouldn't have been such a bad day.

All of this Bruce Jenner talk reminds me of a comic by Robert Crumb, called "My Troubles With Women."  Are you familiar with R. Crumb?  A pretty brilliant cartoonist, as far as I'm concerned, mostly known for his alternative comics in the sixties.  Anyway, this "My Troubles With Women" is hilarious and perceptive.  I attached several images of it, at the point where he's reflecting on his utter failure with girls as a misfit high schooler. I definitely relate to it, and it all has something to do with my negative attitude toward Bruce Jenner.

I hope you have fun at John's birthday.

--edward

corgis, women, and helicopters

Frank:

Everything you said is true.  Except maybe the part about women not getting to play.  It's true that women look at a lot of the play-type things men do and think, "Ugh, how dumb!"  but they get their play-time good feelings from social interactions.  The very stuff that men look at and think, "Ugh, how dumb!"  But the women are living it up, and a lot of it has to do with making fun of the men in their lives.  Have you ever listened to a bunch of women sitting around with other women, just saying and doing women things? They're having a blast.  The guys are earnestly running around out there playing with their RC planes and helicopters, and the women are on the porch drinking wine coolers and talking about what the guys look like with their clothes off, and exploding with laughter.

All this stuff about play makes me think about my experience down in the Sawgrass community in Florida, that gated community where, once you pass the guard station, and the wall that rings the entire little "town"  -- a wall that  is so cleverly camouflaged that you don't even realize it's there -- you are suddenly in a kind of permanent play world.  Everything is perfectly landscaped and charming,  and only the right kind of playmates are found there.... affable, white, sportily dressed, unthreatening people.  The two central features to the community are play areas -- the tennis club (which includes other play activities such as squash, a swimming pool, and so on) and of course the golf course, which is the central theme of the whole place.  The residents are weirdly friendly and happy-acting, though I'm sure I wouldn't have felt that vibe if I were, say, latino.  Anyway, I found the whole experience deeply disturbing, mostly because I was thinking, "Is this really what life is about?  Have I missed the boat?"  It was actually a kind of jealousy thing.  In my experience, life involves a lot of pain, struggle, confusion.  Is it all meaningless suffering, that would all vanish like a silly dream if I just got inside the gate and took up......golf?

In the end, I know a secure life of endless golf wouldn't work for me.  Maybe it works for other people, maybe not.  I don't know.  It reminds me of when I was school teaching.  I always taught in a wild, undisciplined, hilarious way, and sometime the kids got so worked up in that stimulating environment that behavior was a problem.  I used to threaten them that if they didn't settle down, I was going to completely change, and become quiet, docile, totally organized, and civilized.  I remember one time I said that and tears started running down this one little girl's cheeks.  But deep down I knew there was no way I could possibly change like that; I couldn't even pull it off for one day.

The French guy we were traveling with in Italy said an interesting thing to me, while we were hiking.  He said, "I think it's not possible to be happy unless you are generous to others."   I wonder if that is true.  Actually, I don't think there is such a thing as a person being essentially happy or sad, it's always a mixture of both.  Happiness gives way to sadness, and sadness gives way to happiness, just like life leads to death, and death leads to life.  I'm not even trying to be happy any more, because I know I'll get my share of both happiness and sadness, no matter what.  I'd like to live an essentially brave, fulfilled life, though.   To me, that is essentially a religious or spiritual matter.

--edward

hobby shops

Frank:

It's true, this hobby shop owner sounds like kind of a misfit.  I'm assuming that all hobby shop owners are misfits, actually, but this guy sounds like he's a misfit even among hobby shop owners.  What he needs is a few sessions with a hobby-shop-owner-therapist, which is a very small niche in the psychoanalytical profession, indeed.

It's been years since I've been in a hobby shop, and I guess I'm about due to visit one.  The "hobbies" involved with hobby shops are pretty much all about creating and being the boss of miniature worlds, right?  Miniature trains and their towns, miniature planes and helicopters, miniature cars and miniature trucks.  Little rockets and little boats, and little armies of men.  And the owners and workers are mostly bulky, large men, right?  It's a pretty funny thing, when you think about it.  Most girls get over their dollhouse phase... I guess it's because they successfully transition from moving tiny people and furniture around, to moving real furniture and people around. I wonder if the whole hobby shop business is kind of dying out across America, or is it still a vital, ongoing thing?  I imagine it's like stamp collecting, where the few remaining stamp collectors of the world get together to grumble and complain about the state of people today, and wonder why young people nowadays aren't interested in stamp collecting, and blah, blah, blah.  You get the same thing among book store owners, with their noses all out of joint because somebody invented a thing called a "kindle." Once in awhile, at auctions or something, I come across cool lots of little painted metal antique soldiers -- knights or British colonial soldiers in India, or whatever -- and I feel a brief tug, and think how fun and interesting it would be to collect something like that.  And then I get myself straightened out and think, no, I don't want to go there.  I would assume that for a lot of guys these days, the fantasies involved with fiddling around with little trains and cars, have been replaced by digital fantasies -- the thousands of mini--worlds that are available through video games, or whatever they are called these days.

I am thinking the key to Jain McClain's business success -- if she is successful ... is there really much of a market for "art advisors" in Lake Tahoe? -- is never to snort or scoff when her clients tell her what they have in mind, no matter what.  That might sound like a hard skill to manage, but it would be a lot easier if she actually didn't have a whole lot of artistic taste herself, which is probably the case.  I notice on her website resume that she has taught art appreciation courses at schools like Truckee Meadows Community College.  Which could be an important center of art world culture, for all I know, but still.  It makes me think that clown paintings might be right up her alley.

Speaking of websites,  it doesn't really matter any more if a person is "successful" or not.  What matters is that other people think you are successful.  And that's where having a website, and about 500 Facebook "friends," and who knows what else, comes into play.  Pretty much anyone can slap together a website that makes them appear successful, and once you do that, you just have to provide all sorts of links to your website, and give your website address to strangers in bars, and then presto, you have it made.

And that last paragraph makes me think about another lesson that I've only partially learned in about the last five years.   It relates to introverts vs. extroverts, and how screwed introverts are in this world we live in.  In a group meeting, for instance, some gathering that is supposed to make decisions for the whole group, the extroverts always blab out a bunch of stuff that sounds good on the surface.  As an introvert, I always instinctively assume that everyone is at least a little like I am, that they think before they speak, and actually have good reasons for saying something before blabbing it out to a whole group.  But no, it turns out that extroverts are not like that at all.  They just talk because that is what they do.  But before you know it, the whole group is careening off in the direction of whatever popped into the heads of the extroverts in the first few seconds.  Same thing at a social gathering, especially a cocktail party in New York.  A couple of extroverts are talking, with me rounding out the group.  They make some clever sounding statements to each other.  I stand there thinking about what they said.  About a minute later, I realize that it's basically bullshit, and I've come up with a clever response.  Then I tune in to what they are saying again, and it turns out they are now on a totally different topic, saying some clever sounding things.  And on and on like that.

--edward

helicopter jains

Frank:

Interesting about your interaction with the hobby shop owner.  Why do you think he latched onto you so single-mindedly?  Was it because you showed an interest in helicopters, and helicopters is the thing he's most interested in out of all the other stuff in his shop, and no one else wanted to talk about them?  Or were other people also wanting to talk about helicopters, but he detected in you some deeper helicopter obsession that he related to, or what?  Or is it just that you are a much nicer, more interesting and attractive person than you give yourself credit for?  I certainly saw evidence of that when we were hiking in the mountains behind your house in Salt Lake, where people would be all over you, like ants on a drop of honey, wanting to talk to you, listen to you, and generally just be with you, even if it meant delaying their hike for half an hour or more. You should go back to the hobby shop some time, to see if he instantly gravitates to you again, and starts right up again where he left off, or if the whole thing was just a one-time oddity and he doesn't even remember you.  Maybe he was on bath salts.  If you had stayed just a few minutes later, you would have found yourself tied up in the back room, while he hovered radio powered helicopters armed with razor blades, around your helpless, writhing body.

Helicopters, huh?  Reminds me of a student I taught once who had a touch of autism, or something.  He was fascinated by elevators, and was interested in pretty much nothing else.  He would make all kinds of drawings and diagrams showing different kinds of elevators, and was only interested in reading technical material about elevators.  I wish I could say he went on to become a great world-renowned authority on elevators, but he lost his elevator obsession somewhere in high school, and became interested in record players and speakers.  The last time I saw him -- he's probably 22 years old now --  he was trying to cobble together an income as some kind of audio technician, but it didn't seem to be going very well. 

I am thinking about your concern not to do violence to the mice that share the house with you, which I probably sound sarcastic about, but I actually do admire it.  But now I'm going to say some more stuff that sounds sarcastic, unfortunately..... Maybe you should become a Jain.  That is a person who practices an ancient Indian religion called Jainism.  I think it's already a sign that your sister is named Jane, which surely is no coincidence in the grand, eternal scheme of things.  The Jains believe a lot of stuff, but one fundamental belief is that all living beings, down to micro-organisms, I think, have a soul, and it is important not to do violence to any of them.  They are, of course, vegetarians.  When they walk in the streets, they have a little broom that they use to constantly sweep the ground where they are about to walk, to make sure they don't step on a bug or something.  That's what I've heard, anyway.  Just to be helpful, I just did a google seach for "Jainism Lake Tahoe," to see if there is a nearby Jainism temple you could attend.  Unfortunately, the closest hit was for a Lake Tahoe resident named Jain McClain.  She is a "fine art advisor," which apparently means you go to her and tell you a little about yourself and what kind of art you like, then she goes out and buys some art for your house, for a fee.  I guess it's primarily for people who just built a new macmansion, and they're looking at the thousands and thousands of square feet of blank wall space, decorated only by a few velvet paintings and a couple of Thomas Kincaide prints, and they say, "You know what?  We need some more god damned art around this place.  But we're too busy making money for that kind of shit.  What should we do?"  So they call Jain McClain.

At any rate, your mouse trap doesn't sound dumb, since it actually does catch mice.  But maybe it only catches the dumb ones.  If that's the case, then it's nice of you to feed those dumb mice to the animals that live a mile from your house, who are probably pretty hungry after a long winter.

--edward

mice, cannibals, zombies

Frank:

Yes, maybe Dick Cheney would look something like our sump pump set-up, if you opened him up and looked inside.  That's a good analogy.

Thanks for the informative update on cannibalism.  Actually, I think it's maybe better not to know about that stuff.  That kind of sordid information has a way of worming its way deep into the brain like a virus, and who knows where it leads?  Could be it be connected to the fact that I find myself wondering, what does human flesh actually taste like?  Chicken, probably.  That's what they say about all sorts of strange meats, from rattlesnake to alligator.... it all tastes like chicken.

I really do think it's a good idea to limit the amount of information, especially videos, that a person allows to stream into their consciousness.  For instance, during my research on Luka Rocca Whateverhisnameis, I came across what seemed to be an opportunity to watch his video where he kills his Chinese boyfriend with an ice pick and then....I'm not sure.  Has sex with the body parts?  Fortunately, the little angel voice part of me was able to win the argument with the little devil voice, and convince me that I really didn't need to see that.  But, for other reasons, I did end up watching a youtube offering of the Zapruder film, which basically shows Kennedy's head exploding.  Now that I've seen that, I'm thinking, it probably would have been better not to have inserted that image into my brain.

I think zombies should be kept clean and fun.  The link you sent me about cannibal zombies violates the clean, fun zombie standard.  If any news about zombies doesn't make you laugh, then it's inappropriate.  Here in Portland they have an annual event called Zombie Kickball, where people dress up like zombies and play kickball.  I've never seen it, but I imagine there is a lot of healthy laughter and silliness, with no bad aftertaste.  That is what zombies should be all about.

Yes, I've heard about these bath salts.  It doesn't sound like something you'd want to fool around with, unless you don't mind suddenly finding yourself with some guy's face in your mouth, and blood dribbling down your chin, and you're wondering, "What the heck?!"  Bath salts have been a problem in northern Maine, which is sort of an isolated Appalachian-mountain-type area full of unemployed, uneducated, desperate people with an affinity for  crystal meth, prescription pain killers, and now bath salts.

Okay, so now you've found two mice.  That means more.  I'm guessing at least six or eight.  Tell me again how this plastic bucket/empty jar of peanut butter trap works.  I don't quite get it.  At any rate, it makes me wonder what happens to a mouse after you release it in unknown territory a mile away from its home.  Does it quickly find a nice new unoccupied place to live and settle happily into a welcoming nature community, or does it spend a few hours or minutes of terror, before being killed and eaten by the animal residents of the area -- including other mice, which are pretty territorial, I think --  who grew up there are are already familiar with all the safe hiding places, the food sources, and so on?  Or perhaps the evicted mouse is a real survivor, a fighter, in which case I guess it stands a chance of killing or terrorizing the weaker resident mice who had previously been living there in hard-won harmony.  Who knows?  No one can say you're not at least giving them a chance.  This is why people keep cats, which is the perfect solution....  a sociopathic small animal serial killer masquerading as a cute, lovable ball of pettable fluff.  In cases of mouse proliferation I  the solution of the old fashioned snap trap acceptable,  except -- and this is a BIG except --  that about one out of every ten times it seems to not kill the mouse instantly but to injure or incapacitate it somehow, which is truly horrible. 

--edward

Luka Rocco Magnotta?

Frank:

Keep me posted on the mouse thing.  It's interesting.

We have been having non-stop rain for three days now, and by non-stop, I mean non-stop, without ever stopping.  You go outside at any time, day or night, and it's raining, sometimes lightly, sometimes hard.  How can there be so much water up there in the air? Under conditions like that, water comes into our basement... our basement is suddenly a very low place in the way of great underground rivers.  When we first moved into this house, it would happen that the water would come up a couple of feet high down there.  Incredibly cold water that made you gasp if you waded down into it, which I did a few times.  It was like sloshing around down in steerage on the Titanic.  It's dangerous to do that, thanks to the possibility of getting electrocuted, since the furnace, washing machine and other large electrical appliances are also down there in the water, but I didn't know that at the time, being a California boy with no experience of such things.  Eventually, we had work done where they dug a sort of gravel filled covered trench all around the inside walls of the basement, that drains the water into a pit in the basement floor with a couple of sump pumps in it.  Right now, those pumps are running almost constantly.  If for some reason they stopped working, the basement would once again be under a couple of feet of water within a couple of hours.  The water pumps up and outside and goes onto the lawn.  You'd think it would create a huge lake out there, but it all seems to soak into the soil.  The grass around that area grows particularly lush and green, like a field of cattails.  I took a photo of this basement sump pump place, but it doesn't really convey the spirit of constantly inflowing and outflowing rush of water.  There's a constant sound of pouring water, it it feels like being hooked up to a life support machine.

Yes, politics seem to be completely about money these days.  If some billionaire decided to spend a really sizable chunk of his fortune, he could probably singlehandedly decide who the next president would be.  For all I know, maybe that's happening right now.  As voters, we're just a bunch of rodents, having our destiny decided for us by whoever has the most money to appear to buy food pellets for the majority of other rodents. 

We're back into burrito mode around here.  I bought a big roast and cooked it for hours in the crock pot until it basically became pulled beef, then added caramelized onions and all sort of other good things, and now it's Mexico-in-Maine for a few days.

I see that the arrest of this kitten-killing Canadian psycho, "Luka Rocco Magnotta" in Berlin is so noteworthy that even the New York Times covered it.  Well, that's the wonderful thing about the age we live in, that a humble porn star psychopath can be a fascinating celebrity, and maintain a website where he keeps the world updated on his views about life, politics and the media, with a constant stream of photographs of himself in glamorous places.  Too bad for him that he slipped up by mailing body parts to different political offices, while not removing the torso from his own apartment.... kind of careless, if you ask me.  I didn't see anything about cannibalism, but it seems perfectly natural and believable, given the other stuff this guy was into.  It's too bad about the kittens, but he certainly showed initiative.  He looks a lot like Tom Cruise, which doesn't hurt, I guess.

--edward

Columbus Mouse

Frank:

Hundreds of shabby Martians walking the street?  Gee, I think that would be pretty startling, no matter what you say.

If there was just one mouse, he must have been a very special mouse, an explorer mouse, like a mouse version of Christopher Columbus.  A mouse of vision and purpose.  You should have kept it and worked with it, and started a mouse circus.  Maybe it would have granted you three wishes, if you had only asked.

I haven't heard about a rise in the incidence of  people eating each other.  That just shows we get our information about the world from different places.  The New York Times has not mentioned a plague of cannibalism. 

Yes, it is kind of strange to be more upset about the killing of a kitten than the killing of a person, but I totally get it.  Kittens are cute and innocent.  People are not.  It is much more disturbing to me when a dog or horse gets mistreated in a movie, than a person.  Animals have those big, trusting eyes, while people have evil little eyes, full of selfishness and greed.  Yes, I am very touched when I see a dog injured in some way on TV, or even a dog that is feeling lonely or abandoned.  Meanwhile,  I am happily eating a plate of spaghetti slathered with a delicious sauce made from ground up cow bodies, cows that once had big inquisitive pink noses, and large brown eyes, with long eyelashes.

By the way, I was thinking about what I said about prices in France and Italy being about the same as in the States.  Maybe it was because the Euro was down in comparison with the dollar.  Must have something to do with the fact the Europe is about to go down the drain.  Though we didn't see any particular signs of distress where we were.  No crowds of famished people roving the streets, or starving dogs feeding on decaying corpses.  Actually, I was kind of prepared to see lots of litter and dirt in Italy, sort of a European version of Mexico, since I had the impression that's what Italy is like.  But everything was clean and organized and tidy.  Maybe it's worse in southern Italy.  It's kind of amazing, actually, seeing all the remnants of Roman civilization -- roads and aqueducts and remains of theaters and gates and so on, all over Italy, and up through France, and everywhere they went, which was a lot of places.  They had roads going all the way from Rome to Paris, and things like that.  A lot of their stuff has lasted for 2000 years, while here a road or building starts falling apart after about fifty years.  From what I understand, slave labor had a lot to do with their fine building accomplishments.  When they came to new tribes and cities and such, the basic message was, submit to total domination and slavery, or be annihilated.  They used to keep little slave children in cages, to be brought out as playthings for the Roman children, until they grew up enough to be put to real work.

--edward

The Misfits

Frank:

So, did you enjoy Bonnie and Clyde as much this time around, or was it a disappointment?  It was a pretty ground-breaking and emotional movie when it first came out, that's for sure.  I remember we saw it at the theater in Crestline. That's the only movie I remember ever seeing in that Crestline theater.  But I could imagine seeing it again now and thinking it was lame and boring.  Actually, I think I did see it several years ago, and I did think it was kind of lame and boring.  Same with Little Big Man, which I thought was great the first time around.  Oh well.  Sometimes, I think it's a matter of a person's state of mind when they watch a movie.  Just like a person enjoys food a lot more when they are really hungry,  there are certain situations and emotional conditions that might make a person enjoy a movie more or less than they normally would.  For instance, that time we watched most of the movie, The Misfits, when we were sick in Mexico.  Not that it's a bad movie, it's a good movie,  but for some reason, under those specific conditions, it seemed like the most amazing, magical movie. I have seldom enjoyed a movie more.  It all seemed to strange and wonderful, under the semi-delirious circumstances. Particularly that bizarre sequence where they focused on Marilyn Monroe's butt bouncing up and down as she rode her horse, and it seemed to go on for five minutes. And there was another time a few months ago when I was riding on a bus from Boston to Portland.  I was extremely tired, and they were playing a ridiculous and dumb comedy called Galaxy Quest.  But it was so silly and intellectually non-demanding and perfect for my mental condition that I totally enjoyed every minute of it.  When I got off the bus, I told the bus driver "That was a great movie!" I'm sure he thought I was being sarcastic, but I was totally sincere.

Everything I just said in that paragraph, I feel like I've said before in previous e-mails at different times, but so what.  That's the great thing about getting older.  You get a free pass to repeat yourself over and over.  It's like having a lifetime pass to Disneyland, only not as much fun.

I will be interested to hear if you come across any more mice.  Usually one mouse means many mice.

Your recent ebay experience selling the stereoview cards sounds extremely frustrating, like some kind of mild form of torture.  You should just sell all of them in a single lot and be done with it.  Selling those cards one at a time for 99 cents each is crazy.  Of course, I understand, the hope is that some of them will go for much more than 99 cents.   What is the most you ever got for one of these cards, and what did the picture show?

I see you have lots of bright sunshine in Lake Tahoe these days, which must make you feel like a grub that has been unearthed from its comfortable place under the dirt, and now it's lying in the light, ready to be found by robins or crows.  I think of the grub image because I have been digging in the garden lately, and coming across some of these grubs now and then.  I squish them with my fingers.  Right now we've got a driving rain, with rain, clouds and fog forecast for the next three days.  Maine is like that a lot in the spring.

--edward

The Alps

Frank:

Yes, no wine at the picnics.  It was mostly lukewarm water out of battered metal water bottles.  For French people, they weren't much into drinking.  We'd have a single bottle of wine for dinner, split among four people.

We were mostly in the Italian Alps, and also in the French Alps for some of the time.  We stayed at little inns and hotels along the way, places that they had already stayed at before, and liked.  We'd generally stay in each place anywhere from two to four nights.  We also spent a couple of nights at their house in a village outside Grenoble, France.  It's a 250 year old farm house, with a large, incredible garden, with mountains all around.  There is a huge stone barn with very large 250 year old beams and timbers inside, held together with hand made joints and wooden pegs, each timber looking like some kind of sculpture.  Yes, it's true that they were well dressed when they went hiking.  The guy was wearing a short sleeve button-down shirt and nice slacks, but they were made of high tech wicking material.  I told him he should get a necktie to wear when he hikes, made of wicking material.  I couldn't quite tell if he thought that comment was funny or irritating.

Supposedly we had the right adaptor for the ipad, but on the first night we used that adaptor on a little electric alarm clock, and the clock stopped working after a few minutes, so we figured something was wrong and that it would be pretty risky to try it with the ipad.  Plus, a lot of the places didn't have wireless connection, or they didn't have very good connections. Peggy took the adaptor in to the store today to find out what was wrong, and it turns out we were also supposed to have a "converter" hooked up to the thing.  Good thing we didn't plug in the ipad. Europeans seem a lot less interested in using electronic gadgets... we saw very few people using iphones or computers.  And yes, we used Euros everywhere.  It was pretty convenient.  In the places where we were, things seemed comparably priced to what we would pay here, maybe even a little less.  Except for gas, which is about $6.50 a gallon.

Too bad the hiking trip never came off.  I was looking forward to hearing how Chris would get beaten up.  I was figuring it would probably  you that would do it, that the two of you would get drunk, and he'd start in with all kinds of nasty, belittling remarks, and on and on with that, until... POW!  I know that you have a certain line of tolerance for that sort of thing.

Yes, mice are amazing for the way they can squeeze through incredibly thin spaces.  It's like they are able to temporarily liquify their bones or something.  That's really something that you have gone to such lengths to try to protect your house and gear from the mouse, without hurting it.  Most people would just go out and get a  99 cent Victor mousetrap.

I will be interested to hear what you're thinking about the book, Self Therapy.  I got a lot of good out of it, though I have to say I bailed out at the very end, when it started to seem like there are endless complications of "exiles" and "protectors" engaging in such diverse ways that I got a little discouraged.  It was starting to sound like I had to become like the mayor of New York in order to manage the chaos of various personalities interacting inside me.  The author would probably say that it was just another "exile" -- the Discourager -- that got me down, and that I'm a wimp, but that's okay.  I learned a lot of useful stuff from the part I read and took to heart.

--edward

the whale

Frank:

Do you know what your problem is?  Isn't that a great way to start a message?  I think I'll begin all of my conversations that way from now on.  Anyway, do you know what your problem is?  About the photographs, I mean.  You are like a chef who goes to a Fourth of July picnic where everybody just wants hot dogs and hamburgers and beer and bags of potato chips, and you insist on cooking frog's legs. And everyone's going "Yuck!  What's this?" You think they should try frog's legs and learn to appreciate it, but they know what they want, and it ain't frog's legs.  They want comfort food, not gourmet. They just want you to humbly provide a service and to give them what they are looking for-- an image of themselves that conforms to what they would like to see. If you're not willing to do that for them, I don't think you should be mad that they're not appreciating your efforts.  Though it does seem to me that it's possible to have everybody posed the way they think is comfortable, and still end up with a sensitive, interesting photograph that reveals more about the people than they thought it would.  Isn't that the way a lot of top notch portrait photographers operate -- somehow let the people feel really comfortable, and being themselves, while still in some sense posing for the camera, and sometimes a beautiful, surprising essence of that person shines through.  Anyway, I can see both sides, why they're not accepting what you have to offer, and why you're not happy about it.  They know what they want, and you know what you want, and they're not the same thing.  The only solutions are (a) you give them what they want or (b) be done with family photography, as you already suggested.  Option b is too bad, though, since you've got all those photography skills.

Thanks for the nice words about my woodcut.  I attached a picture of another one.  This one is obviously based on Moby Dick, but it's essentially about madness.  Each of the people on the boat was a particular person from the rooming house where I lived during college, where about half the people were certifiably insane.  Two of the people I pictured are dead, one by suicide, another by the mysterious death circumstances that often happens to schizophrenics. I'm the guy cowering and covering his head in his hands.

I don't know which type of fertilizer Timothy McVey used in his Oklahoma bomb, but I do know it's hard to buy certain kinds of nitrate or nitrogen fertilizer now.  Last year the guy as the garden supply center told me I should buy some "urea" which is nitrogen fertilizer made out of cow urine.  I said fine.  He said he didn't have any, I should come back next week.  I came back the next week and he didn't have any.  Come back next week.  And so on for a few more weeks, until he finally told me that he didn't think it would ever come in, because government regulations made it almost impossible for him to get the stuff, thanks to its usefulness in bomb making.  I ended up buying a sack of dried cow's blood, which also has lots of nitrogen, but doesn't make very good bombs, I guess.  So I was flinging handfuls of dried cow blood all over the vegetable garden.  My dog came up, and I thought he would be interested in the smell of dried cow blood.  I put my hands out and he sniffed them.  He got a very worried look on his face, then ran away.

--edward

a fat man walks into a donut shop.....

Frank:

Interesting that the baptism was so traumatic.  I'm picturing a very bland gathering in a stuffy church sanctuary, with a lot of blah, blah, blah, and this hymn followed by that prayer, and on and on, with the only threat being that of boredom.  So I don't really get why you were so affected, with your eyes bugging out like a panicked chihuahua.  And this business of the antagonism with the minister.  You sound like a character from an Alfred Hitchcock movie -- Jimmy Stewart, maybe -- and somebody slipped a pill into your drink, and suddenly everything that is normal, calm and traditional, is swirling around and around and your mind is whirling around, like an ant on a hypnodisk.

It would be interesting to talk to different people and get their take on the whole baptism ceremony experience.  They could make a movie out of it, where they show the same event through different people's eyes.  I remember there was some western that was like that which we watched in Crestline, or the classic Japanese movie, Rashomon.  One person in the audience would be extremely bored, and barely able to keep their eyes open, while flies are buzzing around on the windowsill.   Another person would be touched by the beauty and symbolism of the baptism experience, overwhelmed by feelings of deep spirituality.  And then there's you, going nuts.

What is it about you and your camera?  Why don't people want you taking their pictures?  Are you giving off some creepy vibe and they are afraid you are going to steal their souls?  Steve and Martha certainly seemed to appreciate your photographs.  I would have been doing my part too, taking photos to rival Henri Cartier-Bresson, if some asshole hadn't stolen my camera.  Er, no.  I hate taking pictures. And I don't like having my picture taken, either.  But I put up with it.

Yes, I worked at the Dream Fluff donut shop in Berkeley while I was in college.  First, I was the assistant, going in at about 4 in the morning to fry the donuts and put frosting on them, and wash all the pots and pans, and dozens of other tasks, under the supervision of the real donut maker, named Scott Swall, who was a nice guy.  He was also a total pothead, and a drug dealer.  He had a gorgeous and lively girl friend who also worked at the donut shop for awhile, as a waitress.  She said a funny thing one time, after an obese regular customer had just left with his donut purchase:  "You know you're fat when you buy a dozen donuts and the waitress asks 'Do you want those for here or to go?'"  One time I was at Scott Swall's house and I got so high on hashish that I didn't know where I was for a couple of hours.  I woke up on a bus. Later, he trained me as the main donut maker, and I did that for a year or so.  That job ran from 11 pm to 7 am.  I attached a photo of a woodcut I made back in the 1970's showing Gail serving the fat man, and me in the background.  That fat guy had a Cadillac with fins, just like in the picture.  When he stepped off the curb, he would lean on the fin, and the front of the car would go up a little.  Strange thing, last time I was in San Francisco, about two years ago (the year of the In n Out Burger sickness), I am pretty sure I saw Scott Swall on the street downtown, a homeless person, begging for spare change.

--edward

A Clockwork Orange

Frank:

Hmmm,  interesting e-mail.  It's like the conversation of a person who is very hungry, where they start describing all kinds of food they like, how their mother used to make brownies, their favorite restaurants, and so on.  Except with you, it's all about alcohol and drinking in one way or another.  So what's with the no-drinking policy?  What made you decide to do that?  It sounds like a good thing, but it also sounds from the first paragraph like there's enough unpleasant stuff coming out that it will be hard not to give in to the pressure inside you saying "Start drinking again!"

I am going to be Mr. Therapist Without Credentials for a moment here and say the obvious, that the drinking sounds like a coping mechanism to insulate yourself from some stuff about yourself that you don't like.  But once you stop drinking, you're still left with that stuff you don't like, so it's tough.  On the flip side, I'm sure stuff you don't like happens because of the drinking, so you're kind of in a bind.

I have been reading a book lately called Self-Therapy, by Jay Earley.  I have never been much on self-help books, though I did enjoy the self hypnosis books we read for awhile when we were kids, not that they ever got us anywhere. My mom read a lot of self-help books, and they never helped her much.  But I'm enjoying this one a lot. It actually seems to be useful.   In the course of my meditation, I had been coming up with a sense of all these "voices" or "characters" inside of me.  I was actually getting to know these beings, and giving them names, and I was trying to understand what they were saying and what they wanted.  I mentioned this to a guy I know and he told me there was a whole book that talks about that sort of thing.... this book, Self-Therapy. (Actually, I think there are quite a few books on this subject right now... I guess the methods they are talking about are sort of the "in" thing in therapy these days.  Normally, I would reject it on those very grounds, but I figure I can use all the help I can get). It reads like your typical, hokey self help book, but it makes a lot of sense to me.  Read this book and maybe you'll get to know the parts of you that are keeping you from doing what you want to do, and the parts that are making you feel bad about it, and all the other shit that is probably turning the interior of your life into a house of horrors.  That's what was going on inside me, at any rate, and probably still is, but it seems to be better.  The alcohol is probably something you've needed to cope with all that, just like they've been giving soldiers amphetamines to help them out with their duties in Afghanistan.  I just ordered a copy of the book for you online.  It'll be sent to your Kings Beach address.  Read it or not, as you like.

I wouldn't have remembered the name of the Corpse Grinders, but I tracked it down with a google search, with search words something like "cat food movie eating dead bodies."  Actually, I don't remember seeing A Clockwork Orange in Monterey with you.  When I was in Monterey I wasn't working at a donut shop, by the way, I was working at the Round Table Pizza... a very up and coming job for a guy with a bachelor's degree in journalism.  I do remember the movie, though.  A few months ago, I had an eye appointment, and the eye doctor rigged me up in a machine that was very much like the apparatus in Clockwork Orange where they have the guy's eyelids pried open and they are messing around with his eyeballs.  It was horrible.  I'm surprised I didn't pass out in that doctor's office.  He is a very jokey guy.  Every single thing he says from start to finish is some kind of supposedly humorous comment, which doesn't mix all that well with having your eyelids propped open and your head strapped into a giant helmet while a jokester is coming at your eyeballs with a strange little tool, saying "This isn't going to hurt at all."

I'll be interested to hear how the baby's baptism went. 

--edward

assholes

Frank:

I can tell you the name of the movie.  It was The Corpse Grinders.  I think it played with one or two other gross movies filled with blood, murder, and grisly body parts.  We went on sort of a movie viewing rampage in San Bernadino that summer.  The Godfather was one of the other movies we saw.

You are lucky you are not running for president.  If you were, they would dig up your high school  mountain climbing scandal.  The headline would be something like FISHER APOLOGIZES AFTER REVELATION THAT HE LEFT A FRIEND ON MOUNTAIN TO DIE.  But you could give a Romneyesque apology, something like "I apologize if I did anything to hurt David's feelings.  I thought he was just pretending to be tired.  We were always goofing around and having a good time back them.  I am mortified that David took it the wrong way."   Actually, it doesn't sound to me like you did anything wrong.  This David guy was the one in the wrong, just wimping out and turning around without even telling anyone.  Part of the reason you were so exhausted the next day was that you had to expend all kinds of needless energy going back and looking for him.  I think you should go to the reunion, and coldcock him.  He's an asshole.

Speaking of assholes, this Chris guy just sounds like one of these people who get unbearably obnoxious when they've had a few drinks.  He also sounds like he doesn't take responsibility for his actions.  He'd be the guy who punches his wife, then says it was her fault. It would be interesting to do a study of different people, and the way they react to alcohol.  Some people get talkative and merry, others become antagonistic and aggressive. Some get sullen and silent... or maybe that's just the first stage before being antagonistic and aggressive. What are some other ways that people act when they are drunk?  Anyway, I wonder about the part of a person's personality that comes out when they've been drinking.  Is the "real" them that is unleashed by their depressed inhibitions, or is it something else?  I wonder if those people came down with Alzheimer's disease, are those the tendencies they would take on? Would the person who becomes angry when he's drunk also be the guy who'd be angry and upset all the time when he's got dementia? And the one who gets all friendly when he's been drinking would be the same one who'd sit there with a happy, distant smile on his face in the last stages of Alzheimer's?  Who knows?

I got an e-mail from Barrack Obama (yeah, right), titled "My Best Friend."  I was afraid his message was going to say I am his best friend and would I donate $100 to his campaign.  But no, it was about how Michelle is his best friend, and he wanted me to sign an electronic Mother's Day card that he was going to send to her.  "Okay, I'm game," I thought.  So I clicked on "Sign the card" and the next thing I knew I was staring at a page asking me how much do I want to donate to the campaign... $15? .... $25? .... $50? .... $100?....  $250?....$500? .... $1000?   I will donate money again at some point, but not today.

I see J.P. Morgan bank just lost two billions dollars with some risky trading scheme.  Two billion dollars?!  Gosh, it's great to know that the banks learned so much from the 2008 debacle.

--edward