Burial Rituals

Archeologists have discovered the remains of Neanderthals that were buried in such a way as to suggest that even in 60,000 BC ceremony and ritual were associated with death.

Many early tribes burned the bodies of the dead in order to destroy evil spirits. Other tribes had such a great fear of death that the dead were left where they fell while the living fled in fear.

Zoroastrians allowed the dead to be eaten by vultures. They believed that fire was too sacred to be used in the burning of corpses. Ground burial was prohibited because it was believed that the earth would be defiled by the internment of corpses.

Bodies have been left in jungles to be eaten. While in Tibet and amongst some Indian tribes the dead were fed to dogs; in the belief that they would be better off in the next world. Certain tribes in Africa would grind the bones of the dead and sprinkle the powder on their food to honor their ancestors. The Zulus burned the belongings of the newly dead to ward off evil spirits.

Modern mourning evolved from the custom of hiding ones identity to confuse the spirits. Covering the face of the corpse was handed down from pagan tribes who believed that the spirit escaped the body via the mouth.

Post funeral gatherings and feasting developed from primitive funerals where food was used as an offering to honor the newly dead. Wakes evolved from the custom of keeping watch over the dead in the hope that the corpse would return to life.

Candles are lit at funerals because it was once believed that fire would protect the living from the dead. Bell ringing came about in medieval times where it was believed that spirits could be kept away by the ringing of a consecrated bell.

Holy water is used during funerals because it was believed that it would protect the body from demons. Flowers were used to cover the body in hopes that the mourner would gain favor with the spirit of the deceased. Funeral music evolved from the use of chants that were believed to placate the spirits.

Which brings us to our modern world and some of the strange customs or rituals people follow.

You can now be customized caskets with the logo and colors of your favorite sports team People have been buried in their cars, trucks and even in their piano. They have been buried with their favorite beer, whiskey or other adult beverage.

Those who have chosen cremation have had their remains stored in every conceivable container and their ashes scattered from the top of North Americas highest mountain to the surface of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans.

However, knowing all of the above failed to prepare me for the newest ceremonial trend appearing on the horizon. A company located in the Midwest will take eight ounces from the dearly departed (after cremation) and use the carbon to form a diamond. Instead of leaving Aunt Martha in a jar on the mantle she can now be part of the ring you where on your finger. Uncle Bill can now contribute his ashes to those diamond earrings you always wanted. Grandma can become a diamond broach and grandpa can be part of a matching necklace. The two of them a matched set forever.

In my humble opinion creating jewelry from the remains of our relatives is a little to crass even for our society. Hopefully this trend will go the way of the pet rock and disappear in a few years. If not I am afraid of what will come along next. A leather jacket made from the skin or bone china made from what else the bones of the dearly departed.

All I know is that I am going to make sure that my will is very specific when it comes to the disposal of my remains.

Perils of Plumbing

Friday night past, I found that my bathroom shower was beginning to drip, drip, drip, drip, and drip. I removed the handle, the stem and finally the seat, which is what was damaged.

Unfortunately my ability to complete the repair myself ended at this point. The copper pipe that the seat was attached to was cracked and repairing the problem called for a professional. To complicate matters it was necessary to turn the water off for the entire house because the cracked pipe was now leaking into the wall.

In an attempt to be proactive and realizing that the Saturday of a holiday weekend would be busy I called the plumbing company to schedule an appointment for Saturday. The gentleman I spoke to said that he could have someone at my house between 8:30 and 10:30 in the morning.

RIGHT!!!!

By 11:00 the plumber had yet to arrive and no one from the company had called to let me know that he would be late. I called the office and was informed that they were running behind but that someone should be at my location by 1:30.

RIGHT!!!!

By 2:00 the repairs had yet to begin due to the absence of a trained plumber. I still had not received a phone call from the main office so once again I called them. I was informed that they were still running behind schedule and that they hope to have someone at my house no later than 3:30.

RIGHT!!!!

4:00 PM and the plumbing company continued to live down to my expectations. No plumber and no phone call. Once again I called their office (at this point I began to feel like I was owed a frequent dialer bonus) and was informed without apology that they were still running behind and that they hoped to arrive in my neighborhood at or about 5:30.

RIGHT!!!!

This is when I reached the end of my proverbial rope. There was no way that I was going to wait any longer. My fingers took a walk through the yellow pages and I called a plumbing company that I had used previously. They informed me it would take about an hour for a plumber to get to my location and they promised to call when he was in route.

I called the first plumbing company “AGAIN” and informed them that I was canceling my appointment. And to my utter amazement, NOT, they informed me that suddenly a plumber was free and they were just about to dispatch him to my location. I told them not to bother and moved on with my life.

One hour to the minute from when I had called the second plumbing company they called me back and let me know their plumber was about fifteen minutes behind schedule and that they would call me when he was in route.

Fifteen minutes later they called back and informed me that he was on the way and within five minutes he was knocking on the door.

Getting the plumber to my house was half the battle. The other half was actually completing the repairs. As it turns out it was so late in the day that he was only able to complete the prep work on Saturday. He was able to cap the leaky pipe so I could turn back on the water and finally take a shower.

He scheduled his return for today and after a short delay arrived to finish the job.

Now $385.00 later my shower is working perfectly without a drip in sight. Of course I am sure that with Christmas just around the corner I could have found a more enjoyable use for my money. However, the plumbing fails to check the calendar when scheduling a breakdown leaving the homeowner with no choice but to fix problems at the least opportune moments.

Delusions of Grandeur

I look to the sea
Searching for a forgotten dream
Digging amongst ancient ruins
Never building
Upon solid ground
For the time of rebirth
Is upon me
A new master is to take my place
Can he improve
On what I have begun
Or will he destroy
And begin again
The choice is not mine
I may only observe
No advice can be given
I am only a servant

Once a god
Never again
Banished from
This dimension
Left with the memory
Of another time and place

Buried to Die

Buried
Six feet under
Why
No one knows
Minutes to live
Maybe seconds
No hope
No one cares
Buried here
Alone to die
Why
No reason
Just because
Panic
Tear at the lid
Wasting air
Saying prayers
Death comes
Not without
Pain
Buried to die

Mother

In the darkness, on a cold and lonely bed
A young woman cries great tears of sorrow
Face buried in her pillow she sobs long into the night
Her heart torn and broken lies still beating on the dusty floor
Her breath comes in ragged gasps
Her body trembles with the power of her despair
The room echoes with the sound of her father gently knocking on the door
How can she explain that at a time like this a girl needs her mothers touch
And than can never be
A new wave of tears sends spasms through her body
She remembers her mothers soothing touch
Her gentle words
Her world-weary eyes that grew dimmer from moment to moment
As the darkness of cancer sucked the energy from her soul
Leaving her but a shell of the woman she once was
Before taking her away from her little family
Leaving them to fumble through the darkness without the light she had provided
Sobbing she clutches at the memory of her mother
Desperately searching for salvation
Her soul cries out, mother what would you say to me
Dad tries but he cannot understand how difficult it is
To be a young woman in search of a spiritual love
He broke my heart mommy
He looked me in the eye and while my heart was expecting a whispered I love you
He turned and walked away
Leaving me standing there, alone in the darkness
His words echoing in my mind without meaning or comprehension
What just happened she asked herself
As the tears began at first to gently fall upon the dusty ground
How could she have misread his intentions
She gave him her heart, She offered her soul
He looked at her with cold contempt
He offered her no warmth
A one-night stand in a filthy flat
Was the best he that could do
In a different time and place
She might have said yes
And followed him into the night
But mother without you here
She have learned her lessons the hard way
She used to mistake lust for love
And a warm embrace for commitment
Now she sees they were just using her
As they have a thousand girls before
A toy, a plaything, another notch on their headboard
Her love had no meaning
Her soul was hollow and cold
Until tonight
Where in the darkness, on a cold and lonely bed
She cried great tears of sorrow
Until she felt the soothing touch of a mother
Long forgotten
Who wrapped her in arms of love
And rocked her pain away
She does not know if it was a dream
And to be frank she doesn’t really care
Because in her heart of hearts
She knows her mother was truly there

Thanks for the Turkey

What do turkeys have to be thankful for
First considered for national bird
They became the national feast
They are ugly as sin
Though they taste like heaven
God forgot to give them smarts
This becomes obvious when they are caught in the rain
Mouth open, staring at the sky
Not knowing enough to come in from the storm
There they stand until they drown

Thoughts of Heaven

People with religious words
Sitting on mighty thrones
Clutching a bible to their hearts
Shuffling like seasoned drones
Teaching the world all about heaven
With its big fluffy clouds
Its angelic choir
A place where happiness has no bounds
Where everybody’s equal
Not a soul is different
A place without age
Where there is no social security
Where you can cross the universe
In the blink of an eye
They promise St. Peter
Watching the gate
But I wonder though if that’s what I will find
I have never been there
Neither have they
So what gives them the right
To teach heaven today
No prophet has returned
To show us what is there
No one has bothered to write down
What we will see or what we will share
Will we remember who we are
Will we remember our closest friends
Will we remember our earthly spouse
Or will singleness be the trend
Is there a place for the Dodgers to play
Will Kate have her lines to say
Will Lennon have his own guitar
Will Gleason be tending bar
Will there be sunsets and clouds
Rainstorms and rainbows
Will there be stars in the midnight sky
Will there be wheat to grow
Will there be animals all around
Will there be fishing holes
Still waiting to be found
Can I go for a moonlit walk
Through deserted fields and parking lots
Can I sleep in the four-leaf clover
Can I walk with a girl
Shoulder to shoulder
Will I retain my memories
Of childish pranks, grown up tears
Or will my memories
Simply disappear

I do not know what heaven will be
I do not pretend to understand
I just try to live my life
Embracing each and every day
Praying for a winning hand

Though if God left it up to me
Heaven would be made up
Of those special moments
That passed so quickly
While we were on earth
Leaving us wishing
For one more minute
To sit back, relax
And embrace the moment

Like a beautiful sunrise
A baby’s first step
A summer rainstorm
How soon we forget
The beauty of a rainbow
A child’s first words
Watching the snowfall
Or the flight of a bird
The way or hearts melt
When we first fall in love
The faith we felt
For God above
Or finally a sunset
A beautiful ending
To our favorite day

If heaven is anything
It is made up of these
Our warmest moments
And our favorite people
Who passed through our lives
Like leaves on a breeze

Momdate November 23

After pulling the rug out from under her last week, my mom’s oncologist made a return visit today with far better results.

According to the quack he triple checked the test results before contacting her not wanting to repeat the error filled report she had received previously.

If he can be believed her counts were reduced by two thirds, which is a huge improvement over what mom expected to hear. Knowing that she has shown some progress has aided in tremendously improving her demeanor. Rather than having to undergo radiation over the holidays she can continue with her current treatments, which should allow her to enjoy the season to a greater degree.

When I spoke to her on the phone today I could hear the difference in her voice. She is spending the holiday with my sister and she was up and prepping food and baking which is a good sign considering how she has felt of late.

Hopefully, this will be the beginning of some stability for her so she can enjoy the new year in high spirits and spend more quality time with her grandchildren.

April Fools

Everyday
Brings more change
Nothing seems
To remain the same
No matter your hopes
No matter your dreams
We are all part
Of Mother Nature’s game
The foolish try
To break the rules
But the outcome
Never changes
Who’s to judge
The foolish ones
Are they not doing
What we wished we had done
Ripping their masks off
Running free
Being all
They want to be
So yesterday I laughed
Today you cried
Who can say
What tomorrow will bring
Who you will meet
Who you will know
It is our choice
What seeds we sow
It does not matter
If the moments lasts
If time passes slow
Or much to fast
It is how you use it
Not what you say
It is how you act
Not the role you play
It is how you feel
Not what others say
Leave the games to fools
The lies to thieves
Leave the gossip to losers
The tears to those you have yet to meet
Because, as I said
It does not matter
If the leaves turn brown
Or the days grow sadder
For you can always recall
The April fools
The games they played
The words they said
The way they felt
When the cards were dealt
How they stood
But did not fall
Just remember
Just recall
Maybe you will laugh
Maybe you will cry
But just for a while
Because April fools
Are only that
Just fools

NOTOLOVE

Two doves
Collide
Broken
They fall
No hope
For tomorrow
It’s over
Some say
It did not matter
Just another war
Collisions though
Affect everyone
Innocent residents
Stop and stare
Do they really care
Unless their space
Is violated
But destruction
Just another phase
A bit of evolution
No tears will fall
Peace is the price
You pay for death

Memory Banks

Through outer glass
An inner world is seen
Gleaming and sparkling
In the morning light
Hiding the beauty
Covering the gloom
A sudden thought
Drifts away
A bit of love
Passes unnoticed
A thread appears
And disappears
Hand in hand
Walking together
Time making promises
No one can hear
Looking for a friend
Outer glass is shattered
Falling upon the ground
Dying without a sound
As time walks away
Laughing to himself

Are Two Quacks Better Than One?.

Today my faith in medicine took a big hit. Not that I was ever a blind follower but I expect more from practitioners than what I saw today.

Not to long ago I mentioned that my mom’s latest results showed marked improvement from her baseline. Zometa appeared to be a wonder drug and a big weight appeared to have been lifted from my mother’s shoulders. Or so I thought.

Thursday found her making another trek to the land of Sinatra and Hope in order to visit the oncologist that was touted to her as the best the desert has to offer. If he is the best I shudder to think what kind of care the patients of lesser physicians must be receiving.

Expecting more good news my mother was informed without ceremony that the doctor had mistakenly passed on bad information when his office informed her of the marked improvement she had experienced.

The jackass did not bother to check the dates on her test results. Meaning he read off her most recent results as if they were her baseline and her baseline as if it was the most recent test results. Bottom line is that all of her counts continued to rise despite the treatment. She is actually doing worse than she was before beginning treatment.

Now she is back at square one. Increasing pain, lack of pain control and not a hell of a lot of options as far as treatment goes. She is supposed to see a radiologist on Tuesday to discuss localized radiation treatments in an attempt to reduce the level of her pain.

As for mom she is very frustrated, depressed and angry. She has already ruled out chemo and a bone marrow transplant because her heart is probably not strong enough to survive them and she believes that all those options would do is reduce her quality of life.

While my mom was riding the merry-go-round of misdiagnosis I was visiting with an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist. After reviewing my case a few weeks ago he felt that he needed to take a look at my upper respiratory system despite having already undergoing a bronchoscopy with my pulmonologist.

Nothing could have prepared me for the excitement of having someone insert a long wire into my nose and taking an intimate look at my innermost nasal secrets.

He did not find any lost pirate treasure but he did find polyps in my left nasal cavity. I have always been somewhat of a mouth breather and the blockage explains why. Of course it does not explain away my cough and respiration problems.

He also found that my larynx was red and inflamed. His diagnosis: my cough is caused by acid reflux.

What?

He is an ENT not a gastrointestinal specialist. I already saw one was tested and informed that I do not have acid reflux. Who to trust the ENT or the UGI?

I asked the ENT how acid could be irritating my larynx while I remain a symptomatic; he looked at me like I was an idiot and told me that not everyone with acid reflux has any symptoms.

What, no heartburn, no sour stomach, nothing. I am absolutely symptom free. So how could acid reflux be my problem?

That may be true but how could acid reach high enough and be strong enough to irritate my larynx without me feeling a thing. My step dad had that problem and he would throw up blood when the acid rose that high.

All in all he was a waste of time. He wants me to take prescription strength antacids for six weeks and repeat the test. He believes that by than I will be cured. I attempted to explain that I had already tried that with the stomach specialist for a month. His answer: the stomach guy does not know his stuff a month is not long enough.

He also wants me to take steroids for the polyps in my nose. I vainly attempted to explain that steroids and my panic disorder do not play well together. He blew that off to. So I gave up talking and let him listen to himself speak because I sure was not listening.

I may not be a doctor but I am an informed patient and I expect my doctors to meet me halfway. Listen to my concerns and work with me in planning treatments not dictate to me and ignore my concerns.

All in all a rather poor ending to a rather poor week. And when I look in the mirror I cannot even rationalize that at least I have my health.

Louise Tracy

Spencer Tracy has always been one of my favorite actors. He had that unique ability to immerse himself so completely in a role that it became difficult to separate the role from the actor. He often played a man who while accepting the existence of gray in the world followed a black and white moral compass. On the screen he was a man amongst men.

Off the screen life was much more complicated. He was married for forty-four years but most people consider Katherine Hepburn to be the love of his life. Most of the materials I have read concerning Tracy’s life focus on his acting skill and his love affair with Kate as he called her.

His wife, Louise always seems to be hidden by the great actors shadow. I always wondered how she stood by him all those years knowing he was in love with another woman. Having been raised Catholic Tracy never would divorce his wife and marry Kate, that kind of thing was not allowed by the church. Though apparently keeping a mistress for thirty years did not seem to bother the church. Through it all Louise stood by his side never publicly complaining.

I always wondered, what kept her going.

What kept her sane?

Appearances can be deceiving and after reading an article about Louise Tracy I have come to believe that it was Spencer who lived in her shadow not the other way around.

In 1924 they became the proud parents of a bouncing baby boy whom they named John Tracy. Everything went as expected until John was ten months old and Louise quite by accident discovered that her boy was deaf. Before informing Spencer she consulted with quite a few doctors and received the same answer from each. John’s ears had suffered nerve damage for reasons unknown and their son would never hear again.

In the 1920’s deafness was still associated with stupidity. Spencer was sure that his son was dumb, which brought tears to his eyes. Doctors told them that in a few years their son would be old enough for a state run special education school. The Tracy’s would not accept that and refused to give up. They continued to talk to John as if he could hear them.

Louise dedicated her days to teaching John how to talk and how to read lips. Sometimes it would take upwards of two or three thousand repetitions of a word before John could repeat the sound correctly but Louise was nothing if not dedicated.

When the Tracy’s moved to Hollywood Louise found herself giving talks about deafness to soldiers who had lost their hearing during the war. One of the talks she gave was attended a dozen or so mothers whose children were deaf. She befriended them and invited them to her home. There she discussed how she had taught John, who was now eighteen.

Along with the original group of mothers and Dr. Victor Goodhill, Louise formed the John Tracy clinic on the USC campus. The clinic offered free hearing screenings and a sense of community that was new to those who were deaf.

During the early years Spencer was the sole source of funding for the clinic. Than one of Gloria Swanson’s ex-husbands left a substantial sum to the clinic and Hollywood soon became the clinics main source of funding.

Louise spent the next four decades of her life turning the John Tracy clinic into one of the top research and education facilities in the world.

In 1952 at the dedication of the clinics new headquarters Spenser said it best, “You honor me because I am a movie actor, a star in Hollywood terms. Well, there’s nothing I have ever done that can match what Louise has done for deaf children and their parents.”

Her husband may have one several Oscars for his performances. However, if there were an Oscar for a life well lived Louise would have had a mantle full.

Source - LA Then and Now: “Actors Wife a Star in Aiding Deaf Children and Their Families”. Written by Cecilia Rasmussen
Sunday November 14, 2004

I Am

I am
A minstrel
Following in
The footsteps of prophets
Pen in hand
Writing verse
The world will never read

I am
An autumn leaf
Caught in a thunderstorm
Clinging to hope
Expecting salvation
Torn from a branch
Thrown to the ground
Left in the mud
Me, to drown

I am
A book
Written for
The world to read
With a torn cover
And dog eared pages
Some find meaning
Some find hate
Some find hope
But most read it once
And toss it away

I am
A moment
Of uncontrolled lust
To much passion
Heart left to rust
Like the litter
Left after the parade
I am
A loser
In life’s grand charade

I am
A heart broken
From carrying
The weight of bitterness
Around
No where to turn
Crying alone
The feelings burn
Like fire and paper
Like acid and skin
Nothing left over
To begin again

I am
A light
Left alone in the dark
Burned out from chasing
The shadows away
With no hope left
Tossed to the ground
Broken and shattered
Trod underfoot
Like my light never mattered

I do matter
I am
A person
In need of love and affection
In need of acceptance
For who and what I am

I am
A person
With an empty heart
And feelings to share
If only someone
Bothered to care

I am
Alone
Against the world
Fighting a battle
I was destined to lose
An outcome
I cannot accept
Because in the end
I will win
My only weapon is hope
And no one
May take that away from me

I am love

Only love

Vacant Throne

The throne has been, through no fault of my own, vacant for the past week.

I wish I had some exciting tale of espionage and intrigue to share.

Like how I was on a secret mission in Budapest preventing the plans for a new super weapon from falling in to the hands of an enemy agent.

Or how Santa called me up to the North Pole to assist in diagnosing and correcting a major glitch in the new naughty/nice monitoring system.

Or how I was camped out in the great northwest waiting for a wild turkey that was perfect for my holiday repast to happen by.

Or how while camped I took the only verifiably honest to goodness picture of a living bigfoot.

Alas, none of the above is even close to the truth.

In reality I was the lucky recipient of the latest stomach virus that is at this very moment eating its way through stomachs all over Southern California.

The less details the better but suffice it to say I am close to fighting, I mean writing shape and my regular posts should begin appearing tomorrow.

Review: Jacob Marley's Christmas Carol

With the holiday season peeking around the corner I thought I would share a quick review of my favorite non-traditional Christmas novel.

“Jacob Marley’s Christmas Carol” written by Tom Mula based on his one-man play.

The story is not so much a sequel has it is the same story told from the perspective of the ghost of Jacob Marley.

Beginning with Jacob Marley’s death the story follows Jacob to the other side. While he does find that his just completed life was not exemplary he comes to understand that he has not condemned himself to eternal damnation either.

In dealing with post life bureaucracy Jacob finds that he has the opportunity for redemption if he can complete the mission that he has been offered. The mission fittingly enough is the redemption of Ebenezer Scrooge himself.

The remainder of this excellent book deals with Jacob’s attempts to make Ebenezer aware of his possible fate.

Mr. Mula finally answers the question that had been bothering me for years. Was Jacob himself beyond redemption?

The familiar characters of Dickens London are brought back to life without missing a beat. The scene development and the dialogue are both exceptional. Anyone who loves the Christmas season will find the Spirit of Christmas alive and well in the pages of this wonderful book.

The Face

Once the face was firm and unblemished, no marks or wrinkles to mar the skin. A strong nose, well defined eyes and a mouth upon which could be found a perfect smile.

Passerby’s would stop and ponder the Mona Lisa like perfection of the face. Talking amongst themselves they would comment on various features seemingly happy just to stop and share the moment.

However, perfection in any state never seems to last.

Change happened gradually, so gradually that at first no one seemed to notice.

Eyes beginning to appear a bit sunken nose sagging just a bit and a smile that was becoming more grimace than grin.

Once noticed age began to ravage the face beyond all recognition. The once beautiful features seemed to sink in upon themselves. Collapse of the facial structure appeared to be eminent.

Those who passed no longer stopped, no longer commented, they appeared to have forgotten the beauty they had once beheld.

Finally, to the dismay of its creator the time had come to say goodbye to his creation. Lovingly the young boy picked the jack-o-lantern up off the porch, he carefully wrapped the expired gourd in old newspaper and placed it on top of the trashcan.

Wistfully he turns his back on his old friend already making plans for next years Halloween.

Hot Chocolate Days

Rain again today. October set a record for rainfall in Southern California and it is beginning to look like November may continue the trend.

I found myself walking through the Home Depot parking lot as a band of heavy showers passed overhead. The torrential rain acted as a catalyst and swept be back in time, to a more innocent time.

I am in the 6th grade and I am in the living room of my Nana’s house. A fire pops and hisses in the fireplace while my grandfather pops corn the old fashioned way. His hands grip a long black metal handle connected to a round black pan sealed with a lid. He always said that the secret to perfectly popped corn was in keeping the pan moving over the flames, rhythmically shaking the kernels back and forth ensuring an even pop.

In the kitchen Nana is making hot cocoa following the time-honored recipe passed on to her by her mother. She slowly melts chocolate over a double boiler while whisking in fresh cream, milk and a bit of sugar.

Having walked home from school in the rain I managed to enter the house soaked to the skin despite the presence of an umbrella. Being eleven I just had to step and/or jump into every puddle on my way home.

After toweling off I find myself spread out on the floor before the fire. A large mug of hot chocolate with marshmallow islands floating upon the surface along with a bowl of fresh popped corn covered by a glistening layer of melted butter are within reach of my right hand.

As my bones warm I lose myself in the world of Frank and Joe Hardy tagging along as they solve their latest mystery.

Fast forward to the present. With no fireplace I make do with microwave popcorn and instant hot cocoa. I curl up beneath my Los Angeles Dodger fleece blanket and once again lose myself in the world of the Hardy Boys.

Cynicism

I rarely watch network television anymore. The news and the ads seem to become more and more negative, cynical and just plain moronic.

While watching college football yesterday my local stations bombarded the airwaves with previews of the local news. Their headline read “America: Bitterly Divided”. Sure just under fifty percent of the voting population cast their vote for the loser and just over fifty percent cast their vote for President Bush. I however, fail to see how that makes us bitterly divided. My vote was cast for the losing candidate and I did not wake up post election day with bitter feelings toward anyone who voted for the president. Frankly, while voting is an important right that should be exercised I am not so emotionally invested in either candidate that the outcome will change my outlook on life.

Another aspect of the entertainment/advertising world that I find disturbing is how manufacturers of products that have been determined to have a detrimental affect on the life of a consumer have become big producers of public safety ads.

For example: one of the major producers of cigarettes has a radio spot running where they pat themselves on the back for being a leader in providing training and literature to retail outlets around the country.

What kind of training you may find yourself asking? What type of literature?

They are aiding retail establishments in providing their employees with proper training in the art of checking ID so they do not accidentally sell cigarettes to someone under the age of eighteen.

Training, for checking ID?

How complicated has it become to check ID. You ask for ID, the customer provides it, if they are to young no sell. How tough is that? Last time I checked they even have little signs that tell the cashier what year someone would have to have been born in to legally purchase cigarettes.

This is all major cigarette manufacturers can find to be proud of? Amazing.

Another unsettling aspect of advertising is how beer and wine are sold on television in this country. On one hand they create this artificial world where everyone is having a great time because of their choice of beverages.

There are parties on the beach, in the sports bars, at the ski resorts and of course how could I forget the twins. All this fun created by the use of alcohol. The easily swayed will come to believe that if they buy brand A everything will be right with the world. A beautiful/handsome member of the opposite sex will be draped over each arm. The sky will be blue, the birds will be singing and consumption of massive amounts of alcohol will not be in the process of destroying your liver.

As the commercial ends you are brought back to earth by the famous line: “Please drink sensibly.” As if the people who need to hear that phrase are even listening at this point.

Social drinking does not bother me. I am just a bit cynical about the way alcohol is sold in this country. The shills that produce the commercials are no different than the ones who used to ride into town, behind a mule on a beat up old wagon. From the running board they would sell their magic elixir that promised to cure all that ails you.

At least they had the good sense to get out of town before the townsfolk realized that they had been fleeced.

Hope

Hope rode out of town
Today
Like a hobo
On a freight train
Knapsack over a shoulder
Pockets filled
With nothing but
Yesterday’s dreams

Hope rode out of town
Today
Like an old prospector
On the back
Of an old pack mule
In a vain search
For fertile soil
In which to plant
The seeds of tomorrow’s
Dreams

Hope rode out of town
Today
Like a wild eyed prophet
Whose message
Has fallen upon empty ears
Robe torn
Feet dusty and callused
Still walking with purpose
In search of a fertile
Soul
In which to plant
The seeds
Of hope

Brain Floss

Two minute headlines
No time to think
Ideas remain unprocessed
Sanity on the brink

Commercials fill the void
With mindless entertainment
Untold Hallmark holidays
Celebrations without sentiment

A plastic card
Can buy you happiness
A pocket phone
To hide loneliness

Brain floss
For a lost generation
No thought, no worry
No future destination

Influenced by MTV
Lessons go unlearned
Who shall we mimic today
No original thought discerned

Implants and botox
A poisonous fountain of youth
Despite the millions spent
Plastic cannot erase the truth

Brain floss
Destroys another generation
No hopes, no concerns
All lost to genetic manipulation

Science cannot close Pandora’s box
DNA for the masses
Promising a life without death
Only for the upper classes

Immortality no longer a dream
Genetic welfare for the rich
But for those without connections
Life is still a bitch

Post Election Murmurs

How come we the voters return to office 98% of those running for re-election? Even grading their performance on a curve a minimum of 25% should be sent packing, regardless of party, every election. Do voters actually follow the issues or do they just punch the card for the names they recognize.

Regardless of the outcome the bright spot of this election was that so many people bothered to pull themselves away from reality TV for few minutes and participate in real life by voting. Hopefully this was not an anomily but the beginning of a trend.

Here in California we had a proposition that empitomized selfishness. A gentleman, and I use the term loosely, in Northern California authored a bill that would gut our three strikes law. For those who do not know, the three strike law states that after conviction on a third felony the defendant does a minimum of twenty-five years. Was his cause noble? Was he concerned about the less fortunate who may have turned to crime out of despair. Hardly. His reason for authoring the bill was to get his son out of jail. His sons third felony was a vehicular manslaughter conviction, he was drunk and killed two of his friends. Sure the father spent all this money in a vain attempt to provide junior with a get out of jail free card but where was daddy when the first two felonies were committed.