tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90780561514501492112024-03-13T09:41:18.941-07:00WoodcuttingfoolJourney of a Carving EnthusiastLORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.comBlogger102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-91765246963663083192020-07-03T21:21:00.000-07:002020-11-13T15:50:20.485-08:00Is Trump a Golem?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In Jewish legend, a Golem is an anthropomorphic creature formed out of dirt or mud. The Golem is a shapeless mass, not alive, but not dead either. The being is brought to life by a religious figure to combat a clear and present danger. Like Frankenstein, the Golem runs amok and becomes a destructive force.<br />
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The most well known Golem story comes from a 16th Century European folktale. In the village of Prague, Rabbi Judah Bezalel grows alarmed when an anti-Semitic priest incites villagers against Jews. The rabbi gathers clay from the banks of the Vitava River and molds a human-like figure. He breathes life into the creation by inscribing the Hebrew word "emeth" (truth) in the Golem's forehead. The rabbi instructs the Golem to fend off the evil townspeople and protect the Jewish community. The Golem goes mad and destroys the village killing innocent people. The rabbi then renders the Golem lifeless by smudging out the first letter on the Golem's forehead leaving the Hebrew word "meth" (death).<br />
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A Golem vaguely resembles a human being. It has great strength but its eyes are empty. It speaks crudely and can barely communicate. It is brought to life to do the bidding of its creators. A community turns to a Golem only when all other hope for salvation is gone.<br />
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When Donald Trump announced his candidacy for president in June 2015, white working class Americans were in trouble. White men without a college degree suffered from high unemployment, stagnating wages and a rise in deaths from opioid addiction, alcoholism and suicide. Many lost homes in the Crash of 2008. They felt left behind by the global community and ignored by politicians.<br />
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Trump tapped into this Zeitgeist of despair. He promised to bring back jobs, to fight against immigrants and to "lock up" corrupt politicians. He disdained political correctness and eviscerated enemies with a candor typically reserved for Hollywood Roasts. Working class whites yearned for an avenging angel, a Golem-like figure to save them. Trump eagerly took on this role.<br />
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According to the Talmud, the compilation of Jewish law and commentaries, a Golem has several clear characteristics. Coincidentally, some of these traits are found in Donald Trump. One, a Golem exhibits no emotion, no empathy and no conscience. Two, a Golem is uncultivated and crude. (The Hebrew word <i>golem</i> means stupid.) Three, a Golem represents the shadow side of humanity, the unconscious run amok. Four, a Golem is a shapeless mass. It is large, dark and murky. Five, a Golem can barely communicate; it has a mouth but does not effectively use it. Six, a Golem has no spiritual qualities because it has no soul. Seven, a Golem comes to life quickly, thrives for a limited time then deactivates just as quickly.<br />
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The Golem/Trump analogy is not so far fetched. Golems become animated through an ecstatic experience by a religious figure or community. Evangelicals are some of Trump's most ardent supporters. Like a Golem, Trump needed the euphoric zeal of a religious community to rise to prominence.<br />
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Once awakened, a Golem becomes uncontrollable and rebellious. A Golem is always accompanied by death and destruction. The Coronavirus pandemic has killed more than 130,000 Americans. The economy is at risk, political division is supercharged and pundits on both sides are predicting gloom and doom.<br />
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Is it possible Trump is a Golem incarnate? If so, this would explain why he doesn't wear a face mask. He knows a virus cannot kill him because he's not alive to begin with. This also accounts for his lying. A Golem is a false being, the antithesis of truth. Trump enjoys taunting opponents because he knows Democrats and the media cannot bring him down. The only ones who can destroy a Golem are those who created it.<br />
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The Golem/Trump analogy has special utility for Christians. Believers are taught that before the Second Coming of Christ, a false prophet will appear. This person "will exalt himself" and "proclaim himself to be God." Trump once told reporters, "I am the Chosen One." He was obviously kidding, but he inadvertently brought up an important issue for Christians. If Christians are unable or unwilling to recognize the true essence of Trump, what hope do they have in recognizing the Anti-Christ? Clearly, Trump is not the Anti-Christ. But might he be a Golem? If so, Trump is wonderful practice for the apocalypse.<br />
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Golem stories are cautionary tales. A community turns to a Golem because they have lost faith in God. They summon a dark energy force to do their bidding and destroy their enemies. But their hubris turns to folly and they themselves are destroyed. These stories always end the same. Once a Golem defends its community, it turns against its maker. And the results are never pretty. (4" x 6", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-72518938482765451682020-05-07T17:39:00.000-07:002020-05-08T13:43:58.198-07:00High Noon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In 1946, when Carl Foreman began outlining his new script for a revisionist Western, the Allies had just won the war and the United Nations was a brand new entity. Foreman wanted to write an allegory about the need for world unity to defeat unchecked aggression and uphold democracy. The story would be about a lawman recruiting local townspeople to help fight a gang of violent outlaws. Then the Cold War started. The spirit of cooperation between the United States and Russia was replaced by a new era of anxiety and mistrust.<br />
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By the time Foreman started his first draft of <i>High Noon</i>, America had shifted right and opportunistic Republicans were accusing domestic communist sympathizers of being a serious threat to American freedom. Karl Baarslag of the American Legion said, "A communist is a completely transformed, unrecognizable and dedicated man. While he may retain the physical characteristics of the rest of us, his mental and psychic processes might as well be from another planet." In other words, communists were like zombies dedicated to destroying the American way of life.<br />
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J. Edgar Hoover, head of the FBI, called communists "masters of deceit." His paranoia had a seed of truth since the American Communist Party did take marching orders from Joseph Stalin. But most American communists were not agents of a foreign power. Like Bernie Sanders supporters today, they were responding to the inequality of American wealth distribution. They desired change through peaceful means, not revolution.<br />
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Carl Foreman was a struggling screenwriter. Like many of his peers, he joined the communist party in 1938. "The idea was just in the air," he said. He quit the party in 1943 after enlisting in the army. During World War II he made military training films with Frank Capra including writing the film <i>Know Your Enemy-Japan</i>. After the war, he returned to Hollywood and his career took off. He worked with his friend, producer Stanley Kramer, writing the films <i>Champion</i> and <i>The Men</i> (Marlon Brando's debut). Both were nominated for Best Screenplay awards.<br />
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As Foreman toiled on the <i>High Noon</i> screenplay, the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) held public hearings into communist infiltration of Hollywood. HUAC ignored Foreman in their first round of hearings in 1947. "I was a very unimportant little fellow," Foreman said. But as his career grew in prominence, HUAC took notice. In 1951, Foreman received a pink letter in the mail. It was a HUAC subpoena commanding him to appear before the committee. Foreman had two choices: confess his communist past and provide names of fellow travelers or plead the Fifth and refuse to answer questions. Option one meant humiliation; option two was career suicide.<br />
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As he contemplated his choices, his <i>High Noon</i> screenplay took a new direction. It became an allegory about the blacklist. Marshall Will Kane (Gary Cooper) was Carl Foreman. The outlaws gunning for the marshall were the H.U.A.C. members threatening Foreman's livelihood. The cowardly citizens of the small town were Foreman's Hollywood peers who refused to protest the blacklist. "As I was writing the screenplay, it became insane," Foreman said. "Life was mirroring art and art was mirroring life…I became the Gary Cooper character."<br />
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The Cold War gained momentum and national sentiment turned against the so-called "reds in Hollywood." Ten prominent filmmakers (the Hollywood Ten) were convicted of contempt of Congress and sentenced to a year in prison. Stanley Kramer, the producer of <i>High Noon</i>, had a difficult decision. He'd started his own production company and was on the verge of a distribution deal with Columbia. He knew if he publicly supported Foreman, he'd risk his studio deal.<br />
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Foreman tried to convince Kramer to remain strong and resist the committee. Kramer urged Foreman not to plead the Fifth as if he had something to hide. Kramer felt this would cast shade on everyone involved with <i>High Noon. </i>The two old friends became enemies. By the second week of production, Kramer told Foreman to hand in his resignation and sell his stock options in the film. Foreman refused. He wanted to see the film through to the end. He also didn't want to testy before HUAC as someone who'd lost the support of his peers.<br />
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Foreman was fired. But Fred Zinnemann, the film's director, and Gary Cooper, the star, objected. In addition, Kramer learned that Foreman never signed a contract deferring his film salary. This meant the bank financing the film could cut off funding needed to complete production. Kramer had no choice but to rehire Foreman as writer and associate producer. According to Foreman, Kramer told him, "Well, you've won." They met for several hours but their friendship officially ended that day.<br />
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On September 24, 1951, Foreman drove to the Los Angeles Federal Building to testify in front of HUAC. When asked if he was a communist, he said he'd signed a loyalty oath for the Screen Writers Guild stating he was not a communist party member. "That statement was true at the time and is true today," he said. Committee members asked if he'd been a communist prior to 1950. He invoked the Fifth Amendment and refused to answer. He also refused to name names of other communists.<br />
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HUAC members grew agitated but Foreman stood firm. He was labeled an "uncooperative witness." Days after his testimony, stockholders and company directors of <i>High Noon</i> legally removed Foreman from all involvement with the film. "They threw me to the wolves," Foreman said. Foreman's lawyers negotiated a settlement for around $150,000 and Foreman surrendered his associate producer credit.<br />
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He was at the peak of his craft and one of the best screenwriters in Hollywood, but Foreman was blacklisted and unable to find work. Frustrated, he moved to London where he lived and worked for the next 25 years. In 1956, he co-wrote <i>The Bridge On the River Kwai</i>. The film won a Best Screenplay Oscar but due to the blacklist the screen credit went to Pierre Boule, author of the novel that inspired the film. Not until 1984 did the Motion Picture Academy finally recognize Foreman (and co-writer Michael Wilson) as the true screenwriters. Foreman died of a brain tumor a few months before received his belated Oscar.<br />
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<i>High Noon</i> was released in 1952 and was a smash success. The film was nominated for seven Academy Awards including Best Screenplay and Best Picture. President Eisenhower loved the movie. Ronald Reagan called <i>High Noon</i> his favorite film. So did Bill Clinton who screen the film in the White House 17 times.<br />
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Not everyone was a fan. John Wayne, an ardent conservative and anti-communist, called <i>High Noon</i> "the most un-American thing I've seen in my whole life. I didn't think a good marshall was going to run around town like a chicken with his head cut off asking everyone to help. And who saves him? His quaker wife. This isn't my idea of a good western." (8" x 9", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-4615502961127009372020-04-04T14:23:00.000-07:002020-04-05T18:06:32.587-07:00Howard Cosell<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So I had this dream. Howard Cosell is standing on Wilshire Boulevard near the La Brea Tarpits. He is alone, but very much alive. In vintage Cosell fashion, he holds a microphone in hand and is reporting on the Coronavirus as if it were an epic sporting event.<br />
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<i>Hello again everyone, it's Howard Cosell. It's good to be here with you. It figures to be a monumental battle today, one that does not need any buildup. In one corner we have the crazed conspiratorial crackpots, the delusional denizens of our arrogant terrestrial sphere. Weighing in at 7.5 billion with a prognosticated diminishment of 4.8%, please welcome the citizens of planet earth.</i><br />
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<i>In the other corner, a brash and truculent rookie, a provocateur of pestilence, an instigator of immolation ready to assert itself atop the pandemic podium, please welcome COVID-19.</i><br />
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<i>Every indication is that the humans are taking this bout with less than the necessary solemnity appropriate for this juncture. It is quite apparent to this trained observer that they are not suitably garbed and do not have the facial covering requisite for such a barbaric battle. The opponent is obstinate and unwavering in its mission to subjugate the hubristic humans.</i><br />
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<i>Just a few short months ago, the virus was toiling in impoverished anonymity in a foreign land. It tussled in undistinguished wet markets sustaining itself on putrid pangolin and the bloated buttocks of barbecued bats. But then, November 17, 2019, a silent rumble was heard from a small village in Wuhan, China. Unbeknownst to the world, a beast was unleashed. From these humble origins, the opponent quickly rose through the ranks to become a ruthless, contemptible contender for king of terra firma.</i><br />
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<i>We watched in awestruck consternation as the virus vanquished all opponents. Some never believed this little-known adversary would have the audacious temerity to challenge our species. But the skirmish has escalated in intensity and it now appears to this reporter that the hominid heroes of yesteryear are in for the battle of their lives.</i><br />
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<i>Ladies and gentlemen, it is my charge to be dispassionate and evenhanded. But I would be less than candid if I acknowledged any personal bent toward impartiality. It's time to take off the gloves and ameliorate these microscopic marauders. I call it like I see it and I say this clash is one for the ages. This is Howard Cosell signing off. (5" x 7", black ink print)</i>LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-6737419170824770282020-03-27T09:11:00.000-07:002020-03-27T15:51:59.554-07:00Archangel Raphael<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Raphael is the angel associated with healing. In Hebrew, his name translates to "the medicine of God." Catholics refer to Raphael as the patron saint of doctors, nurses and medical workers. Throughout Italy, health facilities are called Raphael Centers.<br />
Raphael is one of four archangels. The others are Michael, Gabriel and Uriel. In the New Testament, Raphael is thought to be the unnamed angel who stirs the healing pool at Bethesda. In the Babylonian Talmud, three angels appear to Abraham. Each is given a specific mission by God. Michael is told to inform Sarah she will give birth to Isaac. Gabriel is told to destroy Sodom. Raphael's charge is to heal and save human beings.<br />
The Bible teaches that angels are real and can work on our behalf. ("Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation?") But we are not to worship or pray directly to angels. We are to worship and pray only to God. ("Worship the Lord your God, and serve Him only.") Angels do God's bidding. Their power comes from God. When they intervene on our behalf, they've been sent by God.<br />
Several years ago, I was suffering from horrible allergies. I visited my doctor but he was inconclusive. Medicine was ineffective. I went on a wheat and dairy detox but the allergies continued. I prayed to God for guidance. I woke one morning with a word in my head. "Aubergine." My wife told me this is French for eggplant. I booked an appointment with a kinesiologist who'd helped me with health issues over the years. She concluded I was allergic to nightshade vegetables. She gave me a list of foods to avoid: tomatoes, peppers, potatoes and of course, eggplant. I abstained from eggplant and the allergies went away.<br />
According to the book <i>The Complete Idiot's Guide to Connecting With Your Angels</i>, this is how Raphael works. He provides hunches to guide you in your healing. He often works in riddles (as in "aubergine"). Maybe he'll inform a dream with an obscure message. He's a bit of a prankster. He might drop healing foods into your shopping cart or knock a book off a shelf you're meant to read. Perhaps he'll "accidentally" cue you to a new way of thinking.<br />
In 1928, the British bacteriologist Alexander Fleming returned from a vacation to his London lab. He noticed something unusual in one of his petri dishes. New colonies of Staphylococcus had spread throughout the dish except in one area where a blob of green mold was growing. He tested the mold and found it to be a rare strain of Penicillium notatum. The mold secreted a "juice" that inhibited growth of the Staph bacteria. Further testing revealed the mold killed other harmful bacteria like streptococcus, meningococcus and diphtheria bacillus. This is how the world's first antibiotic was discovered. Fleming's biographer Gwyn Macfarlane wrote that the discovery of Penicillin was "a series of chance events of almost unbelievable improbability."<br />
Raphael heals the body, mind and spirit. He delivers those who are plagued by dark energies. In the apocryphal <i>Book of Tobit</i> (part of the Catholic biblical canon), Raphael protects Sarah and Tobias from the demon Asmodeus. Raphael reminds us to focus on God's light. He teaches that stress and worry do not help the healing process. He is associated with laughter and he helps us to see the humor in all situations.<br />
In 1964, journalist Norman Cousins was diagnosed with <i>ankylosing spondylitis</i>, a painful and<i> </i>crippling collagen disease. Doctors gave him a 1 in 500 chance of recovery. He realized he needed to learn why his body was reacting as it did. Among his vast collection of books, one stood out: Hans Selye's <i>The Stress of Life</i>. He read that negative emotions like frustration or suppressed rage are linked to illness. This gave him a hunch. If negative emotions make you sick, perhaps positive emotions like love, joy and laughter are healing.<br />
He took out his 16mm movie projector and watched Marx Brothers Films, Charlie Chaplin, Laurel and Hardy and Buster Keaton. He binge-watched Candid Camera. He noted that just ten minutes of induced laughter per day produced two hours of painless sleep. He put himself on a laughter therapy regimen. The more he laughed, the faster he healed. His pain diminished and he regained the use of his limbs. Within two years he was walking again and cured of the disease. Doctors were baffled. Cousins wrote about his experience in the 1979 book <i>An Anatomy of An Illness</i>. He lived pain-free until dying at the age of 75 in 1990.<br />
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In classic artistic depictions of Raphael, he is usually shown holding a staff symbolizing healing or with a caduceus emblem representing the medical profession. Believers say Raphael's energy corresponds with the color green. When Raphael is present, you may see or sense an emerald green light. Green crystals like malachite or emerald are used by healers to invoke Raphael's presence. The penicillin mold in Alexander Fleming's petri dish was green. The 1956 first edition book cover of <i>The Stress of Life</i> featured author Hans Selye's name in green.<br />
In the <i>Book of Tobit</i>, Raphael takes human form to help a family in distress. He heals them and protects them from evil. Only at the end of the story does he reveal his true angelic nature and his mission. "The Lord hath sent me to heal thee…For I am the angel Raphael, one of the seven who stand before the Lord…when I was with you I was there by the will of God…It is time that I return to him that sent me; bless ye God and publish all his wonderful works." (7" x 9", black ink print)</div>
LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-80460523241685331762020-03-07T10:55:00.001-08:002020-04-07T08:27:05.819-07:00Kobe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I heard the news of Kobe Bryant's death, my first instinct was to call my father. My dad died back in October and we'd always bonded over the Lakers. I yearned for his voice to help me make sense of Kobe's passing.<br />
I spent the next week immersed in news articles, sports talk and Kobe YouTube clips. I spent hours on the phone with friends commiserating and speculating on the cause of the accident. I drove to Staples Center and walked among thousands of grieving Lakers fans. No one wanted to accept reality. 41-year Kobe Bryant, Los Angeles's favorite son, was gone and he was not coming back.<br />
Kobe was complicated. He was brash and petulant and often rubbed people the wrong way. There was the sexual assault accusation in Colorado and the feud with Shaquille O'Neal. In the 2006 playoffs against Phoenix, Kobe refused to shoot costing the Lakers the game in order to prove that his teammates were awful. His own coach Phil Jackson wrote that Kobe "was uncoachable."<br />
Kobe was a basketball prodigy. His skill set was unmatched and his work ethic legendary. To watch Kobe play basketball was like watching Baryshnikov dance or Bobby Fischer play chess. His jump shot was elegant, his footwork sublime. He was a tactical master able to exploit opponent weaknesses and psych out rivals with Jedi-level trash talk. Unlike anyone since Michael Jordan, Kobe's strength was his tenacity and willingness to do whatever was necessary to win a game. This is why Lakers fans loved him. He gave everything he had and became an on-court role model for how to live life with passion and commitment.<br />
The day Kobe died Los Angeles had it's heart ripped out. People were dazed and confused. Kobe was like a superhero. He can't die. If he dies, what chance do the rest of us have? Everyone was glued to their phones waiting for news updates. When the revelation came that Kobe's daughter also died, people lost it.<br />
Speculation immediately arose about the cause of the accident. The morning was foggy. Law enforcement helicopters were grounded. Yet Kobe's pilot was given permission to fly. Everyone I spoke with asked the same question. Did Kobe urge the pilot to fly despite the dangers? This seemed like a Kobe move. Or did the pilot himself feel pressure to please his A-List client?<br />
It was reported that Kobe and his daughter received communion at an Orange County church prior to the accident. This prompted a friend to suggest that Kobe accomplished his duties on earth and was being called back to God. But what about his daughter, I asked. "Sometimes people get swept up in the energy field of others." My friend, like everyone else, was trying to make sense of the senseless.<br />
Watching an interview with Tracy McGrady on ESPN, I heard a story about Kobe's early days. McGrady shared how 17-year old Kobe predicted his future in the NBA, how he'd win multiple championships, win MVP and score more points than Michael Jordan. All of these things came to fruition. Then McGrady added a coda. Kobe used to say, "I want to die young. I want to be immortalized."<br />
When I heard McGrady's words, I thought of the biblical passage about the power of the spoken word. "The tongue has the power of life and death." Kobe's will was indomitable. Combined with his passion, he was able to impress upon his subconscious a vision of fame and success. He spoke his future into existence. Did his statement about dying young play a part in his destiny?<br />
Kobe always wanted to be better than Michael Jordan. His primary competitor in this regard was Lebron James. The night before the accident, Lebron eclipsed Kobe's career scoring total. Kobe was gracious, tweeting "Much respect my brother" (his final tweet). Less than twelve hours later Kobe was dead. The sequence of events is surreal. Lebron breaks Kobe's record threatening Kobe's pursuit of immortality. Kobe dies in a tragic accident and his name is immortalized forever.<br />
Like my friends, I've been struggling to process the tragedy. Kobe brought me so much joy his death was like losing a friend. I've always yearned for life to make sense. Kobe's death makes no sense. We're all going to die. This is a fact that unites us and gives life meaning. Maybe the only lesson is to appreciate every moment since we don't know when our final day will come. (6" x 7", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-19911331601683070072019-07-15T09:09:00.001-07:002019-08-10T08:28:14.133-07:00Van Gogh<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA1lSAu9I1xvWg3Y8NxQbCwIWHfloDphcCpaRBn5E2WPZKxrxtqmsEr1XEgspzX2mi0cOQsx-xgB5w5jhky5EZICP-kSiSLXFjWhP-35QlRzYaYcXNb_LKjWnx3cQgiK6hZdpZacTSYzE/s1600/Picture+102.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="622" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA1lSAu9I1xvWg3Y8NxQbCwIWHfloDphcCpaRBn5E2WPZKxrxtqmsEr1XEgspzX2mi0cOQsx-xgB5w5jhky5EZICP-kSiSLXFjWhP-35QlRzYaYcXNb_LKjWnx3cQgiK6hZdpZacTSYzE/s400/Picture+102.png" width="400" /></a></div>
I teach art classes. I often ask my students to name their favorite artist. The name that comes up more than any other is Vincent Van Gogh. When I ask why I hear things like "he suffered for his art" or "he'd rather paint than eat." This is true, of course. Van Gogh gave his life for his art. In the process, he became an iconic role model. I know this because he's always been a role model for me. But Van Gogh is a terrible role model. And I'm ready to give him up.<br />
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I create art both as a writer and a printmaker. The Van Gogh energy field has not served me well. Mind you, I'm not comparing myself to Van Gogh the artist. I'm referring to Van Gogh the life coach. The Van Gogh who were he alive today would likely host a podcast on living your life as an independent artist. This is the Van Gogh I'm eager to expunge. The struggling Van Gogh, the miserable Van Gogh, the Van Gogh who paints a life picture of pain, hardship and death. If a 12-Step Van Gogh Anonymous Group exists I'm ready for an intervention.<br />
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First, let's recap the Van Gogh ethos. Van Gogh was dedicated to suffering. Like Nietzsche, he believed melancholy had creative value. In one of his letters to his brother Theo he wrote, "What moulting is to birds, the time when they change their feathers, that's adversity or misfortune, hard times, for us human beings. One may remain in this period of moulting, one may also come out of it renewed."<br />
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Van Gogh's painting <i>Old Man In Sorrow (At Eternity's Gate)</i> is possibly the most intense depiction of misery ever painted. In a letter from 1882 he wrote, "I do not wish to express in my landscape a sentimental sadness, but a tragic grief." This grief engulfed him. The fact he completed 900 paintings in his lifetime is a near miracle. His creative output did not cure his ills. He only sold one painting in his lifetime. In 1890 at the age of 37 he committed suicide by shooting himself in the chest.<br />
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I agree there is value in melancholy. Wistful periods allow you to mine your subconscious and find the gold that resides in the darkness. Carl Jung referred to our <i>Shadow Side</i> that holds a seed of creativity. Tapping this resource can yield greater awareness, compassion and artistic output. But melancholia can become a self-fulfilling trap. To believe you must feel pain in order to create is to play with fire. You build resistance and must summon deeper reserves of agony to stimulate creativity.<br />
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It's easy to forget the muse can take many forms. This includes desperation and inspiration. Van Gogh was a desperation tweaker. He battled poverty, suffered from mental illness, quarreled with family and was spurned by potential lovers. He put his faith in difficulty. He wrote, "One who has been rolling along for ages as if tossed on a stormy sea arrives at his destination at last; one who has seemed good for nothing, incapable of filling any position, any role, finds one in the end and shows himself entirely different from what he had seemed at first sight."<br />
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Van Gogh ultimately reached land as an artist. But his journey helped fuel a false narrative that artists must suffer to create. Historians have theorized that Van Gogh's psychological and emotional troubles fueled his creativity. In my mind, his depression enslaved him and prevented him from achieving even greater success. He remains a mentor for me but he's become a cautionary tale. As Jack Kerouac wrote in the novel <i>The Subterraneans</i>, "I would have preferred the happy man to the unhappy poems he's left us." (7" x 10", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-67340583564414291612019-04-21T09:41:00.001-07:002019-04-21T09:41:18.045-07:00Babe Ruth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKN_YmMXrxX739jabmUE7iHEBTF0wCJbbVognAR6Du1RlI3QqgZaaLHBr1Vw_wSdcG3KMCfduJlKFNFyVhCEx4mfJYobM_RZDGhjYiitY2XCAuzSo1uBw_yA4xkNxcpZVqJ-ADkbe7ghk/s1600/Babe.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="589" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKN_YmMXrxX739jabmUE7iHEBTF0wCJbbVognAR6Du1RlI3QqgZaaLHBr1Vw_wSdcG3KMCfduJlKFNFyVhCEx4mfJYobM_RZDGhjYiitY2XCAuzSo1uBw_yA4xkNxcpZVqJ-ADkbe7ghk/s400/Babe.png" width="396" /></a>There's a famous story told by the legendary sportswriter Fred Lieb about Ty Cobb and Babe Ruth from the 1920's. The two stars were scheduled to share a cabin on a Georgia hunting trip. Cobb refused. When asked why he said, "I've never bedded down with a n---- and I'm not going to start now."</div>
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George Herman "Babe" Ruth, the most renowned baseball player of the 20th Century, the embodiment of a time when only white athletes played pro sports, may have been black. It was not just his "broad lips and wide nose" hinting at mixed heritage. Or the fact he loved to date black women and spend evenings at the famed Cotton Club in Harlem. It was that many of his contemporaries believed he was black.<br />
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During the 1922 World Series at the Polo Grounds, a Giants player named Johnny Rawlings shouted racial slurs at Ruth. After the game, Ruth burst into the Giants locker room and challenged Rawlings to a fight. Only when Ruth noticed the baseball writers standing nearby did he calm himself. According to biographer Robert Creamer, Ruth begged the journalists not to write anything about the incident. He told Rawlings, "I don't mind being called a prick and a cocksucker but none of that personal stuff."<br />
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Ruth had an affinity for black ballplayers. After the Yankees won the 1927 World Series, Ruth joined a barnstorming tour against Negro League teams. He befriended Satchel Paige, sat in opposing dugouts and mingled in the segregated stands. This upset the racist baseball commissioner of the day, Kennesaw Mountain Landis who wanted to prevent integration in the major leagues. According to baseball historian Bill Jenkinson, Ruth sought to become a baseball manager after he retired. He "didn't get the job because Landis...knew if hired as manager, Ruth would have openly supported signing black ballplayers." Ruth never became a manager and baseball did not break the color line until after Landis' death.<br />
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Ruth was born in Baltimore in 1885. His parents were of German ancestry. He was raised in poverty and only one of his six siblings survived infancy. His father owned a saloon and his mother was an alcoholic. After his mother had an affair with one of his father's bartenders, his parents divorced. At age seven, Ruth was sent to the St. Mary's Industrial School for Boys. During his time at the orphanage, he was taunted with the nickname "n---lips."<br />
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Early on there were rumors that Ruth had African-American ancestry. His parents were less than faithful and it was possible Ruth was illegitimate. Ruth passed for white and enjoyed all the benefits of a white man in American society. It wasn't uncommon for African American celebrities of the era to pass for white. Actress Carol Channing had a black grandmother. Oscar winner Merle Oberon had an Indian mother and white father.<br />
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From a historical standpoint, Ruth's background is significant. He enjoyed white privilege during a time in America when racism and the KKK were thriving. For Ruth to have mixed ancestry would cause heads to spin from Alabama to Arizona. He always denied the rumors. Of course this was in his self-interest. Jackie Robinson would not break baseball's color line until 1947, one year before Ruth's death.<br />
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There was never hard evidence Ruth had a multiracial background, only supposition. He empathized with black athletes like he empathized with all who were underprivileged. Perhaps he was a black baseball player in the same way Bill Clinton was a black president.<br />
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In a 2001 article in <i>Gotham </i>magazine, film director Spike Lee related that his father, a huge baseball fan, always said Ruth had "some of the tar brush in him." Lee suggested that if DNA testing was appropriate for Thomas Jefferson's remains, to see if he fathered children by slaves, then perhaps Ruth's remains should be tested as well. (7" x 7," black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-9395587431639322312019-01-05T07:05:00.000-08:002019-01-05T20:16:00.395-08:00Lou Reed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0B_zE6QCpPcRLZV4yTXz0mnDXzVYw8LSzZRZ0ccnSpbLtLZsgYWumh4gckvLYMhOpTkI8KxMFhnKmpnNFRAoqMNy5JbW7Q7iCDzktyS1oNNnwqUYMviNmpkljtoHuM-Fr1te7GFCa2_k/s1600/Reed.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="489" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0B_zE6QCpPcRLZV4yTXz0mnDXzVYw8LSzZRZ0ccnSpbLtLZsgYWumh4gckvLYMhOpTkI8KxMFhnKmpnNFRAoqMNy5JbW7Q7iCDzktyS1oNNnwqUYMviNmpkljtoHuM-Fr1te7GFCa2_k/s400/Reed.png" width="306" /></a></div>
The first time I heard a Lou Reed song I was 18 years old and floating down the Chattahoochee River in a canoe. A shirtless Georgia teenager stood on the riverbank slapping his paddle at some swimming kids while a boom box blasted "Walk On the Wild Side." At one point the teen's paddle made contact with a young boy's skull. I heard a loud "thwappp"and the boy fell face first into the water. The teenager laughed maniacally as the boy's friends pulled him to safety.<br />
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This is how the music of Lou Reed entered my life. There was something magnetic about the music, the raw and minimal guitar riffs, the shocking lyrics (did he actually say "even when she was giving good head"). Most pop music was safe. Lou Reed was dangerous. The sound had a dark energy, an urgent power with distorted guitars and atonal vocals.<br />
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The first Lou Reed album I purchased was <i>Transformer</i> (1972). From the moment he sang the words "Vicious, you hit me with a flower" I realized there was something deeper going on, ironic storytelling in a way I'd never heard. On "Perfect Day" Reed sings, "You made me forget myself, I thought I was someone else, someone good." The line perfectly encapsulated my teenage angst, my self-doubt and dim hopes for future redemption. Reed goes on to repeat the frightening refrain, "you're going to reap just what you sow." The words penetrated my soul like a warning, a call to pay attention to my own words and deeds.<br />
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When I discovered the <i>Velvet Underground,</i> I was spellbound. The music was real and edgy as if made in someone's garage. The guitars were droning and slightly out of tune, the drums scratchy and dirty. This was my first experience of lo-fi music and Reed was my first rock star crush.<br />
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He was a prototypical rock and roll bad boy. He abused drugs and alcohol, trashed hotel rooms, cursed reporters and engaged in bar brawls. But Reed was different. Where most rockers had affairs with supermodels, Reed opted for trysts with transvestites. While typical pop stars sang about how much they missed old girlfriends, Reed sang about bondage and sadomasochism ("Venus In Furs").<br />
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Google the words "Lou Reed was an asshole" and you'll find dozens of incidents describing his brutal, selfish, misanthropic behavior. There was the time he slapped David Bowie after Bowie suggested Reed cut back on his drug and alcohol use. Or the time he called Bob Dylan a "pretentious kike." (Reed himself was Jewish.) His <i>Velvet Underground</i> band mate John Cale called Reed "a twisted scary monster." Paul Morrissey, manager of the <i>Velvets</i> said Reed was possibly "the worst person who ever lived."<br />
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Friends and admirers grew familiar with Reed's moody tantrums and profanity-laced assaults. At the Manhattan clothing store RRL a sales clerk told Reed he was a big fan. Reed responded, "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Fuck off." Howard Sounes, author of <i>Notes From the Velvet Underground: The Life of Lou Reed</i> writes that Reed "was constantly at war with family, friends, lovers, band members, managers and record companies." Reed even described himself as a "fucking, faggot junkie."<br />
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This begs the question does it matter? As a person, Reed was clearly complicated. As an artist, Reed inarguably shaped the musical landscape. Without him there would be no punk rock. (Sid Vicious took his name from the Reed song "Vicious.") There would also be no grunge or shoe gazer scenes. Brian Eno claimed, "everyone who bought the first Velvet Underground album started a band." Reed's songs directly informed the musical style of <i>Joy Division</i>, <i>Jesus & Mary Chain</i>, <i>Galaxie 500</i>, <i>Dream Syndicate</i>, <i>Luna</i>, <i>Spacemen 3</i>, <i>the Dandy Warhols</i>, <i>the</i> <i>Feelies</i> and <i>the Pixies</i>.<br />
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Reed was an avant-garde storyteller who wrote about misfits and lost souls. His song subjects were junkies and drug dealers, transsexuals and schizophrenics. He chronicled trips to the bad part of town to buy heroin. In the brilliant but dark album <i>Berlin</i>, he told the story of Jim and Caroline, a troubled couple whose relationship crumbles as they fall into drug use, prostitution, domestic violence and suicide. This is the heady stuff of literature, not the trivial fare typically found in rock music.<br />
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Reed's heroes were literary figures like Hubert Selby Jr., Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg. During his days as a student at Syracuse University, Reed started a literary journal called <i>The Lonely Woman Review</i>. He wrote short stories and read poems aloud at St. Mark's Church along with the New York writers Patti Smith and Jim Carroll. Reed studied creative writing with the poet Delmore Schwartz whom Reed credited for teaching him to "use the simplest language imaginable" to impart the heaviest impact. (Schwartz was the inspiration for Saul Bellow's novel <i>Humboldt's Gift</i>.) Under Schwartz's tutelage Reed wrote poems that ultimately became the songs "Heroin" and "Sister Ray."<br />
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One of Reed's poems was titled "We The People." The words are as fresh today as they were fifty years ago.<br />
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<i>We are the people without right. </i><i>We are the people who have known only lies and desperation. </i><i>We are the people without a country, a voice or a mirror. </i><i>We are the crystal gaze returned through the density and immensity of a berserk nation.</i><br />
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One of Reed's favorite books was the 1963 John Rechy novel <i>City of Night</i>. The book was a landmark of queer literature chronicling a gay street hustler's travels through America. Reed channeled this energy into his own songs about street life such as "Waiting For the Man."<br />
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Reed yearned to write the great American novel and put it to music. In a 1991 interview with author Neil Gaiman, Reed explained how he used prose technique in songwriting. "There are certain kinds of songs you write that are just fun songs, the lyric can't survive without the music. But for most of what I do, the idea behind it was to try and bring a novelist's eye to it, to try and have that lyric there so somebody who enjoys being engaged on that level can have that and have the rock n' roll too."<br />
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Reed grew up in a middle-class Jewish family in Brooklyn. When he was nine, the family moved to Long Island. His mother had been a teenage beauty queen while his father abandoned dreams of becoming an author to become a tax accountant. At a young age, Reed experienced social anxiety, panic attacks and depression. He spoke of being beat up routinely after school. He escaped into music, mimicking the guitar sounds he heard on the radio.<br />
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During high school he formed a doo wop band called <i>The Jades</i>. He also began experimenting with drugs. The band played gigs in shopping malls and dingy bars. His parents were overprotective and fought often with Reed. In one instance an inebriated Reed crashed the family car into a toll booth on the parkway.<br />
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Reed waited tables at a local gay bar and began having sexual encounters with men. He tried heroin for the first time and contracted hepatitis. He attended New York University but during his freshman year he had a mental breakdown. His parents drove to the city and brought their son back home. They sought professional help. Psychologists suggested Reed might have schizophrenia. He was briefly admitted to a psychiatric institution where he confessed to homosexual urges. Doctors recommended electroshock therapy. His parents consented and Reed endured more than two-dozen ECT sessions. The treatments wreaked havoc on his short-term memory. Reed never forgave his father, something he wrote about in the 1974 song "Kill Your Sons."<br />
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Reed recovered and enrolled at Syracuse University. After college, he moved to New York City and befriended the Welsh musician John Cale. The two became roommates in a lower east side apartment and busked the Harlem street corners, Reed on guitar, Cale on viola. They formed a band initially called the<i> Warlocks </i>then the <i>Falling Spikes.</i> They settled on the name the <i>Velvet Underground</i> (taken from a book about a 1960's secret sex subculture).<br />
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In 1965 they met Andy Warhol while playing a gig at the Cafe Bizarre in Greenwich Village. Warhol became the band's producer and the <i>Velvets</i> recorded four studio albums. The albums sold poorly but the work is among the most innovative music of the period. Reed grew frustrated as his peers Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen skyrocketed to fame. Reed fired Cale, Warhol and the singer Nico and the band disintegrated. Reed had another breakdown and moved back into his parents' home. He took a job at his father's tax firm as a typist for $40 a week. In 1971, he signed a contract with RCA to be a solo artist. His career was back on track.<br />
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For Reed, the 70's was a decade of substance abuse and excess. He told a friend he "was going to take meth every day for the rest of his life." He binged on scotch and according to his first wife Bettye Kronstad he became a "violent drunk." During a 1975 tour through Italy he pulled a knife on his violin player and told Italian reporters he came to Rome to have sex with the Pope. His reputation for misbehavior grew as he hung out with drag queens and became romantically involved with a transgender woman named Rachel.<br />
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It wasn't until the late 90's that Reed finally seemed to find a semblance of happiness. He took up meditation and practiced tai chi several hours a day. After two failed marriages he began dating the musician and performance artist Laurie Anderson. The two made several recordings together and were married in 2008.<br />
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Reed's years of hard drinking and drug use led to hepatitis and liver disease. He developed liver cancer and underwent a liver transplant in May 2013. After the surgery he posted on his website of feeling "bigger and stronger than ever." He died of liver disease in October 2013. He was 71 years old.<br />
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Laurie Anderson wrote that Reed "was a prince and a fighter" and that his last days were peaceful. She did her best to debunk Reed's dark reputation saying, "I never saw the blackness." After his passing, the rock community paid tribute. Bono said, "Every song we've ever written was a rip-off of a Lou Reed song." David Bowie said, "He was a master." Cale wrote, "I've lost my schoolyard buddy." Reed's last tweet posted hours before his death read simply: "The Door." (7" x 9," black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-12128070269419831802018-09-03T08:57:00.003-07:002018-09-07T18:10:49.241-07:00William Burroughs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsRUF6e7AFjilSZf1kHfRoSZ4jS8S7au8AVAXfcg3ArFQ8VttevdYE_1NwGPP990PAwYNgOjDMoWIP7yT5PnwoEfRQY7d3vEwGp7AOUXdP1jtlrSp7NHjYBg8dtQOOyUeNHN00FgsbmlQ/s1600/burroughs_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1497" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsRUF6e7AFjilSZf1kHfRoSZ4jS8S7au8AVAXfcg3ArFQ8VttevdYE_1NwGPP990PAwYNgOjDMoWIP7yT5PnwoEfRQY7d3vEwGp7AOUXdP1jtlrSp7NHjYBg8dtQOOyUeNHN00FgsbmlQ/s400/burroughs_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
William Burroughs is largely known for three things. He was a junkie, he wrote <i>Naked Lunch</i> and he shot and killed his wife Joan Vollmer. The incident haunted him the rest of his life. It also prompted him to become a writer. In his autobiographical novel <i>Queer</i>, he wrote: "I am forced to the appalling conclusion that I would never become a writer but for Joan's death…the death brought me into contact with the invader, the Ugly Spirit, and maneuvered me into a lifelong struggle in which I had no choice except to write my way out."<br />
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Burroughs was born in 1914 in St. Louis, grandson of the inventor of the adding machine and founder of the Burroughs corporation (this became <i>Unisys</i> in 1986). His maternal grandfather was a minister who was close friends with Robert E. Lee. Surrounded by wealth, he began writing in his early teens. He published his first essay <i>Personal Magnetism</i> at the age of 15 in his high school journal. He also discovered an interest in magic and the occult claiming to see "ghostly grey figures at play" in his bedroom. He was sent to a boarding school for the wealthy in New Mexico where he wrote in his journal about his attraction to boys.<br />
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He attended Harvard where he studied English and anthropology. During this period he traveled to New York where he discovered the city's gay subculture and underground club scene. His family sold the right to his grandfather's invention just before the 1929 stock market crash. Burroughs received a $200 monthly allowance from family. This guaranteed his freedom and survival without needing to work for the next twenty-five years.<br />
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Burroughs briefly attended medical school in Vienna. He became involved with Weimar-era gay culture and had liaisons with men in steam baths. He also met Ilse Klapper, a Jewish woman fleeing the Nazis. Burroughs married Klapper in Croatia allowing her to obtain a visa. Back in the states they divorced and Burroughs resumed his dalliances with men. In 1939, he cut off the joint of his left little finger above the knuckle to impress a man to whom he was attracted. (This inspired his short story "The Finger.") He enlisted in the army in 1942 but was as accepted as infantry, not an officer. He grew depressed and was released from the military for mental instability. He embarked on a series of menial jobs including one as an exterminator. (This later informed his novel <i>Naked Lunch</i>.)<br />
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In 1943, Burroughs moved to New York. He attended writing salons at the apartment of Joan Vollmer. These gatherings included the future Beat Generation writers Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg. Burroughs and Vollmer moved in together sharing an apartment with Kerouac and his future wife Edie Parker. Around this time, Burroughs began using heroin. He became addicted, a struggle he fought most of his life. He was arrested for a prescription narcotics violation and moved back to St. Louis to live with his parents. Vollmer, addicted to benzedrine, was diagnosed with temporary psychosis and admitted to Bellevue. This placed her custody of her daughter at risk. Learning this, Burroughs returned to New York and asked Vollmer to marry him. They never formally married but she lived as his common-law wife. The two would have a son together, William Burroughs Jr..<br />
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The couple moved to New Orleans. Facing possible detention in Angola state prison for drug charges, Burroughs and Vollmer fled with their son to Mexico. They planned to live abroad until the statute of limitations on his charges expired. Life in Mexico was difficult. Unable to obtain heroin, Burroughs suffered through brutal detox symptoms. He abused Benzedrine and frequented Mexican gay bars in pursuit of men. Vollmer drank excessively and mocked Burroughs in front of his friends. Their drug-fueled fights grew violent.<br />
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On the evening of September 6, 1951, Burroughs and Vollmer met friends at a party at an American-owned bar in Mexico City. The details remain disputed but Burroughs allegedly took a handgun from his travel bag and said to Vollmer, "It's time for our William Tell act." Vollmer, who was drunk and suffering through amphetamine withdrawal, placed a highball glass on her head. Burroughs aimed and fired. The bullet struck Vollmer in the face. She died a few hours later. She was only 28.<br />
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Burroughs initially claimed he dropped the gun and it accidentally fired. He spent 13 days in a local jail while his brother traveled to Mexico and bribed officials to release Burroughs on bail. He hired a prominent Mexican attorney. Two witnesses testified the gun accidentally fired while Burroughs was checking to see if it was loaded. A ballistics expert was allegedly bribed to corroborate this story. While awaiting trial, Burroughs' lawyer fled Mexico to escape his own legal troubles. Burroughs promptly left the country himself returning to the United States. He was convicted <i>in absentia</i> of homicide and given a two-year suspended sentence. He never served his sentence since he never returned to Mexico.<br />
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Burroughs would go on to write 18 novels, 6 short-story collections and numerous essays. His novel <i>Naked Lunch</i> was the last prominent book to be prosecuted for obscenity in the United States. He became a popular counterculture figure, associating with artists like Andy Warhol, Patti Smith, Lou Reed and Kurt Cobain. He suffered another tragedy in 1981 when his 33-year old son died of a cirrhosis-linked hemorrhage. Burroughs died of a heart attack in 1987 at the age of 83. (7" x 9", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-53862492351147631552017-05-08T08:37:00.000-07:002017-05-11T10:19:01.616-07:00Singin' In The Rain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In 1949, the writing team of Betty Comden & Adolph Green walked into the MGM offices of Arthur Freed. Freed, a lyricist and renowned film producer, specialized in movie musicals. He told Comden & Green, "Kids, your next movie is going to be <i>Singin' In The Rain</i> and it's going to have all my songs in it." There was no plot. No characters. Just a bunch of unrelated songs and the notion that one scene would have someone singing while it was raining. Somehow this became the greatest movie musical ever made.<br />
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<i>Singin' In The Rain</i> debuted in 1952. The film offers a comedic depiction of Hollywood's transition from silents to talkies. Choreographed and directed by Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen, the film stars Kelly, Donald O'Connor and 18-year old beauty pageant winner Debbie Reynolds. Reynolds was a gymnast with no dance experience. Kelly was a harsh taskmaster who criticized her dancing skills. One day, Fred Astaire visited the set and found Reynolds crying beneath a piano. He agreed to give her dance lessons. By the time she filmed the "Good Morning" scene, she was able to keep up with Kelly and O'Connor. The 14-hour shooting days caused burst blood vessels in Reynolds' feet. Years later she said, "The two hardest things I ever did in my life are childbirth and <i>Singin' In The Rain</i>."<br />
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O'Connor also succumbed to the stress of production. During the "Make 'Em Laugh" number, he resurrected an old vaudeville routine of running up a wall and completing a somersault. A four-pack-a-day smoker, O'Connor was so debilitated he had to be hospitalized for exhaustion and severe carpet burns. When an accident destroyed the footage, O'Connor gamely agreed to re-shoot the scene from scratch.<br />
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The iconic "Singin' In The Rain" number was filmed while Gene Kelly had a 103-degree temperature. The scene took 2-3 days to shoot and Kelly was constantly soaked causing his wool suit to shrink. Technicians covered two city blocks on the MGM backlot with tarp to create darkness for the night scene. Overhead sprays were installed, a potential problem since there was a water shortage in Culver City. During dailies, it was determined the rain did not show up properly on screen. Milk was added to make the rain more visible.<br />
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The song "Singin' In The Rain" appeared six previous times on the big screen. It debuted in <i>The Hollywood Revue of 1929</i>. Jimmy Durante sang the song in <i>Speak Easily</i> (1932) while Judy Garland sang it in <i>Little Nellie Kelly</i> (1940). The song also appeared as a musical sequence in <i>The Babe Ruth Story</i> (1948). In Stanley Kubrick's <i>A Clockwork Orange</i> (1971), Malcolm McDowell performs "Singin' In The Rain" during a controversial rape scene. Gene Kelly was so incensed, he deliberately ignored McDowell at the 1972 Academy Awards.<br />
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O'Connor respected Kelly but dreaded making a mistake for fear Kelly would yell at him. Reynolds wrote that Kelly "was a perfectionist and a disciplinarian" but he was also "the most exciting director I've ever worked for." Kelly later admitted he'd been ill mannered on set but he claimed it was all an act to get the studio to release him from his contract. MGM obliged in 1954.<br />
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<i>Singin' In The Rain</i> was initially released in 1951 but pulled from theaters so it didn't compete with <i>An American In Paris</i>, also starring Gene Kelly. The film did modest box office at the time, though it was not nominated for Best Picture. Over the years, the film became influential among modern filmmakers. Francois Truffaut and Alain Resnais both listed the movie as their favorite. The 2011 Best Picture <i>The Artist</i> was clearly influenced by <i>Singin' In The Rain</i> as was <i>La La Land.</i> Ryan Gosling acknowledged, "We watched <i>Singin' In The Rain</i> everyday for inspiration."<br />
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The network television premiere of the film was scheduled for November 23, 1963. It had to be postponed two weeks due to the assassination of President Kennedy. The original negative of the film was destroyed in a fire. In 2007, the American Film Institute rated the movie the "#5 Greatest Film of all time." (7" x 9", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-2994288654181960662017-01-02T19:08:00.000-08:002017-06-06T21:13:41.622-07:00El Presidente<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Looking back, there was a clear sign that Trump might actually win. On Election Day, an angry horde of bees circled our polling place, dive-bombing voters as they neared the front of the line. In the hour I waited to vote, two people were stung. Both were Clinton supporters.<br />
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In the months since the election, I'm slowly adjusting to life in Trump Bizarro World. Trump perceives Sean Hannity as Walter Cronkite, Vladimir Putin as Winston Churchill and <i>The New York Times</i> as "fake news." In my own circle of family and friends, Trump's hammer blows have wreaked havoc. My dental hygienist, a woman from Iran, cancelled a trip to visit her dying father in Teheran for fear she may not be let back into the States. My mom's caregiver, a lovely lady from Belize, is terrified she'll never see her family again. My wife and I wonder if we're on the verge of losing our health insurance (we're grateful for Obamacare) and my aging father is afraid Medicare and Medicaid are about to unravel.<br />
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I understand I live in a Los Angeles bubble and my views are out of touch with most of the country. What's troubling is how many friends and family are coming out as Trump supporters. It's as if I'm suddenly in a scene from <i>Invasion of the Body Snatchers</i> where alien walk-ins have possessed those around me and no one is who they seem.<br />
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My grandfather always advised me to see the world from someone else's shoes. In this spirit, I've opted to leave the shores of the familiar and take a journey to Trumpland. The voyage might be terrifying and I may lose my mind. But as a member of the losing team I've deigned to extend an olive branch and ask the Trump supporters in my life to explain their views.<br />
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First on the list is my favorite cousin Dave. We meet at a Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf in Pacific Palisades. Dave's a real-estate investor with properties all over town. He owns a beautiful home overlooking the Pacific Ocean and has two lovely daughters and an amazing wife. In the eight years under Obama, Dave did incredibly well financially, but he's happy to see Obama go. When I ask him why, his answer is simple. Israel.<br />
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"Obama was an enemy to Israel. He opposed new settlements and refused to veto the UN resolution against Israel. He went out of his way to insult Netanyahu and made a stupid deal with Iran, Israel's greatest enemy. Trump supports Israel and understands that a two-state solution is impossible. He realizes Israel is our only true ally in the Middle East. He knows you can't negotiate with terrorists and you have to rule with strength."<br />
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I ask Dave why half the Israeli population supports a two-state solution if it's impossible. "Because they're stupid and weak. Too many Jews are self-hating. We live in an anti-Semitic world and if you don't see this you're blind. Only the strong survive and Trump is strong." I ask Dave his opinion about Trump's advisor Steve Bannon, a supposed anti-Semite. "Bannon doesn't hate Jews. He hates Muslims. Don't let the liberal media brainwash you."<br />
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Next on my list is Andrew, a basketball buddy who works as an Emergency Medical Technician. Andrew has saved more lives than all my friends combined. He's a strapping man from Ohio with a good sense of humor and a deep baritone voice. When I ask why he supports Trump, he morphs into Archie Bunker. "Gangs. I'm tired of seeing the Mexicans and the blacks kill each other. In the 14 years I've driven an ambulance in Los Angeles, I've seen almost a thousand gunshot victims. You know how many were white? Less than 10. I'm sick of it. <i>Black Lives Matters</i> is a terrorist organization but Obama made them acceptable. Now we have monsters hunting cops and illegals living off welfare. We need tight borders. We need to keep out the illegals and put the gang members in jail. Trump's the only guy who has the balls to make this happen."<br />
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I ask Andrew to expound on "the Wall" and who will pay for it. "Who cares? Once we keep out the Mexicans we won't have to support them anymore. We can take that money and use it on border security. It might be a wall, it might be a fence…you should listen to what Trump means, not what he says."<br />
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I parted ways with Andrew and met Lynn, an accountant from Orange County. Lynn's a devout Christian in her 60s who works for a software company. We met at a record company in the early 2000s. Despite our differing backgrounds, we became friends. Lynn's support for Trump is based on his stance toward abortion. "I've always been pro-life. For the first time I see a chance to overturn Roe vs. Wade. Trump is a wild card and I don't like his attitude toward women. But Hillary was pro-abortion. There's no way I could have voted for her. That's why I voted for Trump. It's the only way I could live with myself."<br />
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Next is Jeremy, an artist I met at a local coffee house. Jeremy creates wall-sized assemblage paintings incorporating items found in junkyards. Given his aesthetic leanings, I assumed he was liberal. Then I visited his studio and saw a painting featuring an image of Obama with horns. I asked him to explain the imagery. "The devil is the father of all lies. He's clever, handsome and charming. His smile melts our hearts and we let our guard down, unaware of his guile. This is how the false prophet gains control of the world. And this is how Obama allowed his minions into America. Trump sees what's happening. He calls a spade a spade. We need someone rough and tumble to save us from the last eight years. Trump is our only hope."<br />
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I parted from Jeremy feeling rattled. The final person on the list was Adam, a motion picture camera operator. We met while working on a film in the 90's. In the subsequent years, Adam worked his way to major Hollywood movies. He bought a house, got married and had kids. All was rosy until the digital revolution hit the film industry. Then his career slowed and good jobs became hard to find.<br />
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"Obama seems like a good guy. But he hasn't been a leader for everyone. I think in his heart he cares more about minority issues than the everyday struggles of white people. It's not his fault. It's his background. He was a community organizer and spent most of his time with poor blacks. They need help, I understand. But so do we. In the eight years Obama was in office, I've struggled. I used to work six films a year. Now I'm lucky to get one. It's time for a change. Trump might be crazy but the world is crazy, right? Maybe crazy is what we need."<br />
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Adam was reasonable in his support of Trump though his conclusions were correlational instead of causal. I understood his sentiments and why he wanted a new direction for the county. He has nothing to lose. Or so he thinks.<br />
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As I returned from Trumpland, I reflected on the journey. What did I learn? One, I'm a self-hating Jew. Two, I should "listen to what Trump means, not what he says." Three, Obama might be the anti-Christ. All the Trump supporters in my life were white, over the age of 50 and homeowners. More importantly, everyone seemed normal (except for Jeremy) and were just trying to do their best for their family and themselves. Trump might erect a wall but it's important I don't do the same. (6" x 8", black ink print)</div>
LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-12852213520170508442016-10-06T10:12:00.000-07:002020-05-12T14:03:27.933-07:00The Spiritual Teacher<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Right now, right here, you are free." With these seven words George Falcon began each session. The topic was always the same. Who are we? How do we live a spiritual life and what does this mean? Though he was unknown to the masses, George touched thousands of people and influenced multitudes of lives. He was a mentor, a teacher, a spiritual guide, a man of peace. To know George was to know God exists.<br />
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I'd heard about George for years. He was married to my best friend Lee's sister Belinda. Lee and I would have deep discussions about life and he would always say, "you have to meet George. He's amazing."<br />
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I met George at a Christmas dinner with Lee's family in 1986. He sat at the end of the table with his aging parents. He was professorial in appearance, with a thick beard and olive skin that belied his Latino heritage. He wore a blue Adidas tracksuit (his standard uniform) and he was quick to smile and laugh. Dinner conversation was lively and entertaining, but George was largely quiet. When the conversation shifted to spirituality, I expected him to say something. Instead he was content to listen in silence tending to his parents' needs. When dessert was served, he took his plate of pie and ice cream and wandered to the living room to watch the Bulls play the Knicks.<br />
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George loved basketball. This was how we first bonded. We talked for hours about the Lakers and their chance at another championship. He spoke about Magic Johnson and Michael Jordan and how they both hated losing more than they loved winning. This prompted the first question I ever asked George. "Are you saying hate is more powerful than love?"<br />
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He answered something to the effect of "love is a higher frequency emotion but sometimes we act more urgently to avoid the pain associated with hate." These spiritual/basketball talks were my first George lessons. He loved to tell the story about Scottie Pippen and Karl Malone in the 1987 NBA Finals. Game 1 was on a Sunday and with nine seconds left, Malone (nicknamed "The Mailman") had two free throws to give Utah the win. Pippen stepped in front of Malone and said, "the Mailman doesn't deliver on Sundays." Malone missed the shots and the Chicago Bulls won the game. George used the story to emphasize the power of the "low self" over the body. Pippen's statement was a subliminal suggestion planted in Malone's subconscious. Malone could have countered the suggestion with his own statement such as "cancel cancel" as if to say 'I'm consciously canceling the words spoken to me.' Instead, Malone took the bait and his body betrayed him.<br />
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It's been said when a student is ready a teacher will appear. George was this teacher and I was a grateful and spellbound student. I attended my first formal "George talk" in the late 80's. We met at George and Belinda's Studio City home, about twenty of us seated on couch pillows around the living room. George began with a meditation, leading us through a series of breathing exercises to quiet the mind. After fifteen minutes, George began the talk.<br />
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He spoke about consciousness and how the early Egyptians divided the mind into the low-self, middle-self and high-self. The low-self corresponded to our subconscious, where the mind generates feelings, pictures and memories. George called the low-self "Annabelle," inspired by his small dog who was always yapping for attention. This is how the low-self works. While we attempt to quiet our mind we're distracted by noise such as hunger pangs or unpleasant feelings and memories. Our job is to train our low-self to be aware of the distractions but not let them control our actions, like George ignored Annabelle's barking.<br />
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The middle-self is our conscious mind or intellect, where words, ideas and reasoning prevail. George called the middle-self "Virgil," a nod to Dante's guide through hell in <i>Dante's Inferno</i>. (In the story, Virgil lived a virtuous life on earth but was trapped in limbo unable to access heaven…an apt metaphor for our middle-self.) The middle-self, our rational mind, can speak of concepts such as heaven and nirvana, but is unable to grok these experiences. As George often said, "Virgil can lead you to the doorway, but he can't take you through."<br />
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The low-self and middle-self work together to create our identity, our ego, "the self." The low-self generates an emotion and the middle-self comes up with a story to explain the emotion. The story is a "lie," but we believe it. Over time, we become hypnotized by our individual stories. We believe we are selves, separate from others and the world at large. This leads to the major struggle of humanity, loneliness and a feeling of disconnection (from others and God).<br />
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The high-self is where we begin to recognize we are not that which we call "the self." This is where we find freedom, where we touch love and peace. The high-self is where we glimpse our true essence, where silence allows us to hear the "still small voice" inside. George called the high-self "Beatrice," a tribute to Beatrice Portinari, the woman who inspired Dante's <i>Divine Comedy</i>.<br />
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George acknowledged the world can appear difficult, rife with pain and violence. But he reminded us "reality is illusory." Our world view is informed by the consciousness we resonate with. The best way to change your reality is to shift your consciousness. The intellect (middle-self) wants to remain in charge but our job is to be still, to observe our thoughts and feelings and return to our breath through meditation. We are magnetic beings attracting a reality that matches our beliefs. If we resonate with harmony, our life becomes more harmonious. If we focus on discord, our life becomes more chaotic.<br />
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The George talks were high-minded and fascinating, but initially they had little impact on my life. It wasn't until I experienced a personal crisis that I began to view the teachings differently. I was 28. I was living in San Francisco and my life was a mess. My relationship was crumbling, my finances were dismal, my creative life was stunted and I felt like I was having an emotional breakdown. I called George and asked if we could meet in Los Angeles. He agreed and I drove to LA the next day.<br />
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I met George at a cafe in Larchmont Village. He listened patiently as I explained how my life was falling apart. After a few minutes he asked, "If your life was a basketball game what would you do right now?" I thought for a moment. "I'd call timeout." "Good," he said. "And what would you do during the timeout?" "Rest for a moment and change my strategy." "Good," he said. "Maybe you need to rest and design new plays." "I can't rest, George. I'm broke. If I sit back and do nothing how am I going to pay my bills." "I didn't say do nothing. I said rest." I was confused. "How do you rest while you're active?" George smiled. "Now you're asking a good question."<br />
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George discussed how meditation allows you to take a break from the usurping energy of negative thoughts and feelings. He said an hour of meditation equates to six hours of deep sleep. He added that all emotions have a rhythmic counterpart in breathing--anger corresponds to one breathing modality, depression another. By learning to consciously control my breathing rate I could begin to assert control over my low-self which at that point was controlling me.<br />
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George's words had extra weight given his own recent history. In 1990, George was diagnosed with colon and liver cancer. Lee and I visited him at the hospital the night before his surgery. We expected to find a somber hospital room filled with anxiety and fear. Instead, George gave an inspired talk to family and a few close friends. He was smiling and energetic, no sign of worry. The subject was "freedom" and how to proceed when your external reality does not match the perfection within. I was stunned at how a man on the verge of life-threatening surgery was able to exhibit such equanimity.<br />
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The day after surgery, George was walking the hospital hallways. He was released two days later. Doctors estimated a six-month healing period but George was confident he'd need half that time. He woke at 4:00 am each day, immersing himself in deep meditation while seated in his favorite leather chair. He ate judiciously, mainly fruit, broth and water. Belinda acted as gatekeeper, keeping visitors away so George had time to heal. I visited him a month after his surgery. He was quiet and reserved, his face thin and ashen. He had a distant look, as if lost in thought. Years later he explained he was focused on the inner healing tones above his eardrums, a meditation technique he would soon teach his students.<br />
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Two months after surgery, George was giving talks again. He looked fit and healthy, back to his pre-surgery weight and jovial as ever. Rather than curtailing his schedule, he dove into his teachings with a vengeance. He gave talks at galleries, restaurants, yoga studios, production offices and private homes. He resumed seeing private clients, working 12-14 hour days. On any given day he drove as far south as San Diego and as far north as Santa Barbara. It's as if he were suddenly conscious of his limited time on earth and wanted to make sure not a second was wasted.<br />
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In 1991, I moved back to Los Angeles. I began seeing George twice weekly for private sessions. He asked me about the tattered journal I carried with me. I told him this was where I recorded my daily thoughts and feelings. "So that's your low-self and middle-self manual," he said. I never viewed it that way but he was right. "It's time to begin a high-self manual," George said. He gave me an assignment. Purchase a new journal and fill two pages a day with a single statement written over and over. The statement: "I am the Temple of the Living God."<br />
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I hesitated. I knew George was Christian. Having grown up in a Jewish household with Orthodox grandparents, I was worried I was entering dangerous ground. I voiced my concerns. "George, I'm Jewish. I don't want you to try to make me a Christian. I'm not comfortable with that and to be honest, the thought scares me." George smiled. "Have I mentioned anything about Christianity?" "No," I said. "Have I mentioned Christ?" "No." "Have I mentioned religion?" "No." "We spoke about designing new plays. That's all we're doing right now."<br />
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I began journaling immediately. At first it was awkward. I felt like Bart Simpson trapped in a Catholic school principal's office. After a few days, the words became a mantra. I spoke them aloud as I transcribed page after page with the sentence "I am the Temple of the Living God." The writing was soothing and questions entered my mind. Does "the Temple" refer to my body or my spirit? Who is the "I" in the statement--my mind, my feelings, my soul? If I am "a Temple of the Living God," does this mean God is <i>alive </i>inside me?</div>
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I noticed small changes in my life. I became more attentive to cleanliness, shaving and showering each morning instead of waiting until the end of the day. I ate better, avoiding alcohol and sugar and opting for salads and fresh fruit. I cut back on my use of profanity (f-bombs were my adverb of choice). I became more conscious of the movies and books I selected, choosing positive stories instead of dissertations on life's misery. I started making lists of things to be grateful for, the warmth of a sunny day or the simple miracle of indoor plumbing.<br />
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Slowly, imperceptibly, my life improved. I found a job with a bunch of friends. I reconnected with Lee. My aunt gave me a car. I began dating a beautiful woman from my past. And I spent more time with George. Monday mornings became "Breakfast With George" as Lee and I joined him at a Spanish restaurant on 3rd Street. While George ate his favorite dish chilaquiles he used Lee and I as guinea pigs to practice new spiritual teachings. He emphasized the need "to take it to the marketplace," using the lessons as a practical means to improve your life.<br />
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On one occasion, a couple was having an argument at a nearby table. The spat devolved into a screaming match. George said, "This is a great opportunity to practice peace. What are some things we can do right now to help this couple?" I said, "We can pray for them." "Good," George said. "But if you're praying for a desired outcome--their peace--then it's your will doing the praying." Lee added, "We could ask God to pray for them" "Better, but again it's you asking God for a specific outcome instead of deferring to God's will." I said, "We could visualize them in the light." "Good," George said. "But there's something you're both missing." Lee and I were stumped.<br />
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George used the occasion to deliver an important spiritual lesson. Rather than focus on the couple who was having a fight, he directed us to focus on ourselves. He asked us to close our eyes and begin our breathing exercises. He told us to imagine a feather resting on our upper lip. Our breathing should be calm as to not disturb the feather. He directed our attention to the center of our foreheads, to our pineal gland, our "third eye." He said to focus on the peace inherent in our breathing, urging us to watch for a bright white light that would appear in the proximity of our pineal gland.<br />
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After several minutes, George asked us to open our eyes. He asked how we were feeling. Though neither of us encountered a bright white light, we both felt a sense of profound peace. "What else," George asked. We looked around the restaurant. The dining room was quiet and the couple had left. During the meditation, I'd lost focus on the couple. I was only aware of a feeling of peace. As I returned to "reality," my outer life resembled my inner tranquility. I recalled a quote attributed to Martin Luther King, Jr.: "Be the peace you wish to see in the world."<br />
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George gave us a valuable lesson, one he would soon crystalize in his teachings. "Right now, right here, you are free." The world outside is connected to the world inside. ("As below so above.") When dealing with a perceived problem (illness), our first step is to acknowledge our true essence is free from all lack. Step two is to recognize the perceived problem as a lie (illness cannot exist in the presence of perfect health). Next, we are to visualize imagery that reminds us we are part of a divine whole. This might be a wave in the ocean or the branch of a tree. We then turn to the breathing exercises. We focus on our breath, becoming still and quiet, releasing the thoughts and feelings that appear. The longer we remain in this state, the faster our outer world will resemble our inner one.<br />
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George continually reminded us there is "power and wisdom in letting go." By choosing to release a negative thought or feeling, we are opting for universal consciousness over self consciousness. He spoke of <i>theosis</i>, a divine union without distinction. He referenced the Zen Buddhist concept of "not two," falling short of saying we are God but recognizing we are not apart from God. He utilized a myriad of Eastern philosophical texts, urging us to read the <i>Diamond Sutra</i> and the <i>Tao Te Ching</i>. His favorite quote from the Tao was "the Tao does nothing yet leaves nothing undone."<br />
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George often referenced movies in his teachings, particularly ones that featured master-student relationships. These included <i>The Karate Kid</i>, <i>The Matrix</i>, <i>Hoosiers</i>, <i>Remo Williams</i> and <i>Star Wars</i>. He adored the films of Steven Seagal and Chuck Norris and especially loved Bruce Lee's <i>Enter The Dragon</i>. His favorite tv show of all time was <i>Kung Fu</i>. He also loved reading. Two of his favorite books were <i>The Screwtape Letters</i> by C.S. Lewis and <i>The Life and Times of Joseph L. Greenstein</i> written by <i>Kung Fu</i> creator Ed Spielman.<br />
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Some of my favorite memories include pick-up basketball games with George and Lee at parks around town. George was a stellar basketball player in his teens and his love for the sport remained into his 60's. He was a trash-talker on court, goading players toward their weak spot then blocking the shot with surprisingly quick hands. Once George tried to steal the ball from an opponent and dislocated his right index finger. He closed his eyes and bent the finger back into place. When I asked if he was okay, he replied, "I always suspected that finger had karma." (Who knew body parts had karma?)<br />
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Driving with George provided additional lessons. He drove like an old lady, observing the speed limit and granting others the right of way. When someone tailgated or honked at George, he pulled over and let them pass. Once, George and I left a restaurant in separate cars headed for his home about six miles away. I drove in my typical frenetic style, constantly changing lanes and passing slower cars. I made it to his house only thirty seconds faster than him.<br />
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My connection with George ran deep. I encountered him while visiting the Grand Canyon in the 90's. A few years later my wife and I ran into him while vacationing in Hawaii. In 2007, my wife and I were honored to have George preside over our wedding. We participated in a six-week marriage course with George where he reminded us our union was a three-way contract between ourselves and God. Having George seal our marriage pact made the ritual sacred and profound.<br />
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Over time, George focused on the role the body plays in spiritual progression. Perhaps inspired by his own illness in 1990, he recommended that students observe their own relationship to sugar, wheat, caffeine, alcohol, meat and dairy. It wasn't unusual to find George in the midst of a juice-only detox or raw-food cleanse. He offered meditation seminars incorporating water-only regimens emphasizing the need to cleanse the body of toxins. He gave day-long workshops urging complete silence, focusing only on one's breath and asanas. His goal was to show us we were not just free from negative thoughts and feelings but from the addictive foods and chemicals that often controlled our lives.<br />
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George and I always called each other on our birthdays catching up on the Lakers and their hopes for the coming season. Though we saw each other less frequently, I applied his lessons every day. I'd be walking somewhere and I'd recall one of his statements as if he were speaking the words anew. "God does not give you <i>his</i> life to improve <i>your</i> life. He gives you his life so you have <i>His</i> life."<br />
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As the years progressed, George attracted a new group of students. He increased his workload, leading more workshops and seeing a wider array of clients. His teachings became available online attracting new acolytes from around the world. Those close to George urged him to slow down. But he was dedicated to service and continued a torrid pace into his mid-70's.<br />
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For some reason, I forgot to call George on his birthday in April, 2016. A few months later, I left him a message. Strangely, he didn't call back. Early on the morning of July 22nd, Lee called. He was crying and his words were faint. "Georgie is gone," he said. "He left us last night." At the age of 78, George's cancer had returned. He kept the news to himself, sharing it only with those closest to him. The illness was fierce and spread quickly. His body was ravaged and he died in a month's time. <br />
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As word spread, a wave of shock spread through the community. Like most of his his students, I was stunned. How could George die? This seemed impossible. We knew he was mortal, but he seemed beyond death as if he'd mastered life and all it's pitfalls. Everyone thought the same thing, that George would continue teaching into his 90's like the wise old Yoda we knew him to be. Now he was gone.<br />
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I lived the next few weeks in a fugue state. At the memorial, George's students expressed a similar sentiment. People gave heartfelt tributes, sharing how George had rescued them from addiction or saved their marriage or guided them through a life-threatening illness. We heard anecdotes about George's love of kung fu movies and his penchant for <i>See's </i>chocolates. We hugged and cried and reminded each other that George's spirit was still intact, he'd merely left his body. Beneath everything there was a deep sadness. George had been a father figure. Now, suddenly, we were all on our own. Only one thought gave us peace. "Right now, right here, George is free." <br />
(5" x 7", black ink print)<br />
<br />
To view videos of George Falcon's teachings go to: <a href="https://vimeo.com/georgefalconteachings">https://vimeo.com/georgefalconteachings</a>LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-74516495994534731192016-05-22T07:55:00.000-07:002016-05-23T20:34:54.248-07:00The Ventriloquist Dummy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Recently I was teaching a printmaking class at a senior home when I encountered a woman named Phoebe who'd lost her right arm. We began talking and she shared her story. She'd been a ventriloquist of some renown in the early 70's. She and her puppet Rudy appeared on television programs like <i>Captain Kangaroo</i> and <i>Hobo Kelly</i>. By 1980 her career slowed and the tv appearances stopped. Her husband convinced her to give up ventriloquism and she found a job as a secretary.<br />
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"I put Rudy in a big wood box and stored him in the back of the closet. At night I could hear him screaming, 'let me out, let me out.' After a few weeks Rudy started threatening me, saying things like, 'you'll be sorry,' or 'if you don't let me out, I'm going to hurt you.' I cried every night. I told him how sorry I was. But I never let him out."<br />
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In 1981, Phoebe felt pain in her right arm, her puppet arm. She was diagnosed with advanced bone cancer. She had emergency surgery and her arm was removed at the shoulder. Her life was saved, but her performing career effectively ended. "I killed Rudy," Phoebe said. "He tried to kill me."<br />
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Ventriloquism, the art of throwing one's voice so it appears to emanate from somewhere else, dates back to Classical Greece. Early ventriloquists were called "engastrimyths" (<i>gaster</i> for stomach, <i>mythos</i> for speech). Onlookers believed ventriloquists had demons in their stomach belching forth language from the host's mouth.<br />
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In the book <i>I Can See Your Lips Moving: The History and Art of Ventriloquism</i>, author Valentine Vox writes that the roots of ventriloquism lay in necromancy. It was believed that ventriloquists channeled the spirit of the dead through holes in their body via nostrils, ears, mouth and anus. Biblical law specifically forbids necromancy as is written in Deuteronomy: "To seek truth from the dead is abhorred by God" and punishable by death (Leviticus).<br />
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Early ventriloquists sought to convince people their practice was religious in nature. At the Temple of Apollo in Delphi, the Pythia (high priestess) translated the strange utterances from her mouth as if the sounds were prophecies from the gods. Centuries later, ventriloquists were consulted as a means of speaking with lost love ones. People paid good money to converse with a recently deceased husband or long dead mother.<br />
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In 16th Century France, a nun named Elizabeth Barton uttered worldly predictions via ventriloquism. She openly stated that King Henry VIII should not marry Anne Boleyn. She was hanged and the king was married.<br />
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In 17th Century Europe, ventriloquism transformed from a medium of divination and prophecy to that of entertainment. Ventriloquists appeared at traveling fairs and local markets. In 1753, Englishman Sir John Parnell gained fame as a ventriloquist speaking through his hand. The first known use of a ventriloquist puppet came in 1757 when Austrian Baron de Mengen incorporated a small doll into his show.<br />
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The first ventriloquist in America was James Rannie, a Scotsman who arrived in Boston in 1801. He performed with a doll named Tommy that resembled a man but was the size of a small child. Rannie engaged in ventriloquist pranks like the time he asked a female fishmonger about the freshness of her fish. She told him the batch had been caught the previous day. One of the fish suddenly spoke, "It is false, I am a week older." The woman was forced to throw away all her catch.<br />
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The 19th Century was the golden age of ventriloquism. Early practitioners imitated animals, birds and the voices of young children. They became adept at throwing their voices and causing sounds to emanate from men's snuffboxes and women's handbags. Fred Russell is known as the father of modern ventriloquism. His puppet "Coster Joe" sat on his lap and engaged him in cheeky dialogue. He became a vaudeville hit in America and Canada.<br />
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By the 1930's, one of the biggest stars on radio was ventriloquist Edgar Bergen with his puppets Charlie McCarthy and Mortimer Snerd. Bergen popularized the comedic ventriloquist routine with rapid-fire wisecracks and one-liners. In her autobiography <i>Knock Wood</i>, Bergen's daughter Candice Bergen wrote that she was raised as Charlie McCarthy's kid sister. She recalled sitting on her father's lap and being urged to talk with her wooden brother who sat across from her. "For me as a child," Candice Bergen wrote, "Charlie McCarthy had semi-human status. He wasn't flesh and blood and he wasn't a doll. He was a sacred calf. He brought home the bacon."<br />
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Ventriloquism has always had an element of creepiness. The dummy has wild, rabid eyes, arched eyebrows and a crude, hinged mouth that clicks open like a mousetrap. When draped across a table or chair, away from the performer, the doll's floppy limbs resemble that of a dead body. But the eyes remain open and the mouth is fixed with a terrifying smile as if the body is a poorly embalmed child corpse. Adding to the creepiness is the performance itself. The ventriloquist is often an older man with his hand up the backside of a young puppet boy sitting innocently on the man's lap. The specter of pedophilia is unavoidable.<br />
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Many people are terrified of ventriloquist dummies. The condition is called <i>automatonophobia</i>. Hollywood has taken advantage of this fear, making films like <i>Devil Doll</i> (1964) where a possessed dummy possesses his master and <i>Magic</i> (1978) where ventriloquist Anthony Hopkins commits murder under the guidance of his deranged puppet "Fats."<br />
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Ventriloquism remains a subversive entertainment medium. Performers utter their darkest most obscene thoughts and blame it on the puppet. British ventriloquist Nina Conti says ventriloquism is a "sort of licensed tourettes. I'm shocked by what the puppet can get away with, things I could never say myself." (6" x 8", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-66983420733026630622016-03-20T09:51:00.001-07:002016-03-20T10:45:14.551-07:00Bowie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As a teenager, I suffered from depression. I woke most days with a sense of ennui and hopelessness. My dark moods informed the music I listened to and led me to 80's gloom rock like Nick Cave, Bauhaus, The Damned and The Chameleons. Occasionally I encountered albums so bleak I referred to them as "snuff music." Among these were The Cure's <i>Pornography</i>, Joy Division's <i>Closer</i> and David Bowie's <i>Low</i>.<br />
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<i>Low</i> was written and recorded in 1976 during a period when Bowie was attempting to kick cocaine. At the time, his close friend Iggy Pop was in a psychiatric hospital trying to overcome a heroine addiction. Bowie's life was bleak and chaotic and he was obsessed with black magic, the Holy Grail and paranoid delusions. He moved to Berlin and took an apartment above an auto parts store. Written with Brian Eno, <i>Low</i> is a musical exploration of anguish and suffering as Bowie struggled to remain sober. The album became the first of Bowie's "Berlin Trilogy" (along with <i>Heroes</i> and <i>The Lodger</i>). <br />
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As my own teenage moods spiraled downwards, <i>Low</i> became an expression of my internal pain. I identified with Bowie's torment and the music helped me access my own darkness. I played the album over and over, sinking deeper into the abyss with each listen. At one point I could no longer handle the distress. I literally burned the album in a ritual bonfire along with Leonard Cohen's <i>Songs of Love and Hate </i>and Lou Reed's <i>Berlin</i>.<br />
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Years went by and I discovered meditation, prayer and therapy. Slowly, through God's grace and the passage of time, my depression lifted. My twenties became a decade of growth and self-discovery and my musical choices reflected this shift. I turned to albums that encouraged healing and a return to life. At the top of my list were Peter Gabriel's <i>So</i>, Tears for Fears <i>The Hurting</i> and my favorite, David Bowie's <i>Hunky Dory</i>.<br />
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<i>Hunky Dory</i> is a poetic and musical celebration of life. Though written in 1971 before <i>Low, </i>the album celebrates a new outlook for Bowie, one filled with hope, artistic experimentation and the inklings of joy. Starting with the song "Changes," Bowie reflects on the "changes…I'm going through" in a Buddhist-like fashion. He sings, "I watch the ripples change their size but never leave the stream of warm impermanence." He has learned that all things in life are temporary, even suffering. In the song's chorus, he urges us to "turn and face the strange, turn and face the strain." This was a perfect accompaniment to the advice my own therapist was giving me: "face your pain, accept it and let it go."<br />
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On the song "Quicksand," Bowie acknowledges his unhealthy obsession with the occult, referencing Aleister Crowley and the frightening image of Himmler and the Third Reich. He sings that "he's torn between the light and dark" and that "he ain't got the power anymore" to avoid "sinking in the quicksand of my thought."<br />
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Listening to Bowie's words, I felt as if he were speaking directly to my soul. At the time I was reading books like <i>The Road Less Traveled</i> and the <i>Tao Te Ching.</i> <i>Hunky Dory</i> became the soundtrack for my spiritual journey. Everything in life was teaching me that freedom comes with letting go of the ego (death of the Self) and aligning with universal energy. Buddha spoke about surrendering one's beliefs allowing the mind to move toward release. As Bowie sings on "Quicksand"--"Don't believe in yourself, don't deceive with belief. Knowledge comes with death's release."<br />
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The most joyous and life affirming song on <i>Hunky Dory</i> is "Fill Your Heart." Written by comedian Biff Rose (writer for George Carlin) and Paul Williams (songwriter for Barbra Streisand and Karen Carpenter), "Fill Your Heart" is a paean to peace and comfort. The song promises that the suffering of life can be overcome through the power of love. Bowie tells us, "fill your heart with love today, don't play the game of time. Things that happened in the past only happened in your mind." When he sings, "Happiness is happening, the dragons have been bled," it's as if Bowie is celebrating the future slaying of his own demons of addiction. Buddhist energy runs throughout the song culminating in the lyrics, "Fear's just in your head, so forget your head and you'll be free."<br />
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"Fill Your Heart" was clearly sentimental and sugary, but it got me every time. Like Bowie, I'd had enough of pain and misery. I yearned for joy. Being new to the happiness game, my initial forays were a bit simple. But they were earnest. Jesus proclaims in the Gospels, "Unless you turn and become like little children, you will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven." Bowie helped me become a child again, rediscovering the simple act of smiling. Perhaps this seemed infantile to others. But to me, I was learning to enjoy life. And for this, I am thankful to Mister Bowie. (5" x 7", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-39673839059769642192016-02-15T07:05:00.000-08:002016-03-21T20:16:14.706-07:00LA Freeway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On the night of June 23, 1997, boxer Oscar De La Hoya was driving his brother's Mercedes on the 605 Freeway near Whittier. He was in the fast lane and suddenly the car stalled. He maneuvered the car to the left shoulder but couldn't find his cell phone. Common wisdom dictates that if your vehicle stalls on the freeway you should wait in the car and call for help. De La Hoya felt differently. He opened the car door, waited for a gap in traffic and sprinted across five lanes to the other side of the freeway. Moments later a massive truck smashed into his Mercedes totaling the car.<br />
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All Angelenos have stories of witnessing horrific car accidents or being caught in nightmare traffic jams. To live in Los Angeles one must make peace with the freeway. You learn to accept the gridlock and reckless drivers, the ramshackle cars and ever-prowling highway patrol. In a city that clearly delineates the haves from the have-nots, freeways are the last bastion of true democracy. Whether you drive a Rolls-Royce or a broken-down Chevy, all drivers have equal access to the freeway.<br />
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Charles Bukowski wrote, "When I drive the freeways, I see the soul of humanity of my city and it's ugly, ugly, ugly." The unwritten rule of freeway driving is to drive aggressively. Traditional defensive driving is not enough. To signal before a lane change is to guarantee the car behind you will not let you in. The trick is to quickly change lanes then hit your turn signal as if to say, "That's right man, I just cut you off."<br />
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Observing the speed limit is an unforgivable sin. Posted speed limits are simply suggestions and most people drive 10-15 mph over the limit when traffic is flowing. Tailgating is like a religion on LA freeways. It's not uncommon to see drivers riding each other's bumpers at 75 mph knowing that a sudden stop would be fatal. Driving LA freeways is like swimming in the ocean. Everybody does it despite the riptides and sharks and large waves that occasionally claim lives.<br />
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Locals refer to the freeways by their route numbers as in "take the 405 to the 101." Each freeway has a distinct character and flavor. The 405 is the busiest freeway in the world known for its unrelenting traffic jams. This was the route OJ took during his infamous white Bronco chase and the freeway subject to the <i>Carmageddon</i> closure in 2011. Driving the 101 is like taking a trek through old Los Angeles. You pass the Hollywood Bowl, the Capital Records building, the iconic Western Exterminator offices and city hall. The 5 links Los Angeles to Orange County and is know for its battered roads, narrow lanes and monster traffic jams.<br />
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In total, the LA freeway system spans 528 miles. They are the defining architecture of Los Angeles and as Joan Didion wrote in her novel <i>Play It As It Lays</i>, the freeway is "the only secular communion Los Angeles has."<br />
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The history of freeways in the United States is tied to Los Angeles. In 1901, the Pacific Electric Railroad created a public transit system known as "the Red Car." With its bright red streetcars, the Red Car line was the primary means of transport for people getting around Los Angeles. It covered 25% more track mileage than New York City's subway line today.<br />
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As automobiles became cheap and plentiful, the Red Car began to lose ridership. Vehicle congestion on local streets became a problem and urban planners spoke about "magic motorways" soaring above and through Los Angeles. Fearing a loss of control over local commerce, the Southern Pacific Railroad (who owned the Pacific Electric Railroad), lobbied hard against freeway construction.<br />
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It took the Automobile Club of Southern California releasing the <i>1937 Traffic Survey</i> to sway political opinion. The <i>Survey</i> recommended extensive motorways with cloverleaf interchanges, on-ramps, off-ramps and elevated highways. Only cars would be allowed though initial plans called for light rail tracks in center lanes. The roads would be called freeways ("free of charge") to distinguish them from "toll ways" that cost money.<br />
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The first Los Angeles freeway, the <i>Arroyo Seco Parkway</i>, opened in 1940. The six-lane, eight-mile long road linked Pasadena and downtown Los Angeles. The route reduced travel time between the two cities from 27 minutes to 12 minutes. The original speed limit was 45 mph and the road was designed to carry 27,000 cars per day. Today, it carries more than 125,000 cars daily.<br />
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LA's second freeway, the Hollywood Freeway (the 101) also opened in 1940. Connecting the San Fernando Valley to Hollywood and downtown, the 101 made it easier for people to live in the suburbs and work in the city. Construction required the acquisition and demolition of thousands of homes and buildings via eminent domain. Among the structures destroyed were Rudolph Valentino's house in Whitley Heights and Los Angeles High School near downtown. Rubble and debris were dumped in Chavez Ravine, the future home of Dodger Stadium.<br />
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After World War II, pro-freeway sentiment prevailed. In 1947, California passed the Collier-Burns Highway Act that included a 1.5 cent statewide fuel tax for freeway construction. By 1950, the Red Car line was formally disbanded.<br />
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In 1953, a four-level interchange was completed where the 101 connects to the 110 (Harbor Freeway). This was the first stack freeway in the world. Los Angeles became the model for freeway development and "the stack" became a symbol of local pride.<br />
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In 1956, President Eisenhower signed the Federal Aid Highway Act. The law authorized $25 billion for construction of a nationwide interstate highway system. LA freeway construction took off and soon the city had the 405 (1960), the 134 (1960) and the 605 (1964). Plans also called for a Beverly Hills Freeway linking the 10 to the 101 via La Cienega and Laurel Canyon. Wealthy locals protested and killed the idea. In contrast, freeway construction through Latino neighborhoods in Boyle Heights, East LA and Lincoln Heights displaced more than a quarter-million people.<br />
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The 1973 oil crisis raised fuel prices and increased interest in mass transit. Popular opinion turned against new freeway construction. Proposition 13 enacted in 1978 further reduced available freeway funds. The last new freeway to be built in Los Angeles was the 105 (Century Freeway) opening in 1993.<br />
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In 1997, the <i>Los Angeles Times</i> reported about bizarre items found on local freeways. These included $7,000 in quarters on the 101 in 1982; thousands of pounds of M&M's on the 57 (Orange Freeway) in 1986; 14,000 pounds of salsa on the 5 in 1987; and a body from the back of a coroner's van on the 101 in 1989.<br />
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In 1969, chickens began appearing on the side of the Hollywood Freeway near Universal Studios. Apparently, a poultry truck overturned and freed thousands of birds. Passing motorists killed many of the hens but a colony survived and made homes in the roadside shrubbery. In the late 70's, the Department of Animal Regulation corralled more than 100 chickens and shipped them to a Simi Valley ranch. A few chickens eluded capture. The so-called "Hollywood freeway chickens" can still be seen on the 101 today. (7" x 9", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-23018044359471619662015-10-27T07:29:00.001-07:002016-03-20T11:15:11.525-07:00Twain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ernest Hemingway wrote, "All modern literature comes from one book by Mark Twain called Huckleberry Finn." Yet less than a year after it was published in 1884, <i>The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn</i> was banned by several American libraries for obscene language and moral degeneracy. In Concord, Massachussetts, the librarian said the book "is not suitable for trash." Twain responded, "This will sell us sell us another twenty-five thousand copies for sure!"<br />
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To many Twain scholars, <i>Huck Finn</i> exposed the hypocrisy of slavery in a democratic republic while humanizing the slave Jim. Twain's critics claim <i>Huck Finn</i> depicts Jim as a minstrel stereotype prone to superstitious and ignorant beliefs. In 1957, the NAACP accused <i>Huck Finn</i> of containing "racial slurs" and "belittling racial designations." In 2009, a Washington state high school teacher called for the removal of <i>Huck Finn</i> from the school's curriculum.<br />
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Twain himself was nonplussed by public reception. He said, "I wrote <i>Huck Finn</i> for adults exclusively and it always distressed me when I find that boys and girls have been allowed access to them. The mind that becomes soiled in youth can never again be washed clean. I know this by my own experience and to this day I cherish an unappeased bitterness against the unfaithful guardians of my young life who not only permitted but compelled me to read an unexpurgated Bible through before I was 15 years old. None can do that and ever draw a clean sweet breath again on this side of the grave."<br />
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Twain claimed the character Huck was inspired by his childhood friend Tom Blankenship whose father was a drunk and the model for Pap Finn. But in many ways Huck was inspired by Twain himself. Like Huck, Twain grew up in the pre-Civil War South. Twain's home state of Missouri was a slave state and Twain's uncle owned 20 slaves. In his autobiography, Twain wrote, "I vividly remember seeing a dozen black men and women chained to one another…awaiting shipment to the Southern slave market. Those were the saddest faces I have ever seen."<br />
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As he matured, Twain's attitudes toward slavery evolved. Twain married into an abolitionist family and his father-in-law, Jervis Langdon, was a conductor on the Underground Railroad who at one point housed Frederick Douglass. Commenting on the Emancipation Proclamation, Twain wrote, "Lincoln's Proclamation…not only set the black slaves free, but set the white man free also."<br />
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Amazingly, <i>Huck Finn</i> almost never came to be. Twain started the book in 1876 and wrote 400 pages that he liked "only tolerably well, as far as I have got, and may possibly pigeonhole or burn" the manuscript. Twain stopped the story about the time Huck and Jim exited the river. He went on to write <i>The Prince and the Pauper</i> and <i>Life on the Mississippi</i>. Seven years later, after taking a steamboat ride down the Mississippi, Twain was inspired to complete the novel.<br />
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Many have complained about the final portion of <i>Huck Finn</i>. Through their journey down the river, Huck experiences Jim's humanity and a true friendship develops. But when the character Tom Sawyer enters the novel, Huck becomes passive and does nothing when Jim is captured. All turns out well since Jim was already freed by his owner and Huck's pap is dead. But the happy ending seems tacked on and is inconsistent with the complexity of the novel. Hemingway wrote of <i>Huck Finn</i>, "If you read it, you must stop where…Jim is stolen from the boys. This is the real end. The rest is just cheating." (6" x 7", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-8206553378624553962015-10-23T16:08:00.002-07:002015-10-23T20:01:32.953-07:00Raindrops in a Puddle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've always been fascinated by water. As a young boy, I'd stare out the window on rainy days mesmerized by the murky outlines of trees, houses and passing cars. I'd run outside and gaze into the sky as raindrops fell on my face and spilled down my chin.<br />
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I love sitting by a rushing river and contemplating the passing currents. Ocean waves crashing atop rocks fill me with infinite joy. Even a stagnant puddle in a post-rain parking lot brings happiness to my soul.<br />
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We are born in water. We are made of water. When we die, we rejoin the great ocean from where we all came. (4" x 6", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-59874898857746120792015-07-01T21:42:00.000-07:002016-08-08T20:06:09.222-07:00Alfalfa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In 1921, producer Hal Roach created the <i>Our Gang</i> series of short films. Later renamed <i>The Little Rascals</i>, Roach sought to depict "real kids doing real things." The ensemble of memorable characters included Spanky, Darla, Buckwheat, Froggy, Stymie and Pete the dog. By far the most popular rascal was Alfalfa.<br />
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Carl "Alfalfa" Switzer was born in Paris, Illinois in 1927. He grew up during the Depression and his parents were unemployed and broke. In 1935, the family took a trip to Los Angeles. They drove to Hal Roach Studios in Culver City and visited the Our Gang Cafe just outside the studio gates. Carl and his brother Harold began singing and dancing in the cafe and in classic Hollywood fashion, they were immediately signed by the studio.<br />
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Carl was cast as Alfalfa and appeared in his first <i>Our Gang</i> film "Beginner's Luck" in 1936. (Harold became an extra.) With his ill-fitting suit, freckles and high cowlick, Alfalfa quickly became a star. According to co-star Darla Hood, "Alfalfa was once mobbed by fans outside the studio while Clark Gable stood by unnoticed."<br />
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Alfalfa's shtick included an off-key singing voice and ongoing efforts to woo love interest Darla while fending off the local bully Butch. On camera, Alfalfa was charming and likable. But off screen, Carl Switzer was an obnoxious bully hated by cast and crew.<br />
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Switzer developed a reputation as a mean prankster. He loved to put lit firecrackers into crew member's pockets and tacks on people's chairs. On one occasion he hid fishhooks in Spanky's back pocket. When Spanky sat down, he cut himself so badly he had to get stitches. Another time he put an open switchblade in his pocket and convinced Darla to put her hand in his pocket telling her he had a Crackerjack ring for her. She nearly lost her fingers.<br />
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George "Spanky" McFarland spoke about Switzer's most memorable prank. "We were filming and they were taking a long time to set up so Alfie decided to pee on the thousand watt bulbs. The lights exploded and filled the studio with a tremendous stench. Everyone had to be taken off set as the crew cleaned up the mess Alfalfa created."<br />
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Another time Switzer spread a large wad of chewing gum around the gears inside the camera. According to Tommy Bond who played "Butch," the cameraman became furious and yelled at Switzer, "When you turn 21 I'm gonna find you and beat the shit out of you."<br />
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The child actors were required to attend three hours a day of on-set school. Switzer was typically late and refused to do his lessons. He was often kept after class causing expensive delays in production. Years later at an <i>Our Gang</i> reunion, Switzer encountered his old on-set teacher Mrs. Carter. According to Darla, Switzer screamed and cursed at the woman and accused her of ruining his life.<br />
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In 1938, MGM purchased the <i>Our Gang</i> comedy rights. Without Roach's guidance, the shorts lost their popularity. Alfalfa appeared in his last <i>Our Gang</i> film in 1940 when he was 12. With more than 60 films behind him, Switzer's career as a <i>Little Rascal</i> was over.<br />
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Like many child performers, Switzer yearned to make the transition to adult actor. He appeared in Frank Capra's classic <i>It's A Wonderful Life</i> playing Donna Reed's date in the famous dance floor turned swimming pool scene. He also had supporting roles in the Bing Crosby film <i>Going My Way </i>and the John Wayne film <i>Island In The Sky</i>. In 1946, Switzer reprised his Alfalfa character as a teenager in <i>Gas House Kids</i> but the film was a flop. He played a slave in Cecil B. Demille's<i> The Ten Commandments</i> and made his final on screen performance in Stanley Kramer's 1958 film noir <i>The Defiant Ones</i>.<br />
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In 1954, Switzer married the heiress of a grain elevator empire. He and his wife moved to her family's farm in Kansas and had one son before divorcing in 1957. Switzer moved back to Los Angeles and took a series of odd jobs including bartender, shoeshine boy and hunting guide. Struggling for money, he began drinking heavily. In 1958 he was shot in the arm outside a bar in Studio City. His injuries were minor and the assailant was never caught. No reason was given for the shooting. A year later, Switzer was arrested for cutting down 15 pine trees in the Sequoia National Forest that he intended to sell as Christmas trees. He was sentenced to a year probation and fined $225.<br />
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In early 1959, Switzer agreed to train a hunting dog for his friend Bud Stiltz. The dog ran away and Switzer posted a reward for $35. Someone returned the dog and Switzer bought the man a few drinks and paid him the reward. All told, Switzer was out fifty dollars.<br />
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Switzer spent several days drinking and began to believe the dog's owner owed him the money. He went to Stiltz's house in North Hollywood and demanded to be repaid. Stiltz refused. According to Stiltz, Switzer pulled out a knife and lunged at Stiltz. Stiltz retrieved a gun and after a short struggle, he shot Switzer in the stomach. By the time the ambulance arrived, Switzer had bled to death.<br />
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At the subsequent trial, Stiltz was determined to have acted in self-defense and was cleared of all charges. Cecil B. DeMille died the same day so Switzer's death received little television or newspaper coverage. Switzer was buried at Hollywood Forever Cemetery near Paramount Studios. In a strange addendum, Bud Stiltz received a Christmas card every year signed "Alfie" until his death in 1984. He never discovered who sent the cards. (5" x 6", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-80860280954493168942015-03-05T09:12:00.002-08:002018-01-31T20:51:26.038-08:00Ali vs. Liston<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Before he became Muhammad Ali, Cassius Clay was an ambitious young boxer from Louisville, Kentucky. He won a gold medal at the 1960 Summer Olympics in Rome then quickly turned pro, winning his first 19 fights. The heavyweight champion of the day was Sonny Liston, a tough ex-con with a menacing reputation. In 1963, Liston agreed to a title defense against Clay.<br />
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Liston had a massive chest, huge shoulders and a thick neck. He overwhelmed opponents with a fierce left jab and a devastating hook. In 36 bouts he had 25 knockouts. He was known to knock out sparring partners and rip open sand-filled heavy bags with his punches. In his only defeat, Liston made it to the end of the fight despite suffering a broken jaw.<br />
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As a teenager, Liston was arrested for a series of assaults and armed robberies. He served time in the Missouri State Penitentiary where he learned to box. Upon his release in 1952, he turned pro. He supplemented his fight income by working as an enforcer for the Philadelphia mob. In 1956, Liston assaulted a police officer earning him another six months in jail.<br />
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Liston earned the heavyweight title by twice defeating former champion Floyd Patterson. Despite his success, the public perceived him as a monster. African-Americans shunned him, feeling Liston's reputation hurt the civil rights movement.<br />
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Few believed Clay had a chance against Liston. In a pre-fight poll, 43 of 46 sportswriters picked Liston to win by knockout while bookmakers made Liston a 7-1 favorite. Liston was a traditional fighter with an impressive 84-inch reach. Clay broke the basic rules of boxing fundamentals keeping his hands too low and leaning away from punches instead of slipping them. He avoided punching the body and his hook and uppercut were considered average. Clay also had a "soft chin" having been knocked down in two recent fights.<br />
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Prior to training, Clay consulted Eddie Machen, a former opponent of Liston. Machen told Clay the key to victory was to make Liston lose his temper. Clay launched a public relations campaign intended to humiliate Liston. He interrupted Liston's workouts and hurled insults at him. He showed up at Liston's Denver home at 2:00 am (with the media present) and taunted the champion from the street below. He called Liston "a big ugly bear" and told interviewers, "If you want to lose your money, then bet on Sonny."<br />
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On February 25, 1964 at the official weigh-in the morning of the fight, Clay wore a denim jacket with the words "bear huntin'" on the back. He entered the room shouting, "float like a butterfly, sting like a bee" screaming and lunging at Liston like a lunatic. Sportswriters thought Clay had lost his mind. But Clay's trainer Angelo Dundee knew it was all an act. "Tough guys are afraid of guys that are a little goofy, guys that fly over the cuckoo's nest," Dundee said. "Tough guys don't know where to go with that and Liston was a tough guy."<br />
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By taking the initiative at the weigh-in, Clay neutralized Liston's aura of intimidation. He took the fight to the bully.<br />
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At the opening bell, Liston sprung forth like a bull, in attack mode. Clay danced, easily avoiding Liston's wild punches. Halfway through Round 1, Liston landed a heavy right to Clay's body. Clay used his elbows to block further punches and his foot speed to avoid Liston's hooks. With 45 seconds left in the round, Clay hit Liston with a flurry of combinations and hooks to the face. Clay was proving he had the power and speed to frustrate Liston.<br />
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In Round 2, Liston landed a left hook, hurting Clay. Clay responded with a series of jabs keeping Liston at bay. In Round 3, Clay took control. He hit Liston with a combination opening a cut under Liston's left eye. At one point Liston's knees buckled and he nearly fell. Liston became enraged and unleashed hammer blows to Clay's body and jaw. Clay held on to Liston's shoulders and made it to the end of the round.<br />
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In Round 4, Clay danced around the ring, keeping his distance. He continued his sharp jabs, reopening the cut under Liston's eye. When the round ended, Clay was blinking his eyes furiously. He told Dundee that was something was burning in his eyes and he couldn't see.<br />
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"I didn't know what was going on," Dundee later said. Dundee put his pinkie in Clay's eye then into his own eye. "It burned like hell," Dundee said. "There was something caustic."<br />
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Clay was convinced that Liston had an illegal chemical on his gloves. He yelled at Dundee to stop the fight. "Cut the gloves off. I want to prove to the world there's dirty work afoot," Clay screamed. Dundee poured water in Clay's eyes then told him, "Back up, baby. This is for the title. This is the big apple." As the bell rang to start Round 5, Dundee gave Clay a one-word instruction. "Run!"<br />
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Clay later said he only saw a faint shadow of Liston for most of Round 5. He bobbed and weaved and did his best to avoid Liston's punches. At one point, Liston landed 16 consecutive blows to Clay's body. Clay held out his left arm to keep Liston away while using his right glove to clear his eyes. Finally, Clay's vision returned. He began punching back and as the round ended Liston's chance at victory had passed.<br />
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Some have theorized that Liston intentionally had his corner man put an astringent on his gloves that Liston then rubbed in Clay's face. Dundee believed that Liston's trainer used Monsel's solution on the cut beneath Liston's eye. The ferric sulfate combined with Clay's sweat then dripped into Clay's eye.<br />
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As Round 6 began, Clay was clear-eyed and furious. He nailed Liston with a right to the jaw followed by a flurry of combinations. Liston tried fighting back but his punches had lost their power. Clay regained control.<br />
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Between Round 6 and 7, Liston suddenly told his corner man, "That's it." He claimed he'd injured his shoulder and could no longer lift his arm. As the bell rang, Liston did not come out. Clay lifted his arms and celebrated. He'd beaten the invincible Sonny Liston and was now heavyweight champion. He screamed at the reporters seated at ringside, "You were wrong and you were wrong. I'm the Greatest. I shook up the world!"<br />
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A team of doctors examined Liston after the fight and verified he'd suffered a torn tendon in his left shoulder. Though Liston had been promised $1.2 million for the fight he received only $13,000. The remainder was deducted by Liston's organized crime associates as a so-called "mob tax." Liston did not complain for fear of being killed.<br />
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The day after the fight, Clay announced he was a member of the Nation of Islam. A few weeks later, Nation leader Elijah Muhammad gave Clay a new name: Muhamad Ali. Muhammad meant "worthy of all praises" while Ali meant "most high."<br />
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The fighters agreed to a rematch in late 1964. Liston trained hard, desperate to avenge the defeat. Three days before the fight, Ali needed emergency surgery for a hernia. The fight was delayed for six months. Liston became depressed and starting drinking and smoking heavily. His training suffered and as the fight neared he was flabby and out of shape.<br />
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The rematch was controversial. Halfway through Round 1, Ali threw a quick right to Liston's chin and Liston fell to the canvas. Liston attempted to get up but was unable. Many in the crowd did not see the punch (it became known as "the phantom punch"). Fans began booing and yelling out "fix." Ali stood over Liston yelling, "Get up and fight, sucker." Chaos ensued as the referee and official timekeeper could not agree if Liston had remained down for a ten-count. Referee Jersey Joe Walcott stopped the bout and awarded Ali a first-round knockout.<br />
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Many couldn't believe the punch could have knocked out a man like Liston. Announcer Don Dunphy said, "Here was a guy who was in prison and the guards beat him over the head with clubs and couldn't knock him down." Others like Tex Maule of <i>Sports Illustrated</i> called the punch legitimate writing "the blow had so much force it lifted Liston's foot…well off the canvas."<br />
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Three months before the fight Malcolm X was murdered. Ali and Malcolm had been close friends and rumors persisted that Nation of Islam assassins were planning on shooting Ali during the fight. Liston feared they might miss and kill him instead.<br />
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Liston publicly denied taking a dive. But years later he told sportswriter Mark Kram, "That guy [Ali] was crazy. I didn't want anything to do with him. And the Muslims were coming. Who needed that? I went down. I wasn't hit."<br />
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After the rematch, the lives of the two fighters diverged. While Ali became a boxing legend, Liston slowly faded into obscurity. Liston continued fighting but he was forever linked to mob ties and boxing corruption.<br />
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On January 5, 1971, Liston was found dead by his wife in his Las Vegas home. Heroin was found in the kitchen but no syringes or needles were discovered. After an investigation, Las Vegas police declared Liston's death a heroin overdose. Knowing Liston was terrified of needles, some of his friends believed he'd been murdered by mobsters for failing to take a dive in his recent fight against Chuck Wepner. Liston was buried in a Las Vegas cemetery. His tombstone bears the epitaph: "A Man." (7" x 9", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-2605558927621296742015-01-04T12:31:00.000-08:002015-01-07T18:43:51.976-08:00The New York Cabbie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In 1979, after finishing college in New Jersey, Peter Honig moved to New York City. Not knowing what to do for money, he saw an ad in the New York Times looking for a taxi driver. With no experience and little knowledge of local streets, he contacted the Ann Service Corporation, one of the largest taxi companies in the city. The company did a background check on Honig and agreed to help him obtain a Hack License.<br />
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A Hack License allows a driver to operate a Yellow Medallion Taxi in the five boroughs of New York. A Medallion identifies a cab as part of the Taxi & Limousine Commission, the governing body of New York taxis. In those days, a Medallion cost $62,000. Today, the cost is over $800,000.<br />
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Honig passed the TLC written test, paid $30 and received his Hack License. He joined the ranks of 30,000 fellow cab drivers in the city. Most were American born men aged 40-50. There were a few Caribbean drivers and a large number of immigrant Russians who'd been doctors and lawyers in the old country. Honig, who played in a punk rock band, was among the small percentage of young musicians who drove cabs.<br />
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Drivers worked a 12-hour shift starting at 6am or 6pm. On Honig's first day, he arrived in the morning to find a long line outside the Chelsea taxi station. He waited two hours only to be told there were no remaining cabs. The next day, he arrived a half-hour early but again failed to secure a cab. On his third day, a fellow driver told him to "grease" the dispatcher a five-dollar bill. This worked and Honig had his first cab.<br />
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Drivers were given two options regarding the lease payment. They could work for 40% of the meter total and the cab company paid for the gas. Or they could pay $62 per day ($82 for a night shift) and pay for their own gas. Most rookies opted for the 40% option and the day shift since it was less intimidating.<br />
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"No one tells you what to do," Honig says. "You're given a cab and you just start driving." In his first year, Honig stuck to picking up businessmen. Though they tipped poorly, they were safe and reliable. They also gave the driver specific directions helping Honig quickly learn the Manhattan streets. Honig averaged between $50-$75 a shift his first year. (Today, New York taxi drivers average about $150 a day.) Though the work was relatively easy, Honig found it depressing and stressful. He couldn't believe he'd spent four years in college to become a cab driver.<br />
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Honig settled into a routine. He picked up his cab at 6:00 am and headed uptown looking for fares. On a good day, he'd find a businessman on the Upper West Side needing a ride to Wall Street. From there, he'd take a fare to midtown then another passenger downtown. A typical 12-hour shift yielded 40-50 fares and covered 200-250 miles.<br />
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Some passengers only traveled a few blocks. To Honig, these short rides were great. Since the meter started at $1.25 and ticked ten cents every 1/8 mile, the total added up quickly. A common misnomer is that cab drivers choose busy streets to jack up the meter. This is not true. Traffic is an enemy to taxi drivers and passengers alike. Time spent in traffic means less fares per day. Smooth sailing streets equate to more money and better tips.<br />
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Honig drove a Checker Cab. The Checker line was the most famous cab in America. The hulking sedans fit six people in the back and had a bulletproof partition between driver and passenger. Most of the cars were beat to hell and had no air conditioning, unreliable radios and inadequate shock absorbers. "I remember one car was so trashed, there was a hole in the floorboard," Honig recounts. "Every time I hit the brakes I saw the street flying by."<br />
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On slow days, Honig and his fellow Checker cabbies often played demolition derby. "If we saw a driver taking a quick nap, we'd ram the back of his cab to give him a courtesy wake up call. We'd also make sure to knock off any passenger-side mirrors since the missing mirror was considered a badge of honor."<br />
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After a year, Honig opted for night shifts realizing he could make more money and encounter less traffic. "It was scary at first. There were certain areas you avoided like Harlem, parts of Brooklyn and the Lower East Side. But nights were easier and more exciting."<br />
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Honig perused high-end restaurants, nightclubs and bars. He found a niche among Japanese businessmen frequenting mahjong gambling parlors in Midtown. Many of the businessmen lived in Westchester County, a coup since once you left the city you could charge double what the meter read.<br />
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"One time I was driving two Japanese guys on the Hudson River Parkway when I fell asleep behind the wheel. I was woken by the sound of a loud megaphone screaming, "WAKE UP!" A police car had pulled beside me and noticed I was sleeping while driving 70mph down the highway. They must have had somewhere really important to go because they didn't pull me over. I didn't get much of a tip that night."<br />
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Intoxicated passengers were a mixed bag. Sometimes they gave larger tips, sometimes they puked and soiled themselves. "Friday and Saturday nights were crazy. I had couples that had backseat sex, prostitutes who gave blow jobs to customers and junkies who shot up while I was driving. One time I picked up Billy Idol and his posse and we all smoked weed together."<br />
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"The first time I was robbed was halfway through my second year of driving. It was about 5:00 am and I'd had a great shift. I was at a red light at 44th and 8th Avenue near Times Square. I had a wad of cash between my legs and I was counting the night's take. My window was open and there was a transvestite prostitute standing nearby. She asked, 'Hey you. Can you tell me what time it is.' As she talked, she walked toward the cab."<br />
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"I looked at my watch and she reached into the cab, grabbed all my cash and started running. I got out and ran after her but she had too big a head start. I got back in the cab and drove after her. Unfortunately, I didn't close my door all the way. I chased her up 44th Street and hit the gas to make it through a red light. As I took a tight turn, the door opened and the momentum propelled me out of the cab tumbling into the street. I watched as my cab smashed into the wall of a XXX Theater. The transvestite disappeared into a nearby alley. I limped back to my cab. The bumper was trashed but the engine was still running so I was able to drive to the station. I had to pay back the $250 out of my own pocket."<br />
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Honig was robbed several more times in the next few years. One night, he made the mistake of driving a guy to score drugs on the Lower East Side. As he waited for the passenger to return, two Puerto Ricans approached him. They stuck a knife in his face and made him get out of the cab. "Take it easy," one of the men said. "We just want your money. Don't fuck around and you won't get stabbed."<br />
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Honig hid his money in a hole in the sun visor. He told the men he had no cash since he was just starting his shift. They didn't believe him. They searched the car, looking in the glove box, underneath the seats, beneath the floor mats. At the last moment, one of the guys slammed the visor and a wad of cash spilled out.<br />
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The guy with the knife yelled, "You motherfucker" and stabbed Honig in the stomach. Fortunately the wound was not deep. Honig returned his cab to the station then had a friend drop him at the emergency hospital. He received several stitches and still has a scar to this day.<br />
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Honig's worst cabbie experience came in 1981. It was early morning and he was coasting down 7th Avenue when he heard a loud thud on the right side of his car. He stopped the cab and got out. He saw a pile of garbage in the street and figured he'd hit a trashcan. As he approached the garbage, he realized it had eyes. He'd hit a bag lady. The woman appeared to be in her seventies. She was completely motionless and silent.<br />
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Honig found a pay phone and called the police. By the time they arrived, the woman was dead. A witness came forth and told police the woman had tried to jump in front of a trash truck and another taxi earlier the same night. The cops told Honig the woman likely committed suicide and he was not to blame. Regardless, Honig was despondent. He took several weeks off before he was ready to drive again.<br />
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By 1983, Honig tired of the grind of the continual 12-hour night shifts. "The things that once seemed exciting--the grime, the edge, the seediness--had become depressing. I'd become a vampire and developed some very unhealthy habits. Plus, the city started harassing drivers, making sure we kept proper trip sheets and had up to date paperwork. It took the fun out of the job. Once the fun was gone, being a cabbie was kind of a drag." (5" x 6", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-84801877208444522832014-11-06T09:24:00.001-08:002014-11-06T19:28:58.639-08:00The Coffee Evangelist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I first experienced Philz Coffee in 2007. My wife and I were visiting San Francisco when we saw a sign that read: <b>BEST HANDMADE COFFEE IN THE CITY</b>. "What the hell is handmade coffee," I asked. "We have to check this out."<br />
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We entered a medium-sized coffee house with comfy sofas, old wooden chairs and vintage photographs of trolleys on the wall. Every seat was filled with hipster types immersed in their laptops and iPads. A large chalkboard over the front counter boasted names of coffee blends like "Silken Splendor," "Jacob's Wonderbar" and "Anesthesia to the Upside." <br />
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After fifteen minutes in line, we were summoned by a smiling barista. I ordered something called "Tantalizing Turkish" while my wife opted for "Philharmonic." We watched as the barista ground a fresh batch of beans, put them in a coffee cone, poured hot water over the cone, poured the brew into a second cone, then added some kind of powdered spice and a sprig of mint. The process took about five minutes. The barista slid the cup forward and said, "Try that and make sure it's perfect."<br />
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I took a sip. I was greeted by a taste I've never encountered before. The coffee was smooth and aromatic and imbued with the middle-eastern flavor of cardamom and mint. The taste was like chai tea but it had the unmistakable bite of coffee and chocolate. "Holy crap," I said to my wife. "This is the best coffee I've ever had." My wife sipped her coffee. She immediately started laughing. "This is goooood."<br />
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The founder of Philz Coffee is Phil Jaber. Born in Palestine prior to the 1967 exodus, Jaber fell in love with coffee as a child when he secretly sipped the dark brew at family parties. As an 8-year old, he set up a coffee stand outside the family's front yard and sold to passersby. His family moved to Northern California when he was twelve. Jaber's father bought a grocery store in San Francisco and put his son to work. After high school, Jaber and his older brother bought their own grocery store in the San Francisco Mission District. <br />
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Jaber did well selling cigarettes and beer, but his first love remained coffee. He saw the business potential of coffee and began conducting his own market research. "I used to go to coffee shops and park my car and watch people go in. I used to time them. For example, the guy with a brown suit walked in at 10:15 am and 10:30 he's out with a cup of coffee. I said to myself, 'That's not what I'm looking for.' I want people to go in and sit, for community, like going to your grandma's house, full of love."<br />
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Around 1990, Jaber began experimenting with his own coffee blends searching for the perfect combination of beans. He started selling coffee from his grocery store and attracted a loyal clientele. In 2002, Jaber sold his liquor license and converted the store into the first Philz Coffee. Located at the corner of Folsom and 24th Street, Philz Coffee quickly attained a cult status. "It took off like a rocket," Jaber says. "There was no hiccup."<br />
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Unlike Starbucks, Philz brews coffee one cup at a time. They use a hand-pour method that requires 3 1/2 times more grounds per cup than standard machine-brewed coffee. Coffee is brewed at somewhere between 190-200 degrees (just below boiling) and the resulting drink is less bitter and more mellow than standard coffee. Philz does not sell espresso drinks like lattes or cappuccinos and they have no sugar or cream bar. The baristas add all the extras for you.<br />
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Jaber always believed coffee created community. He likes it when customers stay for hours at a time. His goal is to create a home away from home, a place where people can socialize and laugh and feel relaxed. "Coffee is making friends. Coffee is social. Coffee teaches you to be patient. You can't drink it all at once. Coffee is to settle, to calm down."<br />
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"We use holy water," Jaber says. "My clientele are like flowers. I steal them from other coffee shops. My coffee is so subtle, so clean, that it makes you calm. It makes you sociable. It stimulates you from the back of the brain forward. It's medicine."<br />
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Philz Coffee has benefited from the "Slow Coffee" Movement that has swept its way across Northern California. Peter Giuliano of the Specialty Coffee Association of America theorizes that the movement is a return to a pre-20th Century ethos when coffee was a luxury to be consumed with others. "Coffee has a long history of not being something that is cheap fuel for you on your way to work," Giuliano says. "It has a history of being something that has conversation involved with it. When you slow down and appreciate coffee, it has a ritual aspect to it, not only around consumption but in its preparation."<br />
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During the early 20th Century, coffee became a cheap drink for the masses as a way to increase worker productivity. The opening of the Panama Canal in 1914 allowed access to Columbia's previously unreachable Pacific Coast. Americans fell in love with South American coffee and the abundant supply made the drink cheap and easily accessible. By 1919, American coffee consumption tripled.<br />
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The era of Folger's gave way to the age of Starbucks. Today, artisanal roasters like Four Barrel, Blue Bottle and Sightglass have sprouted across San Francisco. With prices at four to five dollars a cup, coffee has become an expensive luxury. But people keep lining up.<br />
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These days, Phil Jaber's son Jacob runs the company. They now have 15 locations in Northern California. They have become the darling of the tech community and they have coffee bars at both Facebook and Google Headquarters. They're also the coffee of choice for the offices of Twitter and Linked In and their coffee is offered on Virgin American flights.<br />
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Jaber credits his success to trust, faith and a unique way of doing business. "You must love what you do. You must have faith in what you do. Be generous. Treat people like you want to be treated...with love, respect and hospitality. We are all from under the canopy of heaven."<br />
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"I cry sometimes thinking about what happened to us," Phil Jaber says. "Thank you, God. That's all I can say." (6" x 7", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-72299927113136967582014-09-24T09:26:00.001-07:002014-11-09T13:13:18.615-08:00Phil Jackson<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The year was 1982 and Phil Jackson was out of work. He'd retired from the NBA after a 12-year basketball career and he had no post-athletic job prospects. He took a junior college aptitude test and was told he was best suited for a career as a teacher or a minister. He and his wife June opened a sports fitness club in Flathead Lake, Montana. Jackson pondered enrolling in law school or obtaining a degree in psychology.<br />
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Out of the blue, a call came from the owner of the Albany Patroons, a minor league team from the Continental Basketball Association. Would Phil like to coach the team? Jackson agreed. From these humble origins a legendary coaching career began.<br />
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Phil Jackson was born in 1945 in Deer Lodge, Montana. His parents were both Pentecostal ministers. Growing up, Jackson assumed he would be a minister as well. His mom's daily message was "Listen to no one but Christ." They preached that Armageddon was at hand and they encouraged the practice of speaking in tongues. Jackson earnestly attempted to speak in tongues but nothing came. A preacher friend of the family suggested that Jackson undergo a childhood exorcism. Jackson's father refused.<br />
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Jackson's home environment was austere. Dancing and television were prohibited and the only reading allowed was the Bible, the Encyclopedia and <i>Reader's Digest</i>. He did not see his first movie until high school. Jackson had a curious mind and a craving for knowledge. He excelled in sports, starring on his high school basketball team. With his gangly arms and sharp elbows, he developed a reputation as a ferocious rebounder and a scrappy defensive player.<br />
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Jackson attended the University of North Dakota where he played basketball for future NBA coach Bill Fitch. His college teams did well, coming in third and fourth place in the 1965 and 1966 NCAA Division II Tournaments. Both years his team lost to Southern Illinois and their star Walt Frazier (Jackson's future teammate on the New York Knicks).<br />
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During college, Jackson studied philosophy, psychology and religion. He read the writings of Ouspensky, Gurdjieff and the Sufi mystic Vilayat Inayat Khan. He began exploring faiths beyond his own, reading William James' <i>The Varieties of Religious Experience</i>. His first exposure to meditation came in a college class on eastern religion. He also started drinking beer and dating girls, something he'd not done in high school.<br />
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After college, Jackson married his girlfriend Maxine and they had a daughter, Elizabeth. He considered joining the ministry but was drafted in the second round by the New York Knicks. He felt pro basketball was something he could play for awhile before going on with his "normal life." He was a limited offensive player but his intelligence and hustle earned the respect of Knick coach Red Holzman. Holzman said of Jackson, "He may play lousy at times but he won't ever play scared."<br />
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Living in a big city was foreign and Jackson felt out of place on a Knicks team that was packed with stars like Walt Frazier, Willis Reed, Bill Bradley and Dick Barnett. In his first two years, he struggled. He earned a reputation as a dirty player and was often sent into the game to disrupt opposing teams with elbows, knees and physicality.<br />
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In the 1968-69 season, Jackson injured his leg. He began drinking, smoking pot and taking psychedelic drugs to numb the pain. He struggled to move efficiently on the court. Fans booed him. He posted two angry fan letters on his locker. 1) "You're the worst player ever." 2) "Last year I hoped you'd get hurt and sprain your ankle. This year I hope you die."<br />
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Jackson had his first surgery after the 1969 season. A piece of his hipbone was grafted against his lower vertebrae. After the surgery, his body was permanently injured. His marriage was in shambles as well. (He would divorce Maxine in 1972.) He watched from the bench as the 1970 Knicks won the NBA championship.<br />
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Jackson's injuries derailed a more promising playing career. But they began his coaching apprenticeship. Holzman had Jackson break down opponent tendencies and he questioned Jackson about strategy and substitution patterns. The Knicks ran an early version of the triangle offense emphasizing constant movement and a strong-side focus on guards. Every player on the Knicks knew their role. After the Knicks traded Walt Bellamy and Howard Komives to the Detroit Pistons for Dave Debusschere, Jackson learned an important lesson. "The Knicks had to become less talented to become a better team."<br />
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Jackson returned to the court in 1971 and recommitted himself to basketball. He became a spark plug off the bench and his constant hustle made him a fan favorite. He was a key reserve on the Knicks team that won the 1973 Championship. He celebrated in Los Angeles by dropping acid with a young woman and spending the next day "tripping on the beach." He later wrote that the experience gave him a sense of "the awe of God."<br />
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Jackson's favorite book was Robert Pirsig's <i>Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance</i> and his favorite off-season activity was taking cross-country road trips on his prized BMW motorcycle. On a 1971 road trip, Jackson camped in Flathead Lake, Montana. He fell in love with the area, bought land and built a house. The spot would come to serve as his spiritual retreat.<br />
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Though his grandfather had taught him that Native Americans "were shiftless drunks and weren't to be trusted," Jackson empathized with the plight of Native Americans. He cherished the teachings of Lakota Sioux medicine man Black Elk and he gravitated to customs like smoking tobacco in peace pipes and attending sweat lodges to purify his soul. In 1973, Jackson began giving off-season clinics for Native Americans in Montana.<br />
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That same year he met June Perry. The two were married and would spend the next thirty years together. Jackson bought a loft in New York's Chelsea neighborhood from an ex-drug dealer named Hakim who'd recently turned to Islam. Hakim advised Jackson to stop smoking pot. "You can refine things by fire but nothing is refined by smoke. Marijuana only clouds your head."<br />
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Jackson's playing career lasted 13 years. After retiring as a player, he turned to Buddhism and Zen meditation as a way to calm his restlessness and anxiety. Unsure of his next career move, he embraced the Buddhist concept "if you have a clear mind and an open heart, you won't have to search for direction. Direction will come to you." The 1982 phone call from the owner of the Albany Patroons provided this direction.<br />
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In the Continental Basketball Association, Jackson coached in arenas that had no heat, roofs that leaked water onto the court and crowds that numbered in the hundreds. The Patroons played games in the decrepit Albany Armory, a building designed by Isaac Perry who'd also designed the New York State Inebriate Asylum. Public bathrooms were located next to the team's locker room so fans using the bathroom could see players showering.<br />
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The team played in towns like Oshkosh, Casper and Rapid City. Jackson drove the team bus, a crossword puzzle poised atop the steering wheel as he navigated snowstorms and dirt roads. As coach, Jackson developed a player-friendly style emphasizing ball movement, motion and strong defense. His mantra was "keep it simple." He believed in allowing players to make their own decisions on the court. He didn't over coach, abiding by the Taoist message that "the Master does nothing yet he leaves nothing undone."<br />
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His most problematic player was Frankie "Jumpshot" Sanders. Sanders was a prolific scorer with an attitude. He refused to run Jackson's offense and challenged his leadership. Jackson simply sat him on the bench. After several games, Jackson walked to the end of the bench and asked, "Are you ready to play?" Sanders said "yes" then came in and scored like crazy. Years later, Jackson used the same technique with Dennis Rodman on the Chicago Bulls.<br />
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During Patroon practices, Jackson ended each session with a meditation and prayer circle inspired by a passage from the book <i>Black Elk Speaks</i>. "The sacred hoop of my people was one of many hoops that made one circle." The concept of the circle became a theme of Jackson's coaching method. The circle unites the group, is fluid, begins and ends at the same point and is the shape of the basketball and the hoop itself.<br />
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As Patroon coach, Jackson began his practice of giving books to his players to read. Each book was inspired by the player's unique personality. Patroon player Rudy Macklin said, "He made a point of trying to know what was going on inside of us, psychologically." Jackson continued this practice as an NBA coach. He gave Michael Jordan <i>Song of Solomon</i> by Toni Morrison, he gave Shaquille O'Neal <i>Siddartha</i> by Herman Hesse and he gave Kobe Bryant <i>The Art of War</i> by Sun Tzu.<br />
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Though his methods were unorthodox, Jackson quickly achieved coaching success. After a slow start, the Albany Patroons came together and won the 1984 CBA Championship. Jackson went on to coach in the Puerto Rican league where fans tossed fruit, batteries and dead chickens on the court. His inability to speak Spanish taught him to rely on silence and body language.<br />
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Jackson sought a job in the NBA. Invariably he was turned down. His counterculture reputation scared away potential employers. In 1987, he was given a chance. Jerry Krause, general manager of the Chicago Bulls, hired Jackson as an assistant under head coach Doug Collins. Jackson befriended fellow Bulls assistant Tex Winter who taught Jackson his vaunted Triangle Offense. When Collins was fired in 1989, Jackson was promoted to head coach.<br />
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Jackson became the most successful coach in NBA history winning eleven rings. His list of all-star players included Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Kobe Bryant and Shaquille O'Neal. None won a championship until Jackson was their coach. Jackson retired from coaching in 2011 due to health reasons and sought a position as an NBA team executive. Though he was engaged to Jeannie Buss, part-owner of the Lakers, the Lakers let him slip away. This past year, he was hired as President of the New York Knicks. Like the concept of the circle, Jackson had returned to where his NBA career began. The Knicks are hoping his presence will result in their first championship since 1973. (5" x 6", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-53205783115363342422014-08-15T07:55:00.000-07:002016-03-20T11:15:24.918-07:00Virginia Woolf<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Virginia Woolf was born into a life of privilege and high-society connections. Her father, Sir Leslie Stephen, founded the <i>Dictionary of National Biography</i>. Her mother, Julia Stephen, was a model who posed for pre-Raphaelite painters and early photographers. Her great aunt was Julia Margaret Cameron, a noted photographer.<br />
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Woolf's childhood was influenced by Victorian literary society. Visitors to her home included Henry James, William Thackeray and her Godfather, James Russell Lowell. Woolf had two brothers, a sister and multiple step siblings. Her parents taught her at home while her brothers were sent away to be formally educated. Woolf later came to resent this.<br />
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Woolf determined at an early age to become a writer. Her most vivid memories were of summer holidays in St. Ives in Cornwall. These experiences later informed her novel <i>To The Lighthouse</i>.<br />
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In 1891, Woolf's mentally disturbed half-sister Laura was institutionalized. Four years later, when Woolf was 13, her mother died of rheumatic fever. Woolf said the loss was "the greatest disaster that could happen." The family fell into deep mourning and Woolf had the first of many mental breakdowns. Her father's grief was intense and all-consuming forcing Woolf's half-sister Stella to care for the family. Stella died of peritonitis in 1897.<br />
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Woolf took study courses in Greek, Latin and history at the Ladies Department of Kings College in London. This brought her into contact with early reformers of women's higher education known as the "Steamboat Ladies." Her studies were interrupted in 1904 when her father died of stomach cancer. Woolf experienced a second mental breakdown during which she attempted to commit suicide by jumping out a window. She was briefly institutionalized at Burley House, "a nursing home for women with nervous disorder."<br />
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Woolf's sisters sold the family house and bought a house in the hip Bloomsbury neighborhood of London. Woolf came to know the writers and intellectuals who formed the <i>Bloomsbury Group</i>. They included E.M. Forster, John Maynard Keynes, Lytton Strachey and Woolf's future husband Leonard Wolff. The group deeply influenced literature, art and economics and held modern attitudes toward feminism and sexuality. <br />
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Woolf began her writing career in 1905 at the age of 23 by contributing to the <i>Times Literary Supplement</i>. A year later, her favorite brother Thoby died of typhoid fever. Virginia and Leonard Woolf married in 1912. They would remain together until Virginia's death.<br />
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Woolf's first novel <i>The Voyage Out</i> was published in 1915. The story was about an Englishwoman's emotional and sexual awakening as she traveled abroad. The book was an indictment of the political and sexual mores of modern England. Woolf's writing style experimented with a stream of consciousness lyricism focusing on the psychological underpinnings of the characters. She created visual impressions comparable to the writing of James Joyce and Joseph Conrad.<br />
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In 1917, Woolf and husband Leonard purchased a printing press and founded Hogarth Press in the basement their London home. Hogarth became a respectable printing house that published Wolff's novels as well as work by T.S. Eliot and Sigmund Freud. After the end of World War I, the Wolff's moved to Monk's House, a cottage in the English village of Rodmell. Here, Woolf wrote all of her remaining novels including <i>Night And Day</i> (1919), <i>Mrs. Dalloway</i> (1925), <i>Orlando</i> (1928) and <i>The Waves</i> (1931).<br />
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In 1922, Woolf met Vita Sackville-West, a married writer. The two women began a love affair (with Leonard's knowledge and permission) that lasted nearly ten years. The relationship inspired Woolf's novel <i>Orlando</i>, a fantastical biography in which the gender-switching hero's life spans three centuries.<br />
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In 1929, Woolf gave a series of lectures on the difficulties that female writers encounter because men hold disproportionate economic and legal power in society. She published <i>A Room Of One's Own</i> writing "a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction." The essay was seen as a feminist tract and became an inspiration to female writers everywhere. Woolf later published <i>Three Guineas</i>, an essay arguing that if women occupied positions of power there would be less war.<br />
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Woolf's two half brothers Gerald and George died in the mid 1930's. Woolf revealed in a memoir that George and Gerald molested her and half-sister Vanessa when they were children. Some Woolf biographers have suggested Woolf's breakdowns were influenced by this sexual abuse.<br />
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Woolf was criticized for her anti-Semitic views. Early in life she wrote about Jewish characters as being dirty and physically repulsive. A passage in her diary read, "I do not like the Jewish voice; I do not like the Jewish laugh." After marrying the proudly Jewish Leonard Wolff, Virginia's outlook changed. She acknowledged the mistakes of her early ignorance and wrote, "What a snob I was for they [Jews] have immense vitality." Woolf and husband Leonard feared the rise of 1930's fascism. After Britain's entry into World War II in 1939, the Woolfs appeared on Hitler's blacklist. They made plans to commit suicide if England was invaded.<br />
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During the Blitz of 1940, German bombs destroyed the Woolf's London home and the offices of Hogarth Press. The couple took refuge in Monk's House. Woolf completed her final novel <i>Between The Acts</i> in 1941. Stressed by her work and the war, she fell into a deep depression. She was unable to write and feared she would not recover from her mental illness.<br />
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On March 28, 1941, Woolf donned an overcoat, filled her pockets with stones and walked into the River Ouse behind her home. She left behind a suicide note for Leonard.<br />
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"Dearest, I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. So I'm doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. I don't think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. What I want to say is I owe the happiness of my life to you."<br />
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Woolf's body was discovered three weeks later. Leonard had Woolf cremated and the remains buried under one of two oak trees in their backyard that they named "Virginia and Leonard." He placed a stone tablet on the spot engraved with the final lines from Woolf's novel <i>The Waves</i>.<br />
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"Against you I fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding, O Death! The Waves broke on the shore." (6" x 7", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-65298790720357103202014-06-05T17:52:00.002-07:002014-06-19T10:35:32.955-07:00The Other Kevin Smith<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Kevin Stofer Smith began his career in Hollywood one month after graduating high school. He followed his older brother Albert to the now defunct <i>Producer's Studio</i> in 1976 where his first production job required him to shatter twenty large mirrors and sweep up the shards for a Boz Scaggs music video. Thirty-eight years later, Kevin hopes any bad luck has been left behind him.<br />
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Kevin joined the commercial production company <i>Paisley Productions</i> in 1977. The <i>Paisley</i> gang included director David Farrow, producer Christine Kitch, executive producer Steve Brodie, Cinematographer and future Academy Award nominee Caleb Deschanel (father of Zooey & Emily), Music Video Director Kevin Kerslake (director of "Nirvana Live! Tonight! Sold Out!") and Ruth McCartney (of Macca Rock and Roll Legend and present day Digital Diva). <i>Paisley</i> would be Kevin's production home for the next 12 years. He worked his way from Stage Manager to PA to Production Coordinator to First Assistant Director. In 1980, the Director's Guild opened their doors to commercial directors. At age 21, Kevin became the second youngest person to obtain a 1st A.D. DGA Card. (The youngest was 7-year old Justin Henry, the child actor from <i>Kramer vs. Kramer,</i> who was given a DGA card as a birthday present joke by Dustin Hoffman.)<br />
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Kevin traveled to more than 30 states and worked on hundreds of television commercials for <i>Paisley</i> with his mentor David Farrow. Notable shoots included Hertz Rental Car with O.J. Simpson, Billy Carter Beer, the infamous Yugo Automobile and the popular "Don't Squeeze the Charmin" spots with <i>Mr. Whipple.</i> <i>Mr. Whipple</i>, played by veteran actor Dick Wilson, was known for being a prankster on set. During one Charmin shoot, Kevin watched as <i>Mr. Whipple</i> grabbed his chest and fell to the floor. The crew laughed, believing this was another practical joke. Turns out Wilson was having an actual heart attack. Fortunately he survived to make many more awful commercials.<br />
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While working on a Ford commercial in Central California, Kevin was tasked with cueing thirty wild horses to run in the surf of Pismo Beach alongside a Ford Mustang convertible. While setting up the master shot, the trainer, hearing a helicopter test cue of "Release the Horses," mistakenly released the animals prematurely. The horses ran 3 miles up the beach and onto Highway 101 forcing police to shut down the freeway. A dozen animals made it to the nearby town of Grover Beach where a local 12-year old girl began corralling horses and tethering them to parking meters. Nobody was hurt and the next day's local headline read "Filming of Ford Loses Horsepower."<br />
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During a spot for Right Guard<i> </i>Deodorant, nobody knew the prop man was freebasing cocaine. Just after lunch, Kevin heard a loud explosion. The prop man had lit his crack pipe while labeling hero deodorant cans which caused the aerosol cans to explode. The blast destroyed the prop truck and incinerated the entire stash of Right Guard hero product. The prop man luckily escaped unhurt.<br />
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A commercial for Ford Trucks in the desert called for several pickup trucks to be dropped from an overhead cargo plane and parachute gently to earth. One of the parachutes did not open. The 4,000-pound truck hit the ground at 200 miles an hour. The impact left a massive crater and sandwiched the truck into a 4-inch metal pancake.<br />
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Kevin worked with many celebrities over the years. He shot Princess Cruise commercials with Gavin "Captain Stubing" MacLeod, Lemon Pledge with Florence Henderson, Ford with Telly Savalas and Mazda commercials with James Garner. On one Mazda shoot in Goat Rock Beach, California, Garner insisted on doing his own stunt driving. Garner took a tight turn too fast and slid off a cliff. The car flipped and rolled and came to rest upside down against a grip van. Fifteen feet in either direction was a 500-foot drop to the Pacific Ocean below. Garner claimed he was okay but was flown by helicopter to a Sebastopol hospital where he was given full body X-Rays. Kevin and David Farrow looked on as the doctor recounted Garner's injuries.<br />
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"You've damaged your L2 and L3 vertebrae," the doctor said. "No, no," Garner said. "That was from <i>Maverick</i>."<br />
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"Well it looks like you have a crushed C3 cervical neck injury." "<i>Rockford Files</i>, Season 2," Garner said.<br />
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"And your cracked left knee?" "That was 1969, <i>Support Your Local Sheriff,</i>" Garner replied.<br />
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Garner told Kevin, "Son, when you fall off your horse, you have to get back on it." Two hours later Garner and the crew were back on set to grab the ultimate helicopter sunset shot.<br />
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Kevin's favorite actor to work with was Jonathan Winters. After wrapping a Cheetos commercial, Kevin joined Winters in the actor's motorhome where they smoked weed together. Winters shared a bit of trivia about Cheetos. He told Kevin, "If you're ever stuck in a cave without a source of light, all you need is a pack of matches and a bag of Cheetos." Winters proceeded to light a Cheetos puff and the trailer was illuminated with an astonishingly strong flame.<br />
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After <i>Paisley </i>closed their doors in 1989, Kevin continued making commercials as a First AD and Producer. He also directed music videos and HDTV promos for <i>Two And a Half Men, Everybody Loves Raymond</i> and <i>King of Queens</i>. Kevin also began producing spots for Norms Restaurants, something he does every fall with Black Lab Productions. In the 90's, Kevin bolstered a relationship with Cinematographer and Executive Producer Bob Eberlein, founder of the production company <i>Image Streams</i>. Along with Production Supervisor Jan Skorstad, <i>Image Streams</i> began producing live action sequences and test shoots for major studio productions. Some of <i>Image Streams</i> recent VFX and Green Screen credits include the films <i>Gravity, Gatsby, I Am Legend</i> and the new Tom Cruise film <i>Edge Of Tomorrow</i>. Kevin and Eberlein also produced the Oscar Opening for the <i>2008 Academy Awards</i>.<br />
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In his spare time, Kevin considers himself one of the world's greatest <i>Rolling Stones</i> fans. He has attended somewhere north of 75 <i>Stones</i> concerts in his life (he lost count long ago). In 1999, he flew to London to see the <i>Stones</i> play at Wembley Stadium. His first show was a 1973 "Benefit for Nicaragua" at the Los Angeles Forum. His most recent show was this past year in San Jose.<br />
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I worked with Kevin in the early 90's. He was hired to produce and direct a television show about the legendary <i>Route 66</i> for <i>Sat1 German Television.</i> The Los Angeles shoot lasted several days culminating in a celebratory lunch in Malibu. As the German producer Hans prepared to pay the tab, he discovered his wallet was missing. The wallet contained $25,000 cash needed to pay the crew and the remaining production expenses. Hans fell into a panic at which point Kevin took over. We all hopped into a production van with Kevin at the wheel. We retraced our steps from the day and found ourselves stuck in a Santa Monica Freeway traffic jam.<br />
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It had been raining and Hans suddenly remembered leaning out the passenger side window to snap a photo of a rainbow. He theorized that's when the wallet must have fallen out of his back pocket. Kevin weaved through traffic and spotted a thick brown wallet in the second lane. He stopped the van, ran onto the freeway, dodged passing cars, retrieved the wallet and gave it to the grateful producer. All the money was still there. Kevin shrugged off the "needle in a haystack" miracle as just another day in the world of Film and TV. (5" x 7", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9078056151450149211.post-53092916498230487982014-04-25T21:37:00.000-07:002014-09-25T08:28:11.768-07:00Liberty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimgziZgcdAIthrA6fFbBy1I1t0IgkEH8AsjcgiFImEgqcou6vfgKdwT8jHNkyPTuNHVYTOW-e0XN9CZBLBiTRFfMnjOZtFfNZb4i63xuBkx7XLNehHffN5OkmYiZmT2_k2g9iubjw9pAY/s1600/Liberty.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimgziZgcdAIthrA6fFbBy1I1t0IgkEH8AsjcgiFImEgqcou6vfgKdwT8jHNkyPTuNHVYTOW-e0XN9CZBLBiTRFfMnjOZtFfNZb4i63xuBkx7XLNehHffN5OkmYiZmT2_k2g9iubjw9pAY/s1600/Liberty.png" height="370" width="400" /></a></div>
The Statue of Liberty was a gift from France to the United States in 1886. It has come to symbolize freedom and unlimited possibility for immigrants coming to America to start a new life. The statue was inspired by French politician Edouard de Laboulaye's proposal that a great monument be made to celebrate America's independence and the abolition of slavery. Laboulaye suggested that France finance the statue while the United States pick the location and pay for the building of the pedestal.<br />
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The Statue was designed by French sculptor Frederic Auguste Bartholdi. The robed female figure represents <i>Libertas</i>, the Roman goddess of freedom. She holds a torch symbolizing progress. The seven rays on the <i>diadem</i> (the crown) form a halo representing the sun, the seven oceans and the seven continents. The left hand holds a <i>tabula ansata </i>(a tablet evoking law) upon which is inscribed the date of<i> </i>the Declaration of Independence. The statue rises over a broken chain, half hidden by the robes. Bartholdi modeled the face of the statue after his own mother.<br />
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In 1875, Laboulaye announced plans for the statue revealing its formal name "Liberty Enlightening the World." France reacted positively, raising funds among the wealthy, the working class and school children. Support in the United States was less favorable. "The Panic of 1873" caused an economic depression in America that would delay construction of the statue and the Washington Monument. The New York Times wrote, "No true patriot can countenance any such expenditures for bronze females in the present state of our finances."<br />
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Bartholdi moved ahead with fabrication of the torch-bearing arm and the head. The arm was shipped from France to Philadelphia for the 1876 Centennial Exhibition. It proved popular as visitors climbed to the torch balcony to view the fair grounds. The arm was returned to Paris where it was exhibited with the head for the 1878 World's Fair. <br />
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Original architect Eugene Viollet-le-Duc died in 1879 and was replaced by famed designer Gustave Eiffel. Eiffel contributed an iron truss tower to hold the statue. He also built a metal armature allowing the copper skin to expand on hot summer days without cracking. Eiffel included two interior spiral staircases providing access to the observation point in the crown. He also added an observation platform around the torch.<br />
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Laboulaye died in 1883. He was replaced by Ferdinand de Lesseps, designer of the Suez Canal. The statue was completed in 1884. US President Rutherford B. Hayes chose Bedloe's Island in New York Harbor as the site for the statue. Poet Emma Lazarus contributed the sonnet <i>The New Colossus </i>which included the lines, "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free."<br />
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American fundraising efforts for the pedestal remained dismal. Newly elected President Grover Cleveland vetoed a bill to provide $50,000 for the project. Newspaper publisher Joseph Pulitzer stepped in to save the day. He announced a drive in his paper <i>The World </i>to raise $100,000. This caught the imagination of New Yorkers, especially school children, who donated as little as five cents apiece. The drive ultimately raised $102,000 from more than 120,000 donors.<br />
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On June 17, 1885, the French ship <i>Isere</i> arrived in New York Harbor carrying the disassembled statue in crates. 200,000 people lined the docks to greet the steamer. The pedestal was completed in 1886 and reassembly of the statue began. Due to the size of the pedestal, scaffolding could not be erected. Workers dangled from the armature by ropes as they installed the copper skin. Thankfully, no one died during construction.<br />
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The statue was formally dedicated on October 28, 1886. Only dignitaries were allowed on the island for the ceremony though several hundred thousand people attended a morning parade. Not everyone was happy. Suffragists were offended that only two women attended the dedication ceremony, Bartholdi's wife and de Lessep's granddaughter. <i>The Cleveland Gazette</i>, an African American newspaper, opined: "Until the 'Liberty' of this country makes it possible for a colored man to earn a respectable living for himself and family without being Ku-Kluxed…the idea of 'Liberty Enlightening The World'…is ridiculous in the extreme."<br />
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The statue was initially designed as a lighthouse. Lights were placed inside the torch and a power plant was installed on the island. Unfortunately the torch only produced a faint gleam and was nearly invisible at night. In 1901, the statue was transferred from the US Lighthouse Board to the War Department.<br />
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In 1916, during World War I, German saboteurs ignited a massive explosion in a weapons armory on nearby Black Tom Island. The blast caused damage to the torch-bearing arm of the statue. The ascent to the torch was closed and has remained closed ever since. Artist Gutzon Borglum (who later sculpted Mount Rushmore) redesigned the torch, replacing much of the original copper with stained glass.<br />
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In 1924, President Calvin Coolidge declared the statue a national monument. It was transferred to the National Park Service in 1933. During World War II, the statue was not illuminated at night due to wartime blackouts. On D-Day, the statue lights flashed "dot-dot-dot-dash," Morse Code for V, "for Victory." Bedloe's Island was renamed "Liberty Island" in 1956 by an Act of Congress.<br />
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In 1982, it was discovered that the right arm was improperly attached to the main structure and was at risk of collapsing. In addition, the head had been installed two feet off center and one of the halo rays was wearing a hole in the right arm when the statue moved in the wind. President Reagan formed a commission led by ex-Chrysler CEO Lee Iacoccoa to raise funds for repairs. Eiffel's iron armature was replaced by corrosion-resistant stainless steel. The torch was replaced with an exact replica while the halo ray was realigned by several degrees to prevent contact with the arm. The restoration took four years.<br />
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Following the September 11 attacks, the statue was closed to the public. The pedestal reopened in 2004 but the statue was not reopened until 2009. Since then only 240 people per day are allowed to ascend the statue. Reservations must be acquired up to a year in advance and visitors are subject to a security screening.<br />
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The statue has been prominent in numerous movies over the years. The torch is the setting for the climax of Alfred Hitchock's 1942 film <i>Saboteur</i>. In <i>Splash</i>, mermaid Daryl Hannah first appears at the statue's feet. The statue is knocked over in <i>Independence Day</i> and the head is ripped off in <i>Cloverfield</i>. It's most famous movie appearance comes at the end of <i>Planet of the Apes</i> when the statue is seen half-buried in the sand.<br />
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From its foundation to the top of the torch, the statue stands 305 feet high. It weighs 204 tons. Visitors must climb 354 stairs to reach the crown. In high winds the statue can sway up to 3 inches while the torch can move 5 inches. The green patina is caused by copper oxidation called <i>verdigris</i>. The statue is struck by up to 600 bolts of lightning each year. Two people have committed suicide by jumping off the statue, one in 1929 and the other in 1932. (7" x 7", black ink print)LORENhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115777674344679448noreply@blogger.com3