You Know What I Think?

Questioning the Truth of Facts

2018-09-15T15:56:00.000-07:00

"Facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passion, they cannot alter the state of facts."

-John Adams

The Second President

of the United States

I grew up in an age when there was something called fact. Back when I was young, a fact was not debatable...it was an unquestionable truth. Now...today my daughter will grow up in a world where she will question the truth...of facts.

When I began writing this I was frightened when I thought of what would happen to my daughter and her peers as they grew up in an age of Fake News, duplicitous politicians and facts that were questioned at every turn. I worried over what her world would look like and how she would live in a nation where nothing could be knowable.

I grew up knowing right from wrong, up from down and which side of my bread was buttered. And if someone, anyone tried to tell us an untruth, a fictional truth or a "fake news", we could always check the facts to expose the falsehood. But for the most part, we relied on the foundation, and check-ablity of facts to keep those who would try to hoodwink us in line.

Donald Trump, The 45th President of the United States, may have done at least one thing that will help our nation going forward.* Trump has us fact checking...everything.

Trump is not the only president who has lied, but it seems that Trump may have cornered the market on lying and more importantly denying the truth of facts. Remember we had one president stand before the world on live television and state: "I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Ms. Lewinsky. I never told anybody to lie, not a single time. Never." And then brush it all to the side with, "These allegations are false, and I need to go back to work for the American people."

In. Your. Face. Lie, Lie. Lie.

Lying maybe a job requirement for the Presidency of the United States...maybe it is for all world leaders. But the current President of the United States, Donald Trump, has taken lying to a new level. On May 1, 2018, Trump's 466th day as president of the USA, the Washington Post reported that he had misrepresented the truth, 3001 times.** The real difference between the lies of the current president and those who preceded him, is that when confronted with the truth of a fact...Trump will still maintain his lie.

Remember when Clinton was confronted with the facts, on August 17th, he admittedly though reluctantly recanted: "Indeed I did have a relationship with Ms. Lewinsky that was not appropriate. In fact, it was wrong. It constituted a critical lapse in judgment and a personal failure on my part for which I am solely and completely responsible," *** In no way does this absolve, excuse nor forgive Clinton for his lie or more importantly the act itself, but at least he admitted to it, something that Trump has yet to do...about any of his untruths.

On August 8, 2018, Robert Cohen wrote an opinion piece for the New York Times, in which he stated that Trump has made "false or misleading" statements 4,229 times from the beginning of his presidency to start of

August 2018. Cohen got his data from Washington Post reporter, Glenn Kessler.^ Trump unlike every president that preceded him, does not allow facts to get in the way of anything that he has to say. Even when confronted with the truth of the facts, Trump bulldozes his way forward, ignoring any information that does not fit in with his world view. He will say what ever he needs to say, even attack or ignore facts, in order to push forward his agenda.

But Trump is not alone. The GOP, the Republican National Party is out to paint the country in their own image and they will walk over, change and/or manipulate any fact that may get in the way of them achieving their goal. Yep, they may even lie. But it may be even worst than that...it, lying, maybe ingrained and acceptable in our current society.

In the world of sports, politics, business and maybe every day life, lies and fact falsification seems to be the rule of the day. As Joe (Cool) Montana, 4 time Super Bowl Champion Quarterback for the San Francisco 49-ers once said, when questioned about the New England Patroit's cheating, "If you ain't cheating, you ain't trying."

Lying maybe the new Black.

My daughter and her generation will have to examine what is being said, who is saying it, how much of it is true and then they must ask the question, "What do I do about it?" They can, armed with the ancient Greek tactic of parrhesia, speak truth to power;^^ with courage they can challenge those who are fast and loose with the facts.

The examination of all the information that is distributed to the masses should be questioned, no matter who it is who is delivering the "facts"; no matter whether they are in your political camp, on your side or your best friend.

A sad legacy to pass on to our youth, "trust no one".

How you can have your facts checked:

1. Washington Post Fact Checker: https://washingtonpost.wufoo.com/forms/fact-check-this/

2. Email fact that you need checked to: Editor@FactCheck.org.

3. Online fact checking website: https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/

4.Washington Post Fact Checker online Newsletter: https://subscribe.washingtonpost.com/newsletters/#/bundle/factchecker?method=SURL&location=ART

*The two hardest things for me to write: That Trump is the president and that he may have done some good.

** Washington Post, May 1st article written by Glenn Kessler, Salvador Rizzo and Meg Kelly, entitled, The President Trump has made 3,001 False or Misleading Claims So Far.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/fact-checker/wp/2018/05/01/president-trump-has-made-3001-false-or-misleading-claims-so-far/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.2ffcaf9caffb

*** President Clinton's admission of guilt in the Monica Lewisky sexual misconduct case against him. http://www.cnn.com/ALLPOLITICS/1998/08/17/speech/

^ New York Times, August 10, 2018, Written by Robert Cohen entitled Nemesis in the Age of Pinocchio

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/08/10/opinion/donald-trump-glenn-kessler-factchecking.html

^^https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Speaking_truth_to_power

Pardon me OG

2017-11-10T17:57:00.002-08:00

"Pardon me OG."

I had to smile as the young man walked by me excusing himself by calling me an OG. You see an OG stands for 'Original Gangster'. It is a sign of respect in the "hood". To be called an Original Gangster or quite simply an OG means that you were a bad ass that had survived the battles and wars of youth and lived to tell of it. As much as I appreciated the compliment, and rest assured that being called an OG is a compliment, I was not in truth an OG.

You see an OG is a man (or a woman), who may or may not have seen some time Upstate...may or may not have shot a man or woman or two or three. An OG could have been a stick-up artist, a drug dealer, a con man, a killer or any profession that puts him or her outside of the boundaries of the law...or not.

An OG does not have to have a criminal record and may have never committed a criminal act at all. An OG could be the guy next door or that dude down the block. But an Original Gangster lives by a certain code outside of the one that governs most of us. Don't get me wrong an Original Gangster can get a nine to five, buy a house, raise a family, pay taxes and give all the appearances of a regular civilian. But an OG is a special breed and is never truly broken by the yoke of every day society or every day rules.

While crime does not go hand in hand with being an OG, the possibility and the idea of stepping outside the normal structure that controls the comings and goings of most of us does not cause hesitation in the Original Gangster. The OG is only controlled by the rules and codes of conduct that are set forth by the OG him or herself. And no Original Gangster's rules are the same...similar, maybe...but never the same.

When Original Gangsters cross each others' paths respect is always given and expected. If that respect is in any way lacking, misunderstood or simply with held, there could be one less OG left in the world. And that is a fact and not a poetry of words set forth by the author.

Original Gangsters are not super human. They breathe, eat, drink, get tired, love, lie and all the other things that we all do, but they are different. Different in that they see the world a little more black or white...maybe a simpler right or wrong...then the rest of us do. They are unbroken, un-ridden wild stallions in a world of tamed, cultured and beautified show horses.

An OG lives by a law all their own...outside of the law of the land; an outlaw.

So I smiled at the mistake made by the young man, all the while appreciating his show of respect for this aging old guy but my brother, David is an Original Gangster and as much as I love the title and respect the game...I was never a player.

Dedicated with much love to my brother from another mother, David N. Original Gangster.

Killer Katie got Married

2017-10-31T09:34:00.000-07:00

20679343 Shutterstock.com

On October 27, 2017. A Friday. My buddy, Killer Katie, Bicycle Rider Extraordinaire, world renowned expert kayaker, Sole owner, operator and Executive Chef of the Piecycle Company, sometime Downtown Boat House Dock Master, Nurse and my personal Wednesday afternoon bike riding protector, got married!

Katie is tall, relatively speaking, with an athletic build, deep set eyes often hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, all topped off by an all in compassing world enlightening smile. She is attractive in the way my late grandmother was (her beauty came from within), making her a person that would be beautiful for the totality of her life; imagine a young Katherine Hepburn...but bad ass-ier!

I met Katie...who at times referred to herself as Killer Katie (mainly because she was such a bad ass and an all around awesome individual)...during the early spring of 2017. Young enough to be my daughter and with the "no-mindness" of the Buddha, Katie was in charge of the Downtown Boathouse off of Pier 96 during the summer of 2017 on Wednesday afternoons. That made her the Dock Master as she was in charge of anything and everything that happened at the kayaking launch dock during those three hours of operation on Wednesday afternoons.

I was a volunteer. So was she. I would leave my job in the Bronx hop on my bike and peddle my way down to Pier 96 on 55^th Street and the Westside Highway, every Monday and Wednesday afternoon. I would arrive at the Downtown Boat House at approximately 4:30pm. No matter how fast I road my bike or how early I left my office, I never got to the Boat House earlier than Katie on those Wednesday afternoons. She always was there before me...greeting me with a smile...while either washing down the dock or loading kayaks onto it.

Katie wasn’t a big talker. When she did speak...her voice was low and not easily heard. And while I am not good at knowing the location of a person’s origins simply by listening to them speak...Katie had an accent that allowed one to guess that she was not from these here parts. Although, I don’t know for sure whether people from Delaware have a distinctive accent or not. As I stated before, I really don’t have the ear for that sort of thing.

Katie is an excellent kayaker, though I am measuring her skill set from a position of lesser expertise. She was a better and more experienced kayaker than I. She didn’t brag. Like most of the things I have seen her do she did without any fanfare and with a limited amount of excess movements. She was an economical biker as well, smooth, relaxed, always seeming at ease. And as with most things...her smile was never far behind.

How we started to ride uptown together is a mystery which is really not worth the efforts of your run of the mill dime store detective. I am sure it began something like this: As we were closing up the boathouse one of us asked the other which way the other was going; discovering that we were headed out the same way, we rode off together. It became a habit...as long as neither one us had plans that superseded the ride uptown...we rode together. The one time Katie had to bail out on the ride, I had a head on collision with another bike. The accident ended up with me smashing up my bike and my left hand. Katie, putting on her Super Girl cape or Wonder Woman crown (which ever is more politically correct now a days), playfully declared that she would have to make sure that I was safe on my bike rides home as I was incapable of doing so on my own. Thus Katie began the Killer Katie Bike Riding Protection Agency. To my knowledge and to this date, she has never lost a customer.

Sometimes that 10 minute bike ride (most times in silence), was the best part of my day (Note to young people no matter your age: Adopt an old person and do something...anything with them...it will do wonders for them).

I learned of Katie’s abilities as a pie maker after I missed out on tasting one of her homemade pies. She picked the fruits from some trees that were growing on one of her bike riding journeys and made a few pies for the volunteers. I heard that they were delicious. She must have been a sight riding down the city streets with a few pies strapped to the back of her bike.

It wasn’t until the end of the volunteer kayaking season that I tasted one of Katie’s pies. She is an amazing pie maker. The pies were delicious! If Katie decided to close down her many other successful businesses and concentrated on just making pies she would have a top selling national brand within a year.

The Downtown Boathouse’s free kayaking season is over and has been for some time. I look forward to volunteering at the Boathouse when they open again for the 2018 season. I met some really cool people volunteering this year...and look forward to seeing them again and meeting some new ones next year. (Knock on wood!) Among the list of truly amazing people that I had the privilege to meet this year I count Killer Katie as one the most amazing.

My buddy Katie got married to Kevin, one of the luckiest men in the world on October 27, 2017. Congratulations!

Maine to L.A. via The NYC Subway

2017-10-27T21:09:00.000-07:00

I want to share...a happening...yeah, I guess you can call it that...a happening. A New York City Moment if you want to drop a bit of romanticism into it. To most of us New Yorkers it was just a moment in another normal New York City day.

My brother, David and I jumped onto a Southbound #1 Train one weekday afternoon. The train was not exactly crowded and there were some open seats, though there were people standing holding on to poles and leaning against the doors. Again a normal weekday ride on a normal New York City subway train.

Our knees were a bit sore and we were more than a bit tired; we, my brother and I, had just walked approximately 6 miles and we really wanted to sit for the ride downtown. I was fortunate to find a seat right away. My brother...well...he had to work for his. You see there was this woman, 40-ish, stylish, attractive...you know a native Long Islander...who had decided to occupy several seats on the train. She sat cross legged, at the knee, controlling two seats on one side, while her small expensive pocket book took up the seat on her other side. She was an intimidating force. But she had not met my brother. You see, my brother reacts to intimidating forces with overpowering atomic bomb exploding aggression.

David excused himself, forcing her to collect herself and her stuff to make room for him to sit. He looked over to me and frowned. The train moved on and a stop or two later...the woman got off. I moved across to take the woman’s place and sat next to David. My brother and I began to talk about the woman’s guile in thinking she could take up three almost four seats on the subway. We looked into the direction of a woman’s high pitched laughter. There across from us sat a young woman who could barely contain her laughter. She injected her opinion about the whole thing, amidst and around the slowly increasing volume of her laughter. With a Valley Girl twang she repeated what she saw of the woman’s and David’s interaction.

The young lady had black hair and a sort of beauty that was almost generically found on the streets of Manhattan. Again...she was pretty...but if you lived in New York City as long as I have it was a pretty that was seen here often. Nothing unusual. But as usual...as it is with most people, it has been my pleasure to have met...her uniqueness became evident as she shared more and more of her story.

She continued to speak and laugh and rift; her words sliding up against and dancing around our's as our words pirouetted around her’s. We laughed with this young wandering Tinker Belle of a woman until David had to leave. He rose and waved us, “Good bye!” before hopping off the train.

Then...the detective in me took over.

She was born in Los Angeles, California and was heading back home by way of Maine, New York City, Washington D.C. and several other 48 states in the continental U.S.A.. She was planning to work her

way across the the states as a waitress. She waited tables in the best restaurants in the National Parks, just so that she could surround herself with the trees, mountains and streams.

She was friendly...in an out of town sort of way. She was young and bubbly. And secrets were not things that she kept. With the flashing of her tongue piercing playing hide and seek with my eyes...She spoke loud enough for all in the train car to hear.

As her modified page boy splashed itself across her face she talked about how she left her 30 year old boyfriend/roommate and his 3 year old baby because of his misunderstanding of a miscommunication; he broke up with her. She left him everything but the car and enough money to get her out of town. At 24 she was looking to continue her USA adventure by passing through the City of New York to take in a days worth of sites: The Statue of Liberty from the deck of the Staten Island Ferry, Central Park and of course and for her most importantly a ride on the oldest subterranean train system in the world. She met a man in a bar with her same last name...but spelled differently, but then she knew that he was only trying to pick her up.

While we spoke, a young man walked over to us and excused himself to speak to her. I thought that he came over to rap to her...to pick her up. I made room for him allowing him the space to speak to the young lady. She was cute. And I had noticed him noticing her from the moment she began to speak to my brother and I. But instead he took out the time to tell her she should be careful while traveling alone not to share to much of herself. As he exited the train he warned her not to take drugs from people she didn’t know. When he walked off we looked at each other and laughed. I supported his assertions and told her that she should consider what he had said...for her own protection. She agreed...but did not allow it to dampen her feelings or they way she shared herself.

The train rolled into the Chambers Street station...my stop. Funny, I was not reluctant to get off at my stop. I mean I did enjoy her company and liked hearing the joy in her voice...in her life...but I was satisfied with what we shared. I found no need to know her name. I didn’t want to exchange numbers or Emails or Facebook accounts (in truth a few days later on my morning ride I did wish I had as I wondered where she was and what she was looking at). But at the time...and even now...I was happy with what we shared.

It was great to see her love her life. She made me smile. What more can you ask for...?

* The picture of the woman is a water color and was chosen to represent the nameless young woman that I met on the train. I don’t believe that she looks anything like this beautiful watercolor representation...except for the color of her hair. I could not find the artists name.

Seeking a Different Path

2016-11-22T02:00:00.000-08:00

Trump won.  

This is the truth and the end result of a democracy that we are all supposed to believe and put our trust in, now is not the time to discuss the dismantling of it. I know that some of what we are seeing and hearing is scary and out of this fright we react, or freeze like deer in the headlights of an oncoming car and do nothing, but to hope for the best.

But I think that perhaps, as this article written by Luigi Zingales in the November 18, 2016 article for the New York Times*, states there is another way.  

The old ways no longer work. It is now time to seek out the new voices and new leaderships. We can not allow this to become an us against them, if that "them" is White Men and that "us" is everyone else. We must find a way to encompass everyone even those who voted for Trump.  In truth those who voted for him, for the most part, may not get what they think they voted for, as his predicted team choices seem to indicate.

We must look at the things that are put forth by his administration and support those things that work for the benefit of the all (because all of his ideas were not bad), and fight against those that benefit those special interest groups (under whatever title they chose to use).  While we pick and chose what we will support and what we will fight against, we search our ranks and the ranks that are not quite ours, to find new, young voices that can help us to push forward our agenda.

This strategy may not be the one you can support, believe in or wish to pursue; it may not be the right strategy at all.  Then toss it out and try something else, I don't have the one right answer.  Looking at the results of the last election and you will see no one really does; there may not be just one strategy that works.  Continuing the fight is the most important thing.  Getting knocked down in a fight is not a bad thing, it can happen to anyone.  The important thing is getting back up and continuing the fight.

 

* http://www.nytimes.com/2016/11/18/opinion/the-right-way-to-resist-trump.html?mwrsm=Facebook&_r=0

Mitty's Secret

2016-08-14T16:57:00.000-07:00

It is a pivotal moment in the film. Our hero has to make a choice, to continue an adventure that has already taken him far outside of his comfort zone or turn back to the safety of his, up until that point, unremarkable life. With every iota of his being, pulling him back to the safety of what he knows, Walter’s journey was going to end right there, in a small pub at the edge of a town, he had never heard of until his arrival moments before. While not content, he seemed to accept his limitations almost with a sigh of relief. He failed. Yes, he failed but he did make a herculean effort. Didn't he...? That’s got to count for something..after all.

Right? I mean...doesn’t it...?

Then, just as his eyes slowly glazed over as he slowly slipped back into the arms of the mediocrity that was his life she stepped onto stage. Wearing nothing but a battered sweater, simple jeans, functional rain boots and an acoustic guitar, she seduces him to take the next step into an adventure that will change him, an adventure that will help him re-realize the “him” that he used to be, the “him” that he can become again. He does not see her, she appears from behind him, almost magically. With the softest of voices, that quivers with the nervousness of her boldness, she dedicates the song to our hero and begins to strum her guitar. Her voice cracked slightly, for being on stage is not her forte, as she began to offer the words of this song to Walter,

“Ground Control to Major Tom...”

Life seeps slowly back into Walter’s eyes as he recognizes the voice of the woman that he has pined for throughout the film. She walks by him...waits...inviting him to precede her out of the door into a much more interesting world, then he would find sitting in a nameless pub.

To my mind it is the small, shy, but seductive smile loaded with dimples, that finally turns not only the ignition of the helicopter that waits outside but jump starts Walter Mitty’s heart. She infuses him with courage and dares him to, not only step up to the plate, but to swing.

“...make sure your helmets on...”

It is a little scene, but an important one. It is one that I have viewed often, not only because it is well shot and well acted and because it moves the story forward and...heck...it has the David Bowies’s "Ground Control to Major Tom". All of that and it has Ben Stiller, especially in this particular scene capturing and sharing the wonder, excitement, courage and love for adventure. He, injected with power of Wiig and Bowies duet, dashes off into an amazing world of wonder; depicted by the positioning of the much to small helicopter dwarfed by the vastness of the ocean and the world he has yet to explore.

I not only like this scene because...well...because of all the above...but I like this scene because it inspires. It says that, ‘Heck! You can change your life whenever you like...in a seconds notice. You can be the hero in your own story. You too can be fearless or at least you can act that way.’ When Walter Mitty jumps onto that rickety helicopter...he literally and figuratively turns his world upside down.

Ben Stiller’s The Secret Life of Walter Mitty...on the surface...is a silly little romantic comedy...the good guy wins, the boy gets the girl and yeah there is a happy ending. But some ways it is just a little bit more than that. It also has moments of daring do, where unattainable goals are...attainable and well as corny as it sounds...courage is rewarded.

This little scene, which I am attaching below, is a inspiration to me. I hope that it can be so for you...if not...well at least you will get to hear David Bowing and Kristen Wiig sing a pretty good song.

I am Not Afraid of Dying.

2015-07-24T07:20:00.000-07:00

"I am not afraid of dying. It's the 'Aaahhhh!" just before the dying that scares me."

-Regina Abraham

I am not afraid of dying. In some ways I look forward to it. When I say that, it sort of freaks some my friends out. They fear that I may go out and hurt myself or worse...kill myself or by some form of neglect cause myself to die. There is nothing further from the truth. I love my life. I live in arguably the greatest city in the world, across the street from the greatest park in the world (there is no argument there), and I have some of the best friends a person can have, in the world (really I have to write that).

I've run marathons (and finished), kayaked in the Hudson, biked over 60 miles (in some NYC event), bungee jumped in Mexico, driven with no hands, held my own against a GrandMaster in Chess (for an hour any way), helped to raise three children, drummed in a Drum Circle (though there is a good chance I am tone deaf), saw a Red-Tailed Hawk up close and personal, fired several handguns (missed every target), saved a life (several times), and actually know the way to San Jose. I've done stuff, I tell you...most I can't remember...but believe me I have. I've fished in the Gulf. I've broken a few hearts (and I've had mine broken a few times too), I have fallen in love. I've driven a rental car for 24 hours without sleep nor a license, helped to replace a sink, changed a tire on a Jaguar (the car you fool), know all the words and the meaning of Don McLeans' American Pie and will sing it for you too. I've won and I've lost and I've won again.

I have lived an interesting life. I have never travelled the world. I've never seen London or Paris or Rome, up close and personal. The farthest I have ever been from the shores of the Hudson River, was Cancun, Mexico, for two weeks twice...totaling four weeks. That's it.

But, I still have time.

However, if videos, TV and movies count, I have been all over the world and then some...I can honestly say that I have gone where no one has gone before (at least a 100 times). I've seen things that are amazing, fantastic and awe inspiring. I've seen whole cities destroyed, unsinkables sink, planets explode, great loves achieved and after the credits roll, still got home before midnight, with popcorn to spare.

I read a lot (a lot is relative of course), and I can not tell you the number adventures I have survived, the many villains I have subdued or the undiscoverables I have discovered, or lips I have kissed, just by a flip of a page. So...I guess I've experienced a lot too...of course a lot is a relative term.

The point is I'm not afraid of dying...I am afraid of the moment or moments just before. But, if I am going to die...more than likely...it's going to happened in New York City. It is where I live. But, truthfully I feel pretty safe here, I mean what could possibly happen, what could possibly kill me...in New York City?

Well Nick Lucchessi has a pretty good idea. He wrote an article about it, want to read it? Pick up a copy of this weeks, Village Voice. Twenty Ways to Die in New York, written by Nick Lucchesi, accompanied by some funny cartoons illustrated by Danny Hellman. Lucchessi presents us with twenty examples of how a person can die in New York City. The first thing to come to my mind after reading the story was, that none of them, none of the ways to die, were overly imaginative, in fact most were quite mundane. Getting hit by a car, taxi, bus, train or bike, seem like your everyday NYC occupational hazard. As a matter of fact being hit by a vehicle should be considered a shameful way for any true red blooded, New Yorker to die. Most of us native New Yorkers have spent years, from the day after we learned to walk, perfecting our jaywalking skills. Personally, I feel anyone who dies this way should be investigated by the NYPD and the possibility of suicide should be considered.

Interspersed in the twenty is the possibility of falling. Falling into, through or down seem to take up seven or eight of the twenty ways to die and having something fall on you, takes up five. While being hit, in the head, with an Air Conditioner is one of the more interesting ways to die, it is not the only thing that is falling on passing pedestrians. Yep, there is more than the sky that is falling in this city, Chicken Little. But while you're looking up, preparing to dodge some new building's falling debris, better look down because you may just step into an open manhole.

What is a New Yorker to do? Reading this story, it became clear to me that only truly safe place to live in New York City is on Staten Island. Of all the accidents, in all the boroughs, that Lucchesi writes about never does he mention any accidents occurring in the borough of Staten Island. This is pretty interesting, as all other boroughs are mentioned.

Maybe he chose not to write about the accidents in Staten Island. Maybe it was a typographical error and those bits of news were accidently deleted. Maybe the examples were removed by some Staten Island loving Village Voice editor or maybe...just maybe...nothing bad happens in Staten Island. When you read this story, it seems as if no one ever dies on that little Island in New York Bay...unless you include death by boredom. But, then again that goes under the category of the occupational hazard of living in Staten Island. Any way, it seems the worst place to live is in Manhattan, where seven of those reported accidents occurred, followed closely by Brooklyn with six and bringing up the rear Bronx and Queens tied with one each.

It is a sad truth, that New York City is a dangerous place to live, if they don't get you with the astronomical rents, the outrageous taxes, police illegal chokeholds (how was I going to let that one pass), they'll get you with a flying manhole cover.

As I stated, I ain't afraid to die, though it ain't something that I am looking to do anytime soon. But if I have to live in Staten Island to prolong my life, you will see me dodging falling objects, fast moving vehicles and jumping over open subway gratings on the unsafe but interesting streets of Manhattan.

To read Nick Lucchesi's and Danny Hellman's Twenty Ways To Die In New York, you have to pick up the July 22 - July 28, 2015 Issue of The Village Voice, Page 8.

Er...Just joking Staten Island...some of my best friends live out there.

Not really...I know no one from Staten Island. Sorry.

I am a New York City Working Homeless

2015-04-26T05:12:00.002-07:00

There we were, the three of us, sitting around a table eating an early dinner, at a little chicken joint on 23rd, in the FlatIron District of New York City. My brother from another mother, David, my good friend, Brenda (not her real name), and I, sat laughing and joking at a table in the, otherwise empty, basement dining area of the Hill Country Chicken Diner. I was munching down on an amazing chicken sandwich, an order of double fried French Fries and sipping on a deliciously thick Black and White Shake, when David said, through a mouthful of fries, "You know the three of us, each, fall under the category of homeless." What he said caught me by surprise, because I never thought of myself as being homeless. But, as I sat there pulling hard on the straw buried deep in the cup of the thick shake, I realized...catching up slowly with his thinking...that it was true, we three, good friends all...could be listed under the category of homeless.

How so? Well, I often say that I shared an apartment with my sister...when in fact my name is not on the lease...and though I pay a portion of the rent, I more live with her than share. David and "Brenda" were former roommates, and had to leave their jointly shared apartment to move in with family members. David to his brother's apartment and "Brenda" to her mother's. All three of us work and make a decent salary. I have a city job. David owns his own business, shares ownership of another with "Brenda" and drives for one of this city's financial elite, while "Brenda" works for a small business and co-owns a small business with David. Though we all have jobs, without a place to truly call our own, we all joined the ranks of the working homeless.

Now I am going to hit you with the statistics. Please bear with me. According to the Coalition for the Homeless.org, there are somewhere around 60,484 homeless people in the NYC Shelters each night. Though, this number has fluctuated over the years since 1984, the homeless population has been increasing in size and not by a little bit (please see the chart*). Homelessness is not caused by the myth that all homeless people just don't want to work...although I am sure there are some who do not and don't...homelessness is a housing problem. "...The housing affordability gap (that is, the gap between incomes and housing costs), has grown dramatically wider over the past three decades."**

Hold on, I have a few more numbers to throw at you and a chart as well. From 2002 to 2011, NYC has lost 39% (385,300 apartments), of its housing that would have been affordable to a family that was making a little less than twice the poverty line ($39,580 for a family of three). Interestingly enough, during that 2002-2011 span of time, the man cheered on for revitalizing the city of New York, businessman and billionaire Michael Bloomberg was the mayor. Bloomberg, just based on his record, proved that he cared little for the poor or lower middle class issues and housing and the homeless were among them.

There much on the statistical front that you can read up on and those numbers come from the NYC Department of Homeless Services and Human Resources Administration and NYCStat shelter census reports.* If you follow these links (recorded below), you will find a ton of information concerning the homeless. This information, however, is derived from statistics gathered from homeless shelters. It does not include the number of homeless people who do not live in Homeless Shelters.

As David stated and I agree, we are apart of the group labelled the working homeless. Though I doubt that our numbers are included in any census report. We live with our friends, family, we sublet a space in someone else's apartment or we couch surf. I wonder how many of us are out there, working hard to make a little over double the poverty line but, who can't afford a decent apartment in the city that they love. Yeah, bet, if we could get those statistics, they would be pretty impressive...and not in a good way.

This...remember...where the facts are not concerned...is only my opinion...and I could be wrong.

By the way:

David felt strongly that Mayor Bill de Blasio was going to successfully close the Housing Affordability Gap.

*http://www.coalitionforthehomeless.org/the-catastrophe-of-homelessness/facts-about-homelessness/

**http://www.coalitionforthehomeless.org/the-catastrophe-of-homelessness/faqs-and-myths/#2

http://www.coalitionforthehomeless.org/basic-facts-about-homelessness-new-york-city/

Heroes of White Colorized

2015-04-19T04:00:00.000-07:00

When asked by reporters from TMZ, whether she was going to play the part of the Green Lantern in an upcoming movie, actress, Michelle Rodriquez, responded, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Yeah, I think its so stupid for like...that everybody...because of this whole minorities in Hollywood thing...but it's so stupid. Stop stealing, all the White people's superheroes. Make-up your own. Know what I'm saying like what's up with that?"

I heard about this story, not on TMZ, but while watching an episode of Larry Wilmore's The Nightly Show. Wilmore, spun a joke out of it, in order to poke fun at Rodriquez, by comparing her speech about creating original superheroes and the fact that she is reprising her role as Letty Ortiz, once again in the seventh, and let us hope, the final edition of The Fast and Furious series. It was funny. I laughed as well. But, his joke was a dodge, and did what it was to suppose to do, garnish a laugh and like the unseen hand of a magician make Rodriguez's outburst seem irrelevant.

But was it truly unimportant? Rodriguez was arrested, tried, convicted in the court of public opinion and then put on display for all to see, via social media. She has been backpedaling from that statement before the echoes from it had completely died down. Well just hold on a second there little lady, I don't think that you need to apologize for anything...okay maybe your diction. I personally have nothing against what Ms. Rodriguez has said. We do need more superheroes with more diverse ethnic backgrounds, but let's create those heroes using our imaginations and not by copying and colorizing already established white superheroes.

I know with 21st Century Black men and women still being shot in the streets by White Police Officers, the almost silly argument about whether a superhero should be created originally as a person of color or recreated a person of color using an original white superhero template is well...a little ridiculous. Or maybe not so ridiculous when you look at it in a broader sense. In her 1999 study on the effects of media on children, Psychologist Sherryl Browne Graves, wrote that television (the Internet was not as universally used in 1999, so was not included in the study), was a "window on the world" and "a key socializing agent" for all races of children. Gordon Berry wrote, in 1999, that when television programs do not show members of certain groups or does show members "...negatively or unrealistically, it has a negative effect on the ability of teenagers who are members of these groups to believe in themselves and in their own capabilities."* Studies show that it is important that children see people, who look like them, representing themselves in a positive way in books, television, movies, Internet and of course comics.

I like Rodriguez as a performer. I am not sure of her political views, and well she has had a few problems with alcohol and driving or so the tabloids say and I probably wouldn't vote for her to be president (not that she would run for the office), or anything but I do watch her films and like them. Oh, yeah and I have to agree with her thoughts about ethnic actors and and their representation on the big and small screens. People of color should be represented, as originally

created superheroes, not ethnically infused copies of original white ones.

There was some talk of having Idris Elba play the part of James Bond. Love Elba, but not as Bond. Love Bond, too, but not as Elba. Bond, with a Scottish father and a Swiss mother is, what in this black and white world we call, what we consider a white guy. You want to use Elba, which I think they should, then recast him as John Luther on the big screen. That is the character that is Elba's and Elba's alone. The most important TV character that I remember, in my youth, who originally began as a white man and was reborn as a black man in the movies, was Jim West. West was a secret agent, a "James Bond on horse back", working for the government during the middle 19th Century. Robert Conrad played the part of Jim West on the TV series, The Wild Wild West, a CBS series that ran from 1965 to 1969. Though tongue in cheek in nature it was a western-action series that ran for four years. Fast forward four decades and Jim West was reborn as a black man, played by Will Smith. Now I like Will Smith, but, he was never the iconic character, Jim West, that Conrad breathed life into. He was merely a very good copy (it was Will Smith after all). In fairness to Smith...it didn't matter who they chose to play the part of Jim West...West was and will always be Robert Conrad...at least to me.

Many of today's films are being created from scripts that find their origins in the world of paper and ink...the world of comic books and superheroes. DC Comics have been around since 1935, with their first super hero comic Action Comics #1, introduced Superman, in 1938. While Timely Comics, which became Atlas Comics in the 1950's and then Marvel Comic Company in 1961, published their first super hero comic in 1939 under the title, Marvel Comic #1, the super heroes: The Sub-Mariner and The Human Torch (not the Fantastic Four version, Johnny Storm came in the early 60's). Though two of the super human men were aliens and one was an android all had European features-They looked white. Many of the heroes that came out of the DC and Marvel universe were created by authors and artists who were white. That is where we get into the whole apple not falling to far from the tree scenario adapted for this argument. Basically, they wrote what they knew.

Fast forward to today. There are many different ethnic groups represented in the creative end of the big two comic companies as well as in the many smaller companies and with them comes and will come a universe of diverse, multicultural, multi-gendered, multi-specied bunch of superheroes. Imagine.

Now all we need to do is convince the powers that be Disney/Marvel Films and DC Films to take a chance and develop a film that will show these heroes on the big screen. I believe there is an audience out there for them. Black Widow and The Falcon can't be the only superheroes who are not white men who are ready for prime time.

But remember...that is just my opinion...I could be wrong.

PS
Michelle Rodriguez can play the part of a Green Lantern without feeling as if she is stealing the part from a white person. Green Lantern is a member of a glorified peace keeping police force in the universe on the order of the UN Peace Keeping Forces...accept in Forest Green, White & Black uniforms instead of Sky Blue ones and with real power. There are all types of Green Lanterns running around the universe of different genders, species and racial backgrounds. Rodriguez should feel right at home.

PPS
One more imagine. Just for the sake of argument and to add a little spice to the debate, what if we...the power's that be we...took a Black Character and made him...white...? Let us say, Marvel Comics' the Black Panther, the first super hero of African descent, played by Vin Diesal? Hmmm...?

* Racism, Sexism and the Media: The Rise of Class Communication in Multicultural America
By Clint C. Wilson II, Felix Gutierrez, Lena M. Chao. Page 59

Sex is Better After 50

2015-04-12T04:48:00.000-07:00

Okay, this may sound a little bit self serving to the causal observer, after all I am near 60 years old, but I promise you, that I am not making this up, according to an article written by San Francisco, Californian sexuality journalist, Michael Castleman, M.A. in the February 15, 2015 edition of Psychology Today*, we can be better at sex the older we get . In Castleman's article, Sex After 50 Can Be the Best of Your Life, he goes on to say just that, that sex after 50 can be the best sex of your life (And I am over 50, just for the ladies out there). Okay, here's the rub, in order for older lovers to be better lovers than younger lovers, we have to turn from intercourse into something called "outercourse." Outcourse is non-penetrative sex...sex without copulation, coitus or the penis entering the vagina and can include frottage, mutual masturbation, kissing and/or cuddling. Although outercourse, is considered to be non-penetrative, it may include fingering and/or oral sex, as well. Basically, it seems to be something we used to call foreplay.

Well, while it is true that as we age, stuff begins to happen to our sexual tools...dryness of the vagina and the weakness of the erection, according to Castle, these things do not have to be game-enders as far as it concerns our sexual interaction. Basing his arguments off of information that he pulled from the 70-year-old Joan Price's new book, The Ultimate Guide to Sex After 50, this could be the best sexual time of our lives.

Because older lovers are more in sync than their younger counter parts. Love when it is young is hot and usually fast, with men all finished and asleep before the women even get started. While older lovers are usually on the same page, moving at the same rate of speed.
At the older age men can achieve sexual pleasure without erections. Closer to their female lovers, men over 50 can derive pleasure in other ways, that does not necessarily include the need for an erect penis.
Men become more like the women in their sexual wants and needs. Touching, kissing, cuddling and frottage (the act of rubbing against a person or object to cause sexual stimulation), become just as important to a older man as to an older woman.
Men discover that they don't need erections to achieve orgasms.
There is less worry about pregnancy and contraceptive. Although this maybe true, I would suggest the use of condoms to protect from transmission of STDs.
The children are gone.

70 year old Jean Price

Jean Price's The Ultimate Guide to Sex After 50, deals with stuff like dating as elder, rediscovering lost or disappearing sexual desire, sex toys, stretching erotic boundaries, easing sexual pain and more. I never read the book, but it will definitely be one that I will purchase soon. It contains chapters that offer a lot to be desired:

Table of Contents:

Introduction

Chapter 1: Busting the Myths about Sex and Aging
Chapter 2: What’s Happening to My Body?
Chapter 3: Getting Your Mojo Back
Chapter 4: Sex with Yourself and Toys
Chapter 5: Sex with a Longtime Partner
Chapter 6: Stretching Boundaries
Chapter 7: When Intimacy Ends
Chapter 8: You and Your Doctor
Chapter 9: When Sex Is Painful
Chapter 10: Cancer, Cancer Treatment, and Sex
Chapter 11: Heart, Brain, Joints, and Sex
Chapter 12: Sex without Erections
Chapter 13: Single after All These Years
Chapter 14: The New Rules of Dating
Chapter 15: Sex with a New Partner
Chapter 16: Safer Sex: Always
Chapter 17: Sexy Aging Going Forward
Chapter 18: Conclusion

Castleman's article, and Price's book make a strong case for a future of sexual enjoyment for people who are above the age of 50. It is something to look into if you are over 50 and something to look forward to if you are under 50. I have yet to read Price's book, but if it is what Castleman says it is, than perhaps it is a book that people of any and every age should read. Hey, who can't use a little extra help in the bedroom?

But then again...this is just my opinion...I could be wrong.

*https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/all-about-sex/201502/sex-after-50-can-be-the-best-your-life

http://www.joanprice.com/books/sexafterfifty.html

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-ultimate-guide-to-sex-after-fifty-joan-price/1119847060?ean=9781627780964

Online Dating at 60

2015-04-09T08:49:00.000-07:00

Many of my friends and contemporaries want to quit the whole dating scene. They feel that it is not worth the effort to go through the whole dating dance, ritual, thing, just to find themselves dumped or dumping, after investing a great deal of time and effort searching for a mate. Or worst going to bars, clubs and/or even online dating sites, just to be ignored, lied to or in the case of some of my female friends, being hit on in the most vulgar of fashions by young men old enough to be their grandchildren. Dating is difficult, especially in a youth orientated city like New York, but I believe that online dating can make it easier. It sort of levels the playing field, giving each player a chance to see, if only a glimpse of who and what they are getting into...before they get into it.

I have reached the ripe old age of 58 and have discovered to my great disappointment that I am not that ripe and new, nor as old and rotten as I thought I'd be. I am like most of us, just your average guy...er...person. I enjoy meeting new people as I search for the woman, that is to be my "one and only". So, I don't share the thinking of some others my age, I do, however understand it. There is nothing lonelier than finally feeling at peace with oneself and discovering that there is no one around to share that peace with you. We spend years, decades getting to understand ourselves and finally after much introspection, testing, learning, experimenting, we know a little about what makes us tick and we realize that there is no one to tick with us. We are widowed, divorced or separated and we are looking for that someone who can take this, our final lap, with us; we want to find someone who is willing to jump into the "Us" pool and get a little more than their feet wet. But, the search can be so daunting that many of my contemporaries simple quit. But I say, "So What! That, we have exhausted our own connections: friends, acquaintances, friend's friends, acquaintances's acquaintances, looking for a possible mate. So What that we have failed with that person in aisle seven of our supermarket! So What that, the woman with the walker on the high school track field won't give us the time of day! And that dude, with the funny mustache at the end of the bar, so what that he is not interested." I say we keep looking in the real world and in the world of online dating as well.

I say, take a deep breath, look to make sure none of the grandchildren are around to see us and we fill out those lengthy dating profiles and add the most flattering of pictures that we can find (we must include that full body shot), search, respond, request and wait...and wait...and wait.

Something many of us have always known and some of us are just discovering, dating is hard work. And at our age even harder when one is no longer willing to just...you know...settle. Because while the biological clock has long ago stopped, the one for companionship, love and...yeah...sex has not skipped a beat. We are a social creature. We want...no we need companionship; it is built into our DNA. We really can't help ourselves. So we fine tune our profiles, take better pictures, search and wait.

Dating after 50 is becoming more and more common these days and if you are anything like me not something that was in your plans 30, 20 even 10 tears ago. Now I am not going to pretend, in the deer startled by the head lights sort of away, that I am a virgin to this thing. I am not. I have had several years of experience in over 50 dating and three of those years, dating using the services of one online dating site or another. I can't say that my experiences were all together awful, because that would not be true. I have met some pretty cool women and even include two or three among my friends now. I have met women that I am 100% sure I would have never had the opportunity to have met in any other way.

I think this method of meeting people, and here I am not a great seer or anything, is the wave or method of the future. In the same way that the Internet has become such an extension of our every day experience, online dating will become an extension of our dating experience. Even people who are meeting in ways other than an online dating site, find themselves gathering information about their potential partners on Google, Yahoo, Facebook, MySpace, Instagram, Twitter, Linkedin and probably a whole slew of other online sites that are extra-national, I never heard of or just haven't been invented yet. Face it folks online dating is here to stay and I think we should use it.

Now let's thread carefully. Because of the magic of the Internet, people seem to forget to use their common sense. Online dating should be considered even more intense than non-online dating. I tend to be overly cautious when I caution my female friends (admit-tingly engenderish) about online dating, so take that into account while reading my advice.

If you chose to meet the person on the other side of the computer hardware, let other people know: your friends, family members and/or someone you trust. Let them know who you are going with, where you are going and when you are going. That means sharing their profile information, Email address, telephone number and other contact information you may have on that person.

Try to meet in an open public space: Library, Coffee Shop, Barnes & Nobles, places like that.

Take a picture of your date's Driver's license and send it to you support person/team.

Never ever take a waiting drink of any kind or anything from anyone. That includes walking away and coming back to a waiting drink. The date rape drug. Need I say more?

Bring your own condoms. I never bring condoms with me on a date, at least not on the first few, it always seems presumptuous. But,if you decide that you want to take your date to the next level, someone of you should be prepared. So you be, just in case he is not. Sex without condoms is a life and/or death sentence.

There maybe more cautions you can take. I may not know them all or haven't thought of them yet. But you get the picture...be careful. Oh, yeah and have fun.

On that note, where should you meet on this first...date? I think that first meetings, should be arranged around a simple coffee shop, diner, walk in the park, museum...you know...places like that. You know anywhere, where if someone threw a black bag over your head and dragged you out, kicking and screaming, into a waiting van there would be witnesses. Being a native New Yorker I know that you know that you can expect no one to jump to your aid, but at least there will be iPhone video evidence (from several angles, I bet), to show the police.

Seriously. Ideally you want to meet where you can get to know a little more about each other. You know where you can talk, laugh and explore. Places like bookstores and bars are cool, sometimes meeting where you can entertain each other in an activity, like bowling, pool playing, table tennis, or games which allow for conversation around a particular subject...just in case the conversation going gets a little rough. From this simple beginning you can choose to end your date or extend it.

So, again, and in conclusion, dating, Real World or Online, at and around 60 can be as difficult or more so, than dating at any other age. We must persevere, be patient, cautious, imaginative, adventurous, daring and brave. Above all we should have fun.

Oh...yeah...and be yourself.

But remember this is just my opinion...I could be wrong.

Failing Education Issues-A Brief Response

2015-04-08T09:12:00.001-07:00

The education situation in New York City, perhaps in this country really sucks. Our nations's future leaders, are dying on the vine like some strange fruit, if you don't mind my mixing and twisting metaphors a bit further, while, we watch it burn down, fiddle in hand.

Let us begin by agreeing that this is not an easily solved problem. It has taken us decades to get here and we won't solve these problems with some magic potion...at least not overnight. I think that we have to understand that poverty is the real issue at hand here. Since, again, we can't solve that problem magically either (nor do I think that we really want to), let us look at other things.

This is not a mayoral problem unless you consider poverty a mayoral problem. The current mayor (and I am no fan of his), merely inherited the problems left by the former mayor (not in his fan club either). In order for this problem to be properly solved the school administration, staff and teachers must be given back control over the schools. Now, today, the schools are being run by the students, parents and politicians. There are no real repercussions for students who choose not to do his/her work, who chooses not to learn. If a student has the power to ignore, curse out, threaten, and even strike the teacher, with impunity, how can the teacher teach...how can that very student learn? But again it is not that simple.

Clem Giddygahl puts it quite nicely, "Until you change the culture, you ain't changing anything." Farina (a fan), came into a crazy situation, but is using the very wrong minded techniques of the previous administration to solve a problem that they failed to make better and may have actually made worst. Farina is again attacking the teachers, while ignoring the situation that is glaring; the inmates are running the asylum.

Give back the school to the teachers, make the parents willing participants of the education process and change the mindset of the children who feel disenfranchised, who “know” that there is no future for them by becoming better educated.

No easy tasks.

But that is just my opinion…I could be wrong.

I reprinted this, with minor changes, from a response that I made to an article on the New York City Daily News website: New York City is rife with under performing schools, including nearly two-thirds of students missing state standards by Ginger Adams Otis, Ben Chapman, Larry McShane NEW YORK DAILY NEWS Saturday, March 14, 2015, 9:00PM:

http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/education/2-in-3-city-students-not-meeting-math-state-standards-article-1.2148748

Lost on the G Train

2015-03-31T02:25:00.000-07:00

The other day, not to long ago, I got lost in New York City. This is interesting only because I lived here for over 58 years of my over 58 year old life...give or take a number of weeks when I left it to go on vacation. I got lost in New York City, while traveling on the subway from Brooklyn to Manhattan, by way of Queens, one weekday night.

I had just seen a performance of The Baker's Wife in The Gallery Players Theater in Brooklyn, New York, and was on my way home. I walked down the quiet empty streets of Park Slope heading for Prospect Park. Passing the attractive Brownstones, my plan was to walk Prospect Park toward Grand Army Plaza where I could catch the number 2 train home. When I reached the park I looked at the time, it was 11pm. It was a weekday and I had to get up early for work the next day. I changed my plans and looked toward the first subway station that I could find. The G subway train station.

Have you ever ridden the G line subway train? Well neither have I, at least not until that night. Up until then I was like most Manhattan dwelling New Yorkers, I only knew of the G as a punchline of a David Letterman joke. Standing right outside of Prospect Park, I looked south to see the Fort Hamilton Parkway station. A white capital G in the middle of a lime green background, dominated the station and the oncoming train. I stepped onto the platform and jumped on to the first train that pulled into that station heading North. The simple thought crossed my mind, "I am going home." It was 11:17pm.

The G train, has the distinction of being the only subway train in the Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA), that doesn't enter the Island of Manhattan.* The G Train travels up the west side of Brooklyn/Queens and connects the two boroughs.

I had never stepped foot on the floor of a G Train, until that night. I can't say that I knew nothing of the G Train. I mean as a secret lover of maps I've traced its route, on a MTA subway map, many times...with my eyes. I prided myself on my map reading skills and much like my ancestral male counterparts, I shunned the asking of directions and that is the main reason, perhaps the only reason that I got lost.

The sound system on this particular G Train was to low to for me to hear the frequent announcements. That didn't seem to upset my fellow passengers, who all seemed to take it in stride. But then, perhaps they were already sure about where they were going, so they didn't need to know what was being said. The map, the one that I have used so many times, before, seemed unclear and gave no information that was helpful, all of a sudden. Add to that, that I was not able to discern anything by simple observation. As if by entering the train I had ventured to a place frequented only by a smoking man, with a black suit, a thin tie and a voice that reminded one of an opening of a casket: "...Submitted for your approval a man, lost on the mythical G Train, in a mythical land known as Brooklyn...on a ride to nowhere, you have just entered into Twilight Zone."

Lost. I mean I knew where I was. I was somewhere in New York City, somewhere between Brooklyn and Queens, riding on the G line subway train heading north. The last stop was Court Street in Queens. So I was not so much lost, as I just didn't know where I was nor how to get where I wanted to go. I watched as stations passed me by; stations that didn't seem to match the the little dots depicted on the MTA Subway Maps. Eyeing people getting on and off of the train, I began to feel a pang of jealousy. I mean there, in front of me, were people who actually knew where they were going. I jumped off of the train at the very next stop, not because I knew what I was doing but really just to spite the people who did. I exited the station and stood in front of the Greenpoint subway station, looking up at a starless sky, without the skills or the tools for orientation even if there were stars to orientate myself by; looking up at a cloud covered sky, for a North Star, that would not have been of much help to me if I could find it. I stood there, on that corner and hoped that I'd be able to figure out my way back home...to civilization. It was closing on Midnight.

Standing on the corner of Greenpoint and Union, I looked around, watched as buses passed and looked for a familiar skyline. There was nothing. I was within spitting distance of Manhattan and I had no idea in which direction to look for it. I pulled out my phone, which as it turns out is much smarter than I am, and Googled the MTA Subway Map. I formulated a plan, with the Googled information. I would jump back on the train and travel to the 21st Street stop and from there walk over to the 7 train on Hunters Point Avenue. I rushed down the stairs, through the turnstile, and back to the platform, pleased to have joined the ranks of people, who knew where they going and how they were going to get there. This euphoria did not last for long, as little did I know, confusion was coming around the bend with the next oncoming train.

Like a typical New York Subway Rider, I leaned out over the platform to look for the lights of the oncoming train. There was no train in sight, then suddenly, I heard the train's horn! It was coming from behind me! I stepped back quickly as the G Train enter the station from the opposite direction. It was a short train, only about four or five cars, and stopped farther down the tracks from me and the other patrons on the platform.

Then...pandemonium!

People began running by me, toward the train. Inner City Question: What do you do when you see a group of people running in one direction? Inner City Answer: You run with them, because you have no idea what might be chasing them and if you are a native New Yorker...you don't want to know. So I ran. Pushing by those slower than I, with the punchline, to an old joke, running though my head, "I don't have to be able to run faster than the bear, I just need to run faster than you." I reached the train, but, didn't jump on, okay I did but I jumped off again to ask the conductor how I could get back to Manhattan. She told me stay on that platform and take the G train headed in the opposite (the right), direction. As the train pulled out of the station, there seemed to be something in her eyes...something alien for someone so jaded. She pulled off her eye protecting goggles, her face seemed to soften as she looked back at me and...now don't quote me on this, after all it was a darken Brooklyn subway station and visibility was almost zero...but, she seemed to wipe away a tear. The train disappeared into the tunnel.

I boarded the G Train headed north...in the right direction...and I got off the train at 21st Street. By tracing the route of the G Train it seemed that the 21st Street Station would stop close to the 7 Train. The 7 Train could get me home. But of course, I made the wrong move. I got off the train at 21st Street. Then I did a right thing. I asked a couple of men who were working the tracks at that station, how I could get home. Yeah...I asked for directions. They were a kindly pair and set me straight...I was to get back on the G train...one headed in the same direction...and go for one stop...to Court Square, where I could transfer to the number 7 train. As I boarded the next G train, headed in the right direction, I looked back to see the two men watching me with pity in their eyes. The time was 12:19am.

I stepped onto the outdoor, elevated platform on Court Square Station and waited for the number 7 Train. I looked up at the sky, like some modern day explorer, for a building, a light, a star to orientate myself. I am hard headed that way. But, I came away with nothing...images of buildings I didn't know and skies I didn't recognize. I stepped back. Lost. How could I stand in a borough, so close to my own and not see a knowable landmark? I turned and through the metal webbing of the stations protective wall, I spied the lights on a bridge that was so popular that they named it trice.

The Queensborough Bridge, The Ed Koch Bridge or simply the 59th Street bridge, blazing like a beacon in the night and behind it the most famous skyline in the world. As a G Train curved its way into the station, a tear rolled slowly down my cheek as I was overcome with the knowledge that I would...soon...very soon...be home. The time is 12:39am.

Epilogue:
Because the 7 Train entered Manhattan on its correct route doesn't mean I made it home easily. I didn't. As the train pulled into Grand Central Station, I made the decision to keep going west to Times Square. When I got to 42nd Street and Times Square, I discovered that there was no uptown service pass 96th Street on the 2 or 3 line trains. I would have had to take a shuttle bus home. That was not for me. I had to go back to 42nd Street and Grand Central Station via the Queens bound 7 Train. At Grand Central Station I caught the 6 Train to 110th Street and walked home from there. I arrived home at approximately, 1:30am.

* Staten Island has the MTA Staten Island Railway (SIR), which never touches any other borough but Staten Island.

One Boy From the South Bronx

2015-02-15T17:04:00.000-08:00

I walked into my job, a small elementary/middle School in the South Bronx, and was startled by a report that one of our former students was arrested for rape. We were shocked, but no one seemed to be surprised, when the news of his crime and arrest came to be known throughout the school. Only one voice, among the many I heard, seemed to doubt his guilt. You see, we knew this young man, some knew him better than others, but many of us had an intimate relationship with him. We caught him breaking the rules around the school, from the minor to the severe. He allegedly picked pocketbooks, stole money, punched out boys as well as girls, cut classes, played hooky, stole laptops, rang fire alarms and found himself in various parts of the school, where he didn't belong, with girls in very compromising positions. On the other hand he was a gifted basketball player, a charismatic student with the ability to convince anyone of almost anything. He loved the rap music of Chris Brown and craved his fame, mastered the beat of the drums and played for his congregation's Sunday services. He was creative, imaginative, smart, devious, slick and was drawn to color outside of the lines.

We came to the aid of this troubled young man, or at least many of us would like to think that we did. He received IEPs (Individual Education Plans), social workers tried to socialized him, psychologist tried to psycho-analyzed him and, guidance counselors tried to guide him. Teachers tried to teach and preachers tried to preach but ultimately we all stood frozen by the computer screen as the news of his alleged crimes and possible punishment scrawled by our eyes.

Straight from the webpage of the of 7online.com, the facts as they were printed:

A 16 year old boy was arrested for allegedly rape of a 23 year-old woman and an 11 year old girl in separate attacks.
On October 20, 2014, he allegedly abducted a 23 year old woman with a knife pressed to her neck, took her to Grimes Elementary School Building, forced her to perform oral sex on him and forcibly anally sodomized her several times.
On December 4, 2014, he abducted an 11 year old girl, took her to Grimes Elementary School, raped, anally sodomized and forced oral sex upon her. The attack lasted for approximately two hours.
Interviewed for an unrelated investigation, his fingerprints (coming off of a water bottle), linked him to the two sexual attacks.
He now faces 28 charges including: Two counts of Rape in the First Degree
Though a juvenile he is being charged as an adult and is facing up to 10 years of prison.*

To say this young man was difficult, would be an understatement. He was always in trouble...literally...and if he was not in a middle of some new trouble that he had created, he was dealing with or being punished for an old one. He seemed to revel in his disobedience, a true rebel without a cause..or a clue. So where does that leave us...now?

One of the children who was, at one time, in our charge has been accused of committing a heinous crime, of which we do not doubt his guilt. Only one person, a man, questioned the case against him. No one else. He left a lasting impression on us here in the little school on the hill. We remembered the attempts that were made to save him. We remembered the attempts that failed. We remembered how he used his handsomeness of face, his gift of gab and his quickness of wit to attempt to sway us. Some say that we, the system, failed him. They say it was all our fault...the failure he had at becoming a good citizen. I don't know maybe they're right.

What he did to those two females is horrible. If he is guilty...he deserves to be punished with the full weight of the law.

But...

This is sad, 360 degrees around, sad, for the survivors of this alleged rape and for a boy soon to become a man behind the bars of a prison institution.

*http://7online.com/news/mount-vernon-teen-charged-in-rapes-of-young-woman-and-11-year-old-girl/513527/

http://www.lohud.com/story/news/crime/2015/02/11/mount-vernon-boy-rape-charges/23247633/

The Jello Pudding Sexual Predator

2014-12-07T03:52:00.001-08:00

"That Sh** is upsetting, if you didn't know about it, trust me, when you leave here Google, Bill Cosby rapist..."
-Comedian Hannibal Buress doing a bit
on Bill Cosby, on October 16, 2014*

"By the time I was drugged and raped by him in New York, he'd already broken me down, brainwashed me and made me feel like there was something wrong with me if I resisted his sexual advances."

"I was drugged and raped by that man. He is a Monster."
-Barbara Bowman accused Cosby of
raping her when she was 17. **

"These brand new claims about alleged decades-old events are becoming increasingly ridiculous, and it is completely illogical that so many people would have said nothing, done nothing, and made no reports to law enforcement or asserted civil claims if they thought they had been assaulted over a span of so many years"
-Martin Singer, attorney for Bill Cosby^

"I believe the other women. The stories they told are almost identical to what he did to me. His MO was the same, he drugged them and when they woke up they were dated and had had sex."
-Shawn (Byers) Brown (62), the woman
Cosby admitted to having an affair with.^^

"I know people are tired of me not saying anything, but a guy doesn't have to answer to innuendos. People should fact-check. People shouldn't have to go through that and shouldn't answer to innuendos."
-Bill Cosby, in Florida Today

"We may be looking at America's greatest serial rapist that ever got away with this for the longest amount of time. He got away with it because he was hiding behind the image of Cliff Huxtable"
-Jewell Allison, former model who claimed being raped by Bill Cosby

Here is the truth. The truth is I don't...we don't want to believe that William Henry Cosby is guilty of all the things that they say he is guilty of...he is and has been, throughout our lifetime, Alexander Scott, Chet Kincaid, Heathcliff "Cliff" Huxtable, Hilton Lucas and most all, and more importantly he is Bill Cosby. We want our Bill Cosby to be a positive example; a rags to riches success story that we can all look up and aspire too. We want him to be the Bill Cosby who has won all those many awards, and whose credentials give us someone to be proud of...something to aim for. But, the sexual assault accusations are hard to digest. Watching and/or participating in the death of an icon has made writing this piece quite difficult for me. Inside of me logic, common sense, rape, feminist beliefs, misogynistic rhetoric and maybe a little hero worship do battle, as I try to consider the truth behind the rape accusations leveled at the man named Cosby.

I don't know whether Wiliam Henry "Bill" Cosby is guilty of all the negative things they say about him, or not. He could be the monster who drugged

those women and then used them as his sexual playthings. He could be the guy with the Jello pudding smile, masking a secretly sinister man hiding behind a TV show persona created, packaged and loved by all. "America's favorite dad," now in his seventies, in the face of interviewers looks strong, healthy and funny...Cos funny. Until the question comes up about the allegations against him, then he becomes feeble, weak, a deer caught in the head lights of a past that may destroy his legacy. Befuddled he sits beside his loving wife, with tight lipped stoicism and refuses to answer those questions about a past that guilty or not, should make him feel ashamed.
Guilty or not Cosby's silence is deafening. And unless he is legally bound to keep quiet by his arrangement with Ms. Andrea Contand, he should be speaking out: Yea! or Nay! Contand is the only woman who pressed charges against Cosby and is at the epicenter of all the accusations. In the case of Contand, a former coach at Temple University who pressed charges against Cosby back in 2007, the criminal charges were tossed for lack of evidence (she filed a year after the alleged incident), but she reached some kind of arrangement with Cosby before a civil suit could be started. This agreement was made after Contand brought a list of 12 Jane Doe's who were ready, willing and able to testify on her behalf that Cosby had assaulted them in a similar fashion.

This is a list of women, as of November 29, 2014, who claim to have been drugged and/or sexually assaulted by Bill Cosby (some were on the list that Contand used to settle the case out of court):

(I originally had a list of 20 women's names here. I went back and removed them.)****

Victoria Valention (#17), claimed that she pulled Cosby off of a semi-conscious Meg Foster, saving her from date rape, back in the early 1970's. Meg Foster had no comment.

Even as the number of accusers seem to grow every day, Cosby's refusal to even speak on the subject, seem to grow just as strong. Though, of course, there is no actual physical evidence (all of the cases are so old that they are past the time that either criminal or civil charges can be pressed), Cosby is being accused, tried, convicted and punished in the court of public opinion and his silence may not be the best form of defense. These attacks on his legacy which without a doubt will rewrite his history will not just go away because he refuses to deal with them. Something happened back there in the life of a younger Bill Cosby, something that the senior Bill Cosby needs to deal with, because it will not be going away any time soon.

Could Bill Cosby be a victim of his time? What I am asking is, was what he was doing in the past, acceptable then and only made unacceptable in our more enlighten present? Cosby was a well known playboy/womanizer in his youth; hanging with Hugh Hefner (former Playboy Magazine owner and publisher), at the Playboy Mansion, partying at the most popular clubs and living the lifestyle of a Playboy. It was also the time of free love and the free use of drugs. It was a time, not to long ago, before, "Just say no!", "No means no!", AIDS, "Date Rape", it was a time when people popped multicolored pills that regulated a user's mental, emotional and physical state of mind. It was also a time of free sex...free unprotected sex. And as anyone who can remember the name of Dr. Timothy Leary can tell you that the two things, drugs and sex, were the two wheels of a bicycle that many of the rich and famous rode. Back then, a less enlighten time, there was no connection between being under the influence of a drug or alcohol and the ability to give consent. This does not forgive Cosby, but it may explain the environment where these actions could have occurred. During that time, those actions were not frown upon. Again not to say they weren't wrong, just that....ironically...those things happened in a more innocent time.

All of that assumes that the women are telling the truth. Which is what this piece and everything that I have ever read concerning this Cosby/sex scandal things does. Everything that I have read, heard or saw about this subject assumes that the women are telling the truth. They could be lying. Why would they lie? What would they gain by lying? I don't know. Those questions stymie me as well. But, they may not be the most important questions to ask. I am not even sure the questions are a legitimate questions, when the question is whether the accuser's are telling the truth. The why is not what we should consider; there could be a million reasons why. It is more important to focus on the validity of the accusers, the why while important is not the point. Without a shred of proof, as far as I know, Cosby has been found guilty of committing a crime against those 20 woman, just on their say so. The possibility of an upcoming new TV show was dashed against the rocks of those horrific accusations, concerts were cancelled, even the reruns of old shows have been taken off of the airwaves and his name, the Bill Cosby brand has been dragged through the mud, just on their say so...without proof. The body of his work will always carry the stigmata of the sexual predator. All because of the word of a group of women and with the helping hands of the media. Reminds me a bit of the Arthur Miller play, The Crucible. If he did what they say he did, than he deserves all of the bad things that has come his way and much worst. But, if he is innocent, then shame on us because Cosby has become a victim of a worldwide witch hunt. Either way, Bill Cosby will never be looked at the same way again.

At this time Bill Cosby has approximately 20 women who claimed that he drugged/raped and/or sexually assaulted them. At least 20 women have made statements, revealing their names in the process of accusing Cosby of those crimes. Bill Cosby has not responded with anything other than, "I know people are tired of me not saying anything, but a guy doesn't have to answer to innuendos." It angers me that that and the legal statement from his lawyers are the only responses that we have received from his side of the whole thing. I want Cosby to come out, say the words and show the evidence that will exonerate himself. But, he won't because he can't. I think that he should respond to the many accusations against him and do not believe that silence is the best response. But, I am not a lawyer and perhaps I don't have all the facts. I am left with this, to believe that Cosby is innocent of past sexual misconduct, is to believe that all of the women who have accused him are liars, confused, vindictive, money hungry and/or psychotic. That is possibility but, without a word coming out of the Cosby camp rebutting those charges, highly unlikely.

*Follow this link to see the bit: http://www.phillymag.com/ticket/2014/10/17/hannibal-buress-bill-cosby-rapist/

**http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2806437/Bill-Cosby-threw-bed-pinned-neck-ll-never-forget-sound-clinking-belt-buckle-Actress-lifts-lid-harrowing-years-rape-hands-TV-legend.html
^ Read the full statement: http://variety.com/2014/tv/news/bill-cosbys-lawyer-its-time-for-media-vilification-to-stop-1201362481/

^^http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2848073/The-one-woman-Bill-Cosby-admits-cheated-says-drugged-raped-got-PREGNANT.html
^^^http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2014/11/21/bill_cosby_accusers_list_sexual_assault_rape_drugs_feature_in_women_s_stories.html'''''''''''''''''''
****I originally had a list of 20 women's names here. I went back and removed them. As I became convinced that they were telling the truth, I realized that victims’ identities should be protected.

Teresa and The Journeys of the Female Archetype

2014-11-28T12:48:00.001-08:00

I was in the midst of this conversation with an artist who lives on the left coast. She paints beautiful pictures; still lives, nature scenes and portraits. But her main focus is her women...The Journey's of the Female Archetype.

We were talking about art, artists and the artistic state. It sounds like a pretty heavy conversation, but like most things with Teresa weighty stuff roll down hill like the clear waters of a mountain stream. Some how like the waters, she smooths over sharp edges and clears up any murkiness of thought, on her bubbly way to some deeply thought through path. So the more I get to know her, the less surprised I am at how reality based she is and how some of her opinions are pretty hard, tough and not quite on the traveled beaten path. While I romanticize the role of the artist and their place in our society, she is more concrete and real.

She sacrifices for her art and by that I mean she paints before she eats. Monies go in for paints and brushes she needs to work with, over the food she needs to eat. But she is well aware and makes room for her need to survive...but more she does much more than that, much more than survives...she lives; taking huge fun loving chunks from the food of life...she lives. Bohemian in lifestyle as well as in dress, she is not to be the starving artist. She said to me that this was her work and as such she should get paid for the work she does. She believes that her fortune should come now, not in some far away future long after her death. As she integrates herself into her paintings changing this, rearranging that and improving on the whole, she is battling with the realities of air travel, hotel rooms and foreign government issues. Juggling the price of paint with the proper shipping of her paintings and the correct shade of her ladies' faces.

Her opinions are strong...seemingly contradictory at times...and one has no doubt that the strong women, that she depicts are merely painted reflections of herself. There is a dainty way about her or so it seems, a smile is not far from her lips nor a giggle far from any conversation, and her reverence for women goes beyond the canvas and is immersed in the political. Her anger barely hides the pain she feels for the suffering of her "sisters" where ever it is felt in the world. This pain/anger and love...because there is definitely love there...is transferred to the canvas, imprinted on almost every brushstroke and the beginning point of every breath she takes. But there is no starving artist here. She is a living, breathing artist.

And she deserves to get paid.

No BS.

Meals on Wheels Meets up

2014-10-29T03:03:00.000-07:00

My brother...from another mother...Dave and I found that we were not seeing each other as much as we liked. You know job life, family life, real life has a tendency to get in one's way in this city...as I imagine it does in most. So we decided that we should meet each other every Sunday morning for breakfast and a walk about the town. This went on for about a month and became a ritual that we undertook no matter where our walks would take us, or what the weather was like outside.

While flipping or skipping through the Internet I came across the "Meetup" groups, specifically the one on writing, called "Shut-up and Write", I joined it. I also discovered a group that met once a month called, "Wheels on Meals" on the upper west side of Manhattan. The group of volunteers would travel by foot within a half mile radius of the meeting place to deliver cold breakfast and hot lunch to people who were elderly, sick or otherwise home bound. My brother and I both decided that we would join this group. We have in the past done a small degree of help for those in need, but found that volunteer work was lacking in our lives at the time.

For several months, one Sunday a month, Dave and I would walk the early morning streets of the upper west side of Manhattan, delivering food to those in need. Since, we came as partners, we were never paired with anyone else. You see coming to Meals on Wheels, also gave us a chance to hang with each other in a more active way then just eating a hearty Sunday breakfast together. So the Meet up part of this adventure was not truly fulfilled as we never really met up with anyone new. Until today.

The young lady who first organized the volunteer group for Meet up and Meals for Wheels, found that she had an over abundance of volunteers today. An odd occurrence by far. So she decided to send us out in groups of four. We were fortunate enough to be paired up with a young couple, Morgan a young lady who was connected with some form of healthcare insurance program who hails from Dallas Texas and Edgar, a young man in his second year of undergrad school at Columbia University, who hails from Patterson, New Jersey.

It was a fortunate thing that I had forgotten my reading glasses and was unable to read the list that told us the location of our clients. Morgan took over the role of the guide, and de facto leader of our little band of do early morning good-ers. It was a wonderful experience.

During the day, we each found ourselves alone with one of the other of the pair and learned a great deal from each other about each other. It was a true meet up. I found that they were smart, sensitive and both of them, obviously given where we met, wanted to do some good in this world. They both left me feeling like we may have a chance of making some really amazing things happen in the future. We invited them to share brunch with us, but they had other plans. Dave went so far as to invite them to his apartment for Thanksgiving Dinner. We exchanged pictures; above is a picture taken by Dave of the young couple delivering food to some client.

I really enjoyed my time with these two young people and I hope that I get to meet up with them again sometime. Now I would like another opportunity to meet up with another couple who we don't know at 9:15am but who we know a lot better by 11:00am.

NOTE:
Meals on Wheels does food delivery seven days a week and are always looking for volunteers. They are located in The Church of St. Paul and St. Andrew on 263 W. 86th Street between Broadway and West End Avenue in Manhattan. There telephone number is 212-874-3750

Tired Warriors

2014-08-16T05:43:00.002-07:00

So there they sat, side by side gazing up at the brightly lit movie screen. They watched as a story unfolded before them. Quietly watching as the story pushed forward before them, just as the story that they shared pushed forward before them.

War torn heroes of an age gone by, survived only by slogans whose meanings are lost to the generation that followed them. Blood and sweat stained documents that held so much promise, now glassed and pedestal-ed like some form of prize. A powerless piece of historic non-sense...no longer alive.

Two old soldiers, battle tested and battle worn, knowing that the ground so hard fought for and won was being lost, taken away by attrition and an enemy who's fear, anger and hatred never died.

Two broken down warriors, shields battered and blade notched, sit side by side, absorbed in a fairy tale because reality is just to real...much to real.

She, in her teens, helped to found several grassroots nonprofit organizations in the South Bronx only to find herself 40 years later out on the streets an anachronism in a world of nonprofit corporations. A disillusioned wonder woman?

He, a want to be artist, who fearfully stumbled his way to helping almost everyone in his path. Now a broken down, want to be artist, bitter tired and defeated, almost, who stumbles to save the lives of those around him. A defrocked superman?

The movie wraps around them with subtitles translating Korean, French and car crashes into English. Apparently, explosions are an international language.

They stand...after respectfully acknowledging the credits...after he respectfully acknowledges the credits...she has left long ago to the Lady's Room.

They meet outside after each, separately, leave something behind in the theater. His recovered...hers...not so much. They kiss on the cheek and separate...she to fight on until her inevitable victory...because she knows and will accept no other way and he...to stumble along helping because it is what he does. Two broken soldiers fighting a fight that they can no longer win, in a war most no longer know is still being waged.

That Chair will Kill You

2014-08-13T13:30:00.001-07:00

I was sitting on the subway on my way to work this morning, nuzzled in quite comfortably between a chubby grandmotherly type and a muscled young lady student teacher type . One can not convey the utter pleasure of such a perfect cocooned balance between hard and soft, muscle and fat, steel and cotton, let me just say it was pleasurable and move on from there. I was reading the amNewYork a free daily newsletter that young people hand out as one is entering the train station. The newsletter has a bit of this and a bit of that mostly covering headline news. It is not a great paper but, if you only have a short period of time to read...like let's say a subway ride...it is a masterpiece.

So nuzzled in my cocoon of hard and soft I turned to the HEALTH Section of the paper and came across an article entitled, "Sitting poses health risks, author says". A Dr. James Levine,the director of the Mayo Clinic-Arizona State University Obesity Solution Initiative and the author of a book that he is hawking entitled, "Get up!", claims tongue-in-cheek, that our chairs are killing us. Levine is not bringing anything new to the gym, unless you consider his invention of the treadmill desk and sale of his book, new. We already know that we need to workout more and sit down less. We know that a sedentary lifestyle will subtract years from our lives (Side note: this is an interesting concept in itself given that we don't know exactly how many years any given individual has to live, how do we know how many years a certain activity will add or subtract to that given individual's "living time total?").

This whole article was meant as an "elbow nudge into the rib cage" a bit of fun...a joke...? Yeah...our chairs are killing us. Dr. Levine seemed to be trying to sell a book, all while capitalizing on the data on sedentary lifestyles. That got me upset. But the more I learned about the

doctor and about his practice the more I began to see that he was a good guy, who was health conscious and helpful to people. He seemed to be a cool dude, an excellent doctor, and may actually pat his dog on the head at the end of the day (I mean if he has a dog). But (growl), he was still advertising his book and other merchandize in the health section of a newsletter. Advertisements just don't belong there.

But, then, I must concede that Dr. Levine has no control over where this article is placed in the amNewYork newsletter. Not even a reporter has that power, that joystick controller is in the hands of the paper's editor. So let us go beat that dude up. Levine's tongue-in cheek book, designed to bring people around to a more healthier viewpoint, using a lighter tone, might have gone over better if it were placed somewhere else in the newsletter. You think...?

About that whole "sitting on the job will kill you" thing: It is a dilemma. What do you do if you have a job...as many do...that requires you to sit at a desk? Well Dr. Levine has a solution his treadmill desk. I know I know...first I want to hang the dude as if he were Public Enemy Number One and the next I'm hawking his stuff. In my defense, I originally thought that Levine was a Health Pimp, making money off of the unhealthy. With farther research I found that Dr, Levine was not making any money on the Steelcase Desk Treadmill, which he helped to design. Learning that made me take another step back in my evaluation of him. This cat, Dr. James Levine was alright. And if we take this thing...exercising as we work...seriously, new office spaces may look a lot like something based on Levine's design: Work while you workout.

Sitting for More Than Three Hours a Day Cuts Life Expectancy:

http://online.wsj.com/news/articles/SB10001424052702303343404577516853567934264

http://blogs.wsj.com/health/2007/05/15/the-prophet-of-walking-while-you-work/

Pigeons Just Have Got to Go!!

2014-07-11T12:49:00.003-07:00

I was walking down one of the Central Park's walk paths today...one by the Harlem Meer...taking in the sun. I looked down at my feet and there was a pigeon walking along side me. He was a scraggly looking thing...you know he looked like one of your average New York City pigeons. I looked down at him. I moved my foot in his direction and he didn't even bat a wing...just kept walking beside me in that kind of cute bobbing head way pigeons have of getting from one place to another. Oh, yeah there was cooing...lots of cooing. I looked over at this woman and I pointed down to the pigeon and asked, "Do you see this? He is not even afraid?" I looked back down at the pigeon...who was doing his "this sidewalk ain't big enough for both of us" number, along side of me.

"Hey don't you know that you should be afraid of me...?" The pigeon ignored me. Just as I began to wonder whether it was me who was crowding the pigeon instead of the other way around, the pigeon abruptly turned off the path and hid under a park bench. Coming from the other direction was a small shaggy dog wearing a white tutu, with white wrist-lets on her front paws. So what this essentially means is that the pigeon had more respect and/or fear of a cross dressing dog than it had for me.

We have to do something about New York City pigeons. It is not just that they are dirty, fly way to low and have a total disrespect for the superior life form on this planet, but- Well, do we need any other reasons! I mean isn't that enough. They build their nests with anything that they can get their beaks on. They are not known as flying rats for nothing. And as any New Yorker knows, it isn't safe to walk, stand, sit or be under any type of ledge, bridge, roof, lamppost, traffic light and/or any type of overhang with in a 15 mile radius of any one single pigeon. Yeah, that reads, "any one single pigeon."

It is believed that New York City has over one million pigeons and they all use the city as their own personal toilet. The ledges of the NY buildings resemble the rock formations in the European mountain sides, that were the original home of the ancestors of our modern day pigeons. So the pigeons feel right at home in their new urban natural environment. The Domestic pigeon sometimes called the Rock Pigeon build their nests with anything and usually hold it together with their own feces.

The ultimate parasite, pigeons depend on their host the urban city dweller, for their survival. Food, water and housing, for pigeons are all dependent on humans and their environment. Pigeons are estimated to be over 400 million strong worldwide and are for the most part located in urban areas.

Monogamous and mating for life, the female pigeon will lay 1 to 3 white eggs after approximately 8 to 13 days of mating. The male will guard the family. Their babies are the ugliest of things and if they fall from their nest and survive the fall, will more than likely die. They have no means of protecting themselves, nor do their parents have any means of protecting them. They are left to fend for themselves and they die.

In captivity a pigeon could live for up to 15 years but in the wilds of the city streets more than likely won't live for more than 3 or 4 years. Sometimes they are called Homing Pigeons because of their uncanny ability to find their way "home", no matter how far they were taken from their place of origin. During times of war they were used to deliver messages from one place to another.

Now pigeons are barely tolerated flying urban pest...a bird with a severe case of bad PR.

http://ovocontrol.com/pigeons/pigeons/
Picture from the book, Don't Let The Pigeon Drive The Bus! by Mo Willems

Sikh Day of Vaishakhi

2014-04-29T04:17:00.000-07:00

One of the reasons that I love New York City is the diversity. We are...this city is...the ethnic-diversity capital of the world. If you can find the culture on the world map. You are more than likely to find the people on the streets of the city's five boroughs. And on that note...I was walking home Saturday afternoon cutting through the Madison Square Park. When I was engulfed by hundreds of men wearing orange colored turbans. These men accompanied by brightly clothed women, crowded the park and all the streets surrounding it. I had just blundered into the Sikh Day Parade of 2014 and I squeezed my way through the masses of smiling faces I realized that this was not my first time at this particular rodeo. I've been to this brightly colored event before...several times before. This is an annual event in New York City and a centuries old celebration of the spring harvest by Punjabi farmers worldwide. This holiday known as Vaisakhi is significant to the Sikh community as a result of a 17th Century Sikh prophet, Guru Gobind Singh (1666-1708 CE), gathering his disciples in the city Anandpur Sahib. There he entrusted "the community of committed Sikhs" known as Khalsa Panth with leadership. Every year Sikhs, around the world, come together to celebrate this historic event on Vaiskakhi. Vaishakhi is both culturally and religiously about community, progress and celebration.

In New York City, the Sikhs celebrates Vaisakhi by parading from 40th Street downtown to the end of Madison Avenue on 23rd Street spilling over into Madison Square Park. The orange turbans flood the park and the streets surrounding it. As you walk the park, Sikh music is played, Punjabi (the Sikh language), is spoken along side English, washes over you, fun, laughter and warm feelings, free vegetarian foods and drinks are shared...with anyone wants them.

Who are the Sikhs?

After Christianity, Islam, Hinduism and Buddhism, Sikhism is the fifth largest religion in the world. There are over 25 million Sikhs worldwide and over 500 thousands Sikhs in America and a large number of them live in New York. The first Sikhs to have come to America did so over 100 years ago. 99% of the people in America who wear a turban...are Sikhs. For the Sikh, the color orange is an important color, symbolizing sacrifice.

Sikhism was created by Guru Nanak in the Southern part of Asia in 1469 and has the same values as Americans: equality, religious pluralism and justice for all. The three core Sikh beliefs is the devotion to God, truthful living and service to humanity.

One of the coolest things about New York City is the fact of its diversity. For every culture that exists in the world you will find it's reflection, here on the streets of our city. And like most of those cultures they have been added to the larger culture of New York making it a much more interesting place to live.

Want to know more about Sikhs, culture and faith?

http://fateh.sikhnet.com/s/whyturbans#Gift%20of%20the%20Guru

Ralph Nader: He's Still Standing

2014-04-23T01:40:00.003-07:00

I went to Barnes & Nobles to hear American Activist, Ralph Nader speak today, on April 23, 2014. I got there...The Union Square Barnes & Nobles...two hours earlier than his 7pm start time. Nader was on a book tour for his new political non-fiction, Unstoppable: The Emerging Left-Right Alliance to Dismantle the Corporate State. They, Barnes & Nobles, were only sitting those people who were looking to get his autograph in his new book. I went to the back of the fourth floor of the bookstore and read a wonderful graphic novel. At close to 7pm I walked into the now, no longer roped off area and found a seat. There I met a nice lady by the name of Carol London (Author of the book, I Don't Care If You Have Dark Skin), whose has frequently gone to hear Nader speak. This was a first for me. I've seen Nader on television and on the Internet after all he had run for president six times: Under the "New Party" in 1972, as a "Write In" Candidate for "None Of The Above" in 1992, The Green Party in 1996 & 2000, as an Independent in 2004 & 2008 and he asked that some of the "enlightened rich" (such as Bill Gates, Ted Turner & Oprah Winfrey), run for the presidency in 2016. Nader's argument is that only the "enlighten rich" can compete with the corporate rich that currently runs our government.

It was great to watch Mr. Nader walk up to the podium to a partial standing ovation. It was hard to believe that he was 80 years old, because he walked and talked with such vitality. As many times as he lost the race for the

presidency, as much as he has fought not to be marginalized and his views have been considered off to the far liberal left, the fight had not left him. He believes that we can beat the take over of our country by the corporate rich. He gives us the strategic blueprints, in his book, where by uniting with those of like mind on the far conservative right and the far liberal left, we can achieve positive changes in our government.

He encouraged us to keep learning, listening, talking, teaching and becoming politically involved. He waved his arms at the surrounding bookshelves and said the information is all around us and with the Internet, there is no excuse for not knowing. "We have to train!" This is a dedicated man, who when he was once asked would he ever marry, by Karen Croft in the late 1970s, she said, "He said that at a certain point he had to decide whether to have a family or to have a career, that he couldn't have both. That's the kind of person he is. He couldn't have a wife-he's up all night reading the Congressional Record."

There was no panic in him. No desperate declarations...he spoke with a calm, confidence. He believes that we can make a change. He believes that we have to train ourselves to become students of politics in order to learn how to be more effective. He believes that the secret is in grass roots movements.

He stated that there was...

"...no faster median then word of mouth".

"...half of democracy is showing up"

"...A few made the great difference...less than one percent...."

"...Imagination is the key to knowledge"

"Speak to our young...get their heads out of the texting..."

"We must free ourselves from the two party tyranny."

He was a breath of fresh air. He smiled and joked. When asked what one should do when friends, allies and comrades in arms feel defeated and want to just quit? He jokingly said, "I have no problem shaming them." I say, "Oh...So you're a quitter? Huh...?" He acknowledged that if people looked around them that he could see them feeling defeated, because that is all they see. But he stated we can change it: Begin on the local level and start in very small groups with local districts.

He said, "Look in the mirror and say, Now we have to take over."

Crossword hands

2014-04-02T03:28:00.000-07:00

I saw a woman's hands today.

This is me looking back on a subway ride I took to work today. This reflection is one that I am now processing or sharing with you, through the cobwebs of my memory on a subway ride, almost 12 hours later.

I saw a woman's hands today. They were small with short fingers that ended in nails that had not seen the color of a polish since...since the last time. They...the fingers...were chipped and bitten down to her chapped skin. Her hands were delicate but strong. They quickly withdrew and folded a copy of the amNewYork, a daily rag that has the great distinction of being short enough to be read in less than a half on hour...or in the relative length of a subway train ride.

They...her hands...folded and unfolded the paper in such away as to expose the crossword puzzle. A pen appeared out of seemingly no where and her hands hovered over the paper like a slow circling bird of prey...only to dive in quickly to make a few scratches onto the black & white checkerboard boxes of the crossword puzzle. Her hand withdrew...held fast and assaulted the page again. Blue ink painted the spaces between the black lines. Words appeared out of the nothingness...into the spaces between lines of the crossword puzzle.

Her hands were the hands of a working woman. The fingers that know the feel of a Metrocard, paper cupped cheaper than a dollar coffee and blue Bic pens. I noticed her hands on a train ride a few hours ago. Again her fingers weren't those of a pianist or seamstress...not long thin and elegant but short, strong, almost a little stubby. Elegant. In their own...small, stubby, elegant way.

I don't know who the hands belonged to those hands or to whom the hands belong. I never saw her face or don't remember her face when I think of her hands. I just remember her hands.

The Ed Wood of Writers

2014-03-29T04:16:00.001-07:00

"I'll tell you one thing. If a little green man pops out at me,I'm shooting first and asking questions later."

-Edward D. Wood, Jr.

You know I never wonder why I write. The question never arises...or rarely ever arises...not unless it comes from someone else. It isn't as if I have something, anything interesting or thought provoking to say. I mean sometimes I think I do and so I write. But that is not the case...most of the time. It is not like I despise the open expanse of emptiness that the blank white page can represent to some...because I don't. I actually like the snowy whiteness the untouched vistas...a path more than less traveled, but not traveled at all...of a fresh, unlined piece of paper. I will write on anything, anywhere about most important or seemingly unimportant things. In fact I am writing this on the cover of Thursday, March 27's amNewYork Daily Newspaper. And not because I think that I have something more important to write than the lead story of that day's edition of the paper. Not at all. I began writing there because, I left my composition scrap crap notebook somewhere and could not find anything else to write on accept the cover of a daily rag.

I don't know why I write. I never really do. Okay hardly ever. But, I am not a slave to some internal compulsion or an egotist ready to enlighten the world with my interpretation of the universe around me or to blind the world with the sunlight of my mind's brilliance (Although I would suggest the wearing of shades if you are going to continue to read this thing). Most of the time I have no idea why I write...I just write.

Perhaps I write because...I love the sound of words becoming sentences becoming ideas becoming thoughts as they clang together and sometimes with a bit of luck make a harmonious sound. Because I do. I don't know if my words give birth to thoughts, have substance, weight or whether I am just an Edward Woodian hack, with a need to write, even when I really don't have anything to say...especially when I have nothing to say.

Perhaps I am being unfair to Edward Wood.* Scratch that I am being quite unfair to Mr. Edward Davis Wood, Jr. I mean to call Wood's a hack is more than a bit unkind. Wood could be a yet to be recognized genius, a man ahead of his time, an artist whose works will be looked on in awe centuries from now, a Mozart of his time or the worst director in the history of film. An award...The Golden Turkey...he received post humorously in 1980.

Say what you want about his body of work, but Edward Wood was a hard worker, with that "never give up spirit". He was a filmmaker, screenwriter, director, producer, editor and actor and yeah...he was an author of over 80 novels. Jim Morton the author of an essay about Ed Wood...entitled, "Incredibly Strange Films"...wrote, "Eccentric and individualistic, Edward D. Wood, Jr. was a man born to film. Lesser men, if forced to make movies under the conditions Wood faced, would have thrown up their hands in defeat."

On top of all of that, Wood was able to play several musical instruments.

To be said to have the same dedication...to anything...in the same way that Wood had, might be considered by some to be a compliment. Although, others might argue that point and his body of work may better support his critics than himself. But one more aside, and then we will leave the late Mr. Wood alone, not many authors, filmmakers and/or actors can say they have a legally recognized religion named after him.

Move over L. Ron Hubbard and the religion of Scientology, make room for the The Church of Ed Wood, located in Seminole, Oklahoma., created, legally by Reverend Steve Galindo, The Church of Ed Wood has over 3500 baptized members.

But back to the point:

I like to write.

Nouns, verbs, adjectives, pronouns...alone...they mean very little to me. They are just building blocks, mortar, notes without a song. Alone they are the things...much like clubs and Louisville Sluggers...we use to beat our children into submission (but we will talk about the un-education system of this country at another time). United and combined they are the stuff of great works of art, music to the ear and/or an E-mail correctly written. I am a man with no great love of words, but who derives great pleasure in the structures you can build with them...poems, novels, screenplays... And with the use of words and their prodigy great nations can be built and if need be destroyed.

Yeah I did not stutter...that was a threat.

Mr. Wood's give to his fellow writers in his memoir, "Hollywood Rat Race",

"Just keep on writing. Even if your story gets worse, you'll get better."

from the memoir "Holly Rat Race by Mr.Edward Davis Wood, Jr.

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ed_Wood

** http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/L._Ron_Hubbard

The Piano Man of Washington Square

2014-03-09T12:25:00.001-07:00

The piano man of Washington Square Park seems to be out there playing 24/7/365 days a year plus a day for leap year. I don't know who he is or where he comes from but I know I don't want to know. I don't want to break the mystery of this talented young man. But no matter the time of day, the season of the year, he seems to always be out there...in front of the black & white keyboard of his grand piano tickling the ivories and enveloping us in his magical classical renditions. With childish day dreams I choose to ignore the logic of my adult mind looking down at the wheels that are the foundation of each leg...hinting at the method of the pianos arrival. I prefer to see the piano's appearance...the same as I choose to see the pianist...as magical and mystical.

Magically he too, seems to be there playing from memory...no sheet music to be seen. Like rain drops of musical notes pouring from the magnificent old piano, wetting our souls with his endless intangible touch. The bespeckled youth...bookended by five gallon plastic paint cans marked for donations, rewarded as well with a small splattering of hand claps...through frozen fingers plays and plays and plays and plays.

I sit and listen and watch and wonder at the magic that pours from his fingers caressing the keys of the piano. While jealousy is not a pretty thing...I green at the thought of creating the magic myself. A magic born of a practice that I lack the patience to apply and even with a lifetime to master would only fall dreadfully short of his ability. Oh but I wish I could I wish I wish I wish I could.

I guess I could ask him his name and with that its proper spelling and have him reveal how the piano arrives at the park...so once again magically. I could learn the how, where, what, when and why he learned to play. I could listen for his accent, destroying any thought of its exotic origins maybe German, maybe Russian or perhaps he is only a dude from the Bronx.

But some balloons should remain unpopped...where the coin goes should not be revealed and the man behind the curtain should definitely be ignored...at least for now. So I listen. Sometimes in passing...sometimes with eyes closed carried away by each single note. Sometimes it is the backdrop to my doodles or the white noise to my readings and at others his magic is all there is...