Tumerica

9/11 Tribute to George Patrick McLaughlin, Jr.: We Wish You a Peaceful Journey

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Sun, 09 Sep 2018 22:39:00 +0000

On September 11, 2001, 2,996 human lives were destroyed—monstrously, senselessly. Our fate, as those who were touched by this madness, is to try to understand, or at least to accept what happened. For my part, I research a little, write a little, and cry a little whenever I can.

Thanks to a loving inspiration on the part of a blogger, D.C. Roe, each of the 2,996 victims has at least one writer posting a tribute for that person. My honoree, George Patrick McLaughlin, became so real to me—it was painful to read all the loving comments posted by his friends and family. I found I could not use my own words to fabricate something—I needed to simply let the words of those who knew him best get together in one spot. One thing is for sure, George is greatly loved and will continue to be missed.

Facts

• Age: 36
• Occupation: Futures Trader, Carr Futures
• Originally from: Matawan NJ
• Resided in: Hoboken NJ
• Education: Matawan Regional HS and Wesley College
• Death: World Trade Center, South Tower, September 11, 2001

A Humorous, Fun-loving Guy
• “George was adorable and fun--we had a great time together”
• “George's love for life was an inspiration to our family”
• "We had many laughs and good times with George”
• “George had a passion for making people laugh and have fun”
• "George had a way of always making me laugh even when I was having a difficult day.”
• “I remember George as a funny and cute [guy] with a personality that was such a happy contagious one, with a great smile, that all of these years later, I still remember just that. (I did have a bit of a crush on him)”
• “So many memories, so much fun! From late night phone calls, to Bon Jovi concerts.”
• “George had the gift of being contagious-he would spread his laughing and friendliness to every single person he came in contact with."
• “He had such a strong sense of humor that it made it hard not to laugh by just looking at him.”
• “Georgie, I bet you and Big Jim are having a lot of laughs up there! I wish you both would come visit me in a dream sometime so I can see you smiling together”
• “It's true, he was always smiling and just enjoyed everyday. He always found a way to bring laughter (sometimes to the annoyance of teachers) to the most boring classes. I recall a frog that was supposed to be dissected dancing ballet across the desk first.”
• “George many times in college created fun and wonderful (sometimes crazy!) times that spread onto many, many, many people.”
• “He was such a great guy and such a practical joker. He made you feel so welcome and always kept us laughing because of the silly things he did and said.”

A Wonderful Friend
• “He was always a friend and flashing that smile. I remember him from my late teens/early twenties as getting along with everyone and making each person feel like they were of value to him(we all were).”
• “Georgie and I first met at school (Wesley), where He and I shared some wonderful times together. We also spent many a night giving Ocean city all it could handle.”
• “Thanks again for making me feel like a million bucks on a night I was down.”
• “I have a picture of you taped to my computer at work and home-and whenever i feel sad i look at your picture and smile right back at you.”
• “George was a peacemaker-a guy who brought people together with his warmth and easy laugh.”
• “I saw his smile and his eyes and immediately knew it was the same George I grew up with riding mopeds and playing wiffle ball in the Mclaughlin back yard.”
• “Georgie is definitely one of a kind and I will treasure the memories that I have - train rides to NY, hanging out at the Dugout, and most of all the late night phone calls.”
• “George made you feel like family from the first time you laid eyes on him! The best and sweetest of people.”
• “I will always remember George as an 18-year-old kid with a quick wit and a sincere heart.”
• “George was a special person who touched my life with his kindness & love of life”
• “I remember George as a great kid who was a good little ball player.”
• “Georgie was always loyal to his team, his job as a metals trader, and especially to his family and friends. One thing for certain, he could make anyone smile regardless of the situation.”

Articles, Poetry about George

George Patrick McLaughlin grew up as the middle child and only boy among four sisters. He was the peacemaker, the practical joker, the one who could never keep a secret. “Mom, I'm not supposed to tell you this,” he would say if a surprise party was being planned. “But we're having a birthday cake.”

His college major was girls, said his mother, Dorothy McLaughlin. When he had a graduation party in Ocean City, N.J., where the family goes for the summer, a family friend remarked that he had never seen such a mixed group, all getting along. “He's the core of many of his friends,” Mrs. McLaughlin said. “He likes to keep people happy.”

Profile published in THE NEW YORK TIMES on September 16, 2001.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George Patrick McLaughlin Jr: A Caring Spirit Who Enjoyed His Jokes

Dorothy McLaughlin always knew her middle child was a good son, the family joker and a sweet and caring brother to his four sisters.

But from the hundreds of letters that she has received since George McLaughlin Jr.'s death Sept. 11 at the World Trade Center, McLaughlin has learned even more about her “Georgie.”

One friend told her about the time McLaughlin organized a trip to a prizefight in Atlantic City in 1992. After the match, McLaughlin ran down to the ropes, told a guard he worked for a TV station, and jumped into the ring in time to get on TV while the winner of the World Boxing Association heavyweight championship match was announced.

A female co-worker told her about how McLaughlin guided her out of the World Trade Center after the 1993 bombing. McLaughlin's reassuringly told her, “Don't worry, sweets, don't worry.”

And then there was the client of Carr Futures, where McLaughlin, 36, worked trading metals futures, who said workers in the client's Dallas office loved dealing with McLaughlin on the phone because of the balance he struck between his personality and professional competence. He begged his Dallas clients repeatedly to send him “some of that old-fashioned Texas chili.”

A Hoboken, N.J., resident, McLaughlin was born and raised in Matawan, N.J.
He graduated from Wesley College in Dover, Del., in 1988, and after a trip driving cross-country with a couple of friends, McLaughlin got a job with Dean Witter at the World Trade Center. He remained with the company when it merged with Morgan Stanley, and then Carr Futures.

The letters, Dorothy McLaughlin said, serve as pleasant reminders of the boy she raised. His personality, his caring, his way of bringing people together come back when she reads. So do more subtle memories, she said, like how McLaughlin's nose crinkled up, and he covered his mouth when he laughed.

“He had a young spirit,” she said. “I am very proud.”

—Steven Kreytak, Newsday

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poem about George

I think about your smile, that smile that starts in your heart and connects to others through your eyes.

I think about your laugh, that laugh that exudes boyish charm and entreats others to enjoy life.

I think about your family, your mother, father and sisters who love you unconditionally and gave you the capacity to love others freely and without judgment.

I think about your extended family, brothers(in-law), aunts, uncles, cousins, nephew, who you draw close and with whom you create an impenetrable bond.

I think about your friends, friends like family, who share memories of merry pranks, parties and after midnight talks that still resound.

I think about you a lot Georgie. I think about the pain of not being able to embrace you in an everlasting hug and I think about the joy of the hugs we shared that will be felt forever.

Dear Georgie,
We miss you a lot.

—Gabby Lehne, Matawan, NJ

Three Blind Mice—Manafort, Page, and Flynn

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Tue, 14 Feb 2017 23:53:00 +0000

Happy Holidays: Free Musical Interlude for You

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Mon, 19 Dec 2016 23:57:00 +0000

A few years ago, I got together with my friend, Camarillo pianist Atze Ackerman, and made this recording of Santa Baby. Had fun doing the project--would go back and change a couple of spots if I could. Anyway, give this a listen if you like. A wabi-sabi version, but sweet. (Recording only--no video.)

America: The NEW Third-world Country

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Tue, 22 Nov 2016 00:03:00 +0000

it feels like Trump is making us over into a third-world country. Nepotism? Check. Favoritism for hire? Check. Corruption? You betcha. Abuse of power for personal gain? Absolutely. Good ol boys rewarded for their loyalty, regardless of their ability? Uh-huh. Disregard for the laws of the land. Oh, yeah.

The REAL Reason for the Hillary Pillory

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Sat, 01 Oct 2016 01:57:00 +0000

How Hillary Clinton has been villified for her ambition. Because she is a woman and ambitious women are oh-so-scary.

Thorough Defense of Hillary Clinton

Trump Call To Assassinate Hillary?

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Wed, 10 Aug 2016 01:07:00 +0000

I cannot understand how anyone--however much they might be favorably disposed toward Trump--can possibly justify this. I thought that with the let-the-Russians-hack-her-emails treasonous shtick, many Trump loyals would bail on him. But surely this bit of incitement to violence is so far over-the-top that no amount of side-stepping and spinning can dim the evil that lurks beneath that snide remark. One would almost think he is trying to force people NOT to vote for him?

Second Amendment People Could Act Against Hillary

Orlando Mass Murder: No More Weapons of War and How to Rephrase Gun Control

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Mon, 13 Jun 2016 21:13:00 +0000

We CAN and MUST do better to protect our people

First, ban all assault weapons for they are weapons of war and no one should be allowed to purchase or own a weapon of war.
Second, all handguns and rifles must have tracker chips--this may not need to be any more complicated than the microchips on dogs and cats--it gives an identity and a responsibility to the owner.
Third, mandatory background checks on all firearm purchases. Anyone who has a history of mental instability should be unable to buy any firearm ever. Anyone who is on a terrorist watch list or no-fly list should be unable to buy any firearm ever.
Make gun control a significant factor in Homeland Security. Let the HSA and the NRA duke it out.
Make gun control about security and safety--which it is--rather than some antiquated amendment that has been taken way out of context and way out of keeping with the current technology level (hand-loaded musket balls in the 1700s could be reloaded and fired four rounds per minute, while assault rifles can fire 800 rounds per minute).

Assault Weapons EASY to Buy In the USA

Assault Rifles Fire 800 Rounds a Minute

Brave New World for Women

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Wed, 08 Jun 2016 19:32:00 +0000

A major barrier has been overcome. My generation knew women could be astronauts and firefighters and senators, and I am grateful for that. Now, my daughter will grow up in a world where women can.be presidents.

Brock Turner and the Inflatable Doll Culture

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Wed, 08 Jun 2016 19:30:00 +0000

Brock Turner was not seeing his victim as a human at all. She was his inflatable doll. Sick and wrong to treat any living, breathing person like he treated her. And then Turner's dad chimes in with that fanatically sexist 20-minutes-of-action comment. I just thought, it took Martin Luther King's assassin one minute to kill him. Did that make him innocent? 20 minutes my butt! Perpetuating the rape culture and perpetuating the women-as-objects culture? That's what the Brock Turners of this world and their sexist fathers are doing. How does their daughter feel about the whole incident? Will she go out into the world and be the victim of sexual abuse and the abuser gets away with it because, well, it was only 20 minutes of action--out of a whole lifetime.

PRINCE - NOTHING COMPARES 2 U - LIVE with ROSIE GAINES

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Tue, 24 May 2016 16:37:00 +0000

Just needed to watch this and have a good cry. Love you too much for words, sweet Prince.

MEIN DRUMPF: Trump's German Grandfather DRUMPF; John Oliver Slays The Donald

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Mon, 29 Feb 2016 19:43:00 +0000

Trumps grandfather was the late Frederick Drumpf, of Germany. The family changed the name to the more stylish, Trump and moved to the US. John Oliver reveals in no uncertain terms the depths of The Donald's deceptive nature:

Trump's German Grandfather Drumpf

Why Donald Trump Trumps Donald Drumpf

#MeinDrumpf Is Donald Like the author of Mein Kampf?

Other Hitler to Trump Comparisons

The PERFECT Red Lipstick

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Sat, 15 Aug 2015 23:08:00 +0000

Siren-Red Lipstick for Warm-toned Gals

For years, I mean YEARS, I have been searching for the perfect red lipstick. I adore lipstick and don't leave home without it. I've been a lipstick fiend ever since I was a kid and playing around with my mother's lipsticks (she is a lipstick fiend too—at 84!). My face may be no great shakes, but b'gosh, I have lips. So why not accentuate them?

As a red-head (whether by nurture or by nature, only my hairdresser knows for sure), I have to be careful, though. One smidge toward the cool side of the red spectrum and, egad—the dreaded FUSCHIA lips phenomenon occurs. Fuchsia is what lipstick that is slightly pink-red turns into if you are unlucky. And fuchsia is enough to make onlookers run screaming for the exit when a red-head sports it. Way better to err on the orange side of the red spectrum and go too warm.

For a fair-skinned redhead to find just the right shade of warm-toned, voluptuous, unafraid red lip product, well, it's taken decades. And believe me, I've sunk untold funds into the search. Just today I plunked down $10 for a red lip pen that looked perfect on my skin, but then gradually changed to fuchsia/magenta on my lips (as every gal who is seriously into lipsticks knows, the color of your lip skin and your body chemistry both affect the color of your lipstick when it's on. Not like you can return lip products, either.) Now repeat this experience at least once a month for every year I've been wearing lipstick, and you've got some serious bucks—mostly wasted!

So over the years and over the dollars and over the many, MANY dreaded fuschia lips encounters, I have come up with a short, read: tiny, list of the perfect red lipsticks.

Here are a few you can count on the be brilliant reds that will never turn fuschia on you:

Chanel, Rouge Coromandel, #70. Perfect. Gorgeous. Pefectly gorgeous. The exact red I have always dreamed of. Lights up a red-head's face (see photo of me wearing it at right). Sure to win you admirers and hangers-on. One challenge, though—it is bright red—unforgiving, not for the shy. To wear in the daytime requires fortitude—or maybe a sheer base of clear lip gloss to make it a bit less opaque. But still—the perfect red!

Besamé Cosmetics, Red Hot Red. Besamé has got to be the coolest cosmetics company alive today. Fashioned after the glamorous look of the 1940s—when women wore bright red lipstick during the day—unabashedly—with curvy fitted suits, stacked heels, hats, and yes, gloves—in that era, beautiful compacts were IN. And inside those lovely little compacts were bold, vixenish colors. Souffle make-up. Rich, matte lipsticks. The kind of art-compacts you'd be proud to flash in public. Now, finally, a red lipstick for women who do not wear fushcia. For Spring- and Autumn-toned skin. A warm red. A sexy red. Gorgeous. Perfect. Spicy. Scrumptious. Unbelievable. Hot, hot, Red Hot Red! Smells yummy too—a light vanilla with a creamy feel. This is full-coverage, semi-matte lipstick. Not for the faint-of-heart.

M.A.C, Chili. My spectacular and most beloved everyday warm-toned red lipstick. It's a semi-matte—which I adore—and the right shade of red with a slight brick undertone. It's a more wearable, less screaming red than the two listed above because of the brown in its base. But this is not a matronly shade—far from it. Its sexiness is lucid and luring but there's a hint of 50s glam and fun. Best of all, M.A.C. lipsticks are both long-wearing, do not kiss off easiliy, and are delightfully vanilla scented. When I glide on my M.A.C. Chili, I feel suddenly delicious. All you need, my dear warm-toned sister, is this lipstick, some big sunglasses and sunscreen, and you are ready to roll. Or to be kissed. Or maybe both. If you check out the M.A.C. website, don't be fooled by the online depiction of this shade. Chili is much more scrumptious than it appears there.

Boots No 7, Stay Perfect Lipstick, Spice, #65. Boots LLC has just come to the States—at least this is the first I've seen of their products. Boots makes a lovely long-lasting lipstick called "Stay Perfect" that will NOT dry out your lips. It glides on, feels silky, and, b'gosh, it lasts. I got my perfect shade of red—an elegant brickish red—for about $10 at Target. Next to M.A.C. Chili, Boots No 7 in Spice is the best everyday red you can find. Looks grand enough for play too, though. Doesn't have the scrumptious vanilla fragrance that M.A.C. has, but it costs less and last longer. The colors are similar too, with Boots No 7 Spice being slightly less vibrant and therefore more wearable.

Cheats for Fuchsia Lip Sufferers
If you already have plenty of pink-red lipsticks and you want to do the best you can to make these work for a Spring- or Autumn-toned coloring, you still have options without spending a fortune. The best thing you can do to compromise is layer colors with your fuchsia lipstick. Since pink is the color you want to neutralize, you need a brown or orange layered on top to move the pink toward the warmer end of the spectrum. Look for beiges, tans, browns, and even oranges. Any of these will neutralize your pinkish lipsticks and make them more appropriate for warm-toned gals. Beiges will dissipate the pink without darkening, brown will shift the pink while darkening it slightly (making lipstick more brick). Orange will warm things up, too. Feel free to experiment. And keep some "adjuster" lipsticks on hand for just this purpose.

Haiku: Trying to Wrap My Brain Around the Heinous Disaster at UCSB Last Week

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Tue, 27 May 2014 22:57:00 +0000

Elliot Rodger

Asperger’s, rich kid, killer

Why’d it have to be?

Elliot Rodgers: Virgin Mass-Murderer of UC Santa Barbara

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Sat, 24 May 2014 15:04:00 +0000

Calling himself a virgin and blaming everyone but himself, UC Santa Barbara student, Elliot Rodgers opened fire from his slow-moving black BMW, killing six before he was killed--or killed himself. The mass-shooting began at 9:27 Friday night, May 23 in Isla Vista, the residential area near UCSB, which is home to more than 20,000 people, many of whom are students at the nearby universiry.

I could not watch the entire video. When I got to the part of his self-centered, inane rant where he described how he was going to slaughter blonde girls, I cried. He targeted women--blaming all women for those women who rejected him--obviously because of his insanity and not for lack of good looks or money.

Silly Kid Sayings for Thanksgiving

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Wed, 13 Nov 2013 01:08:00 +0000

Dear Readers,
Happiest Thanksgiving to you. Please accept this brief, silly interlude as a small wish of love, from my family to yours.
Sincerely,
Tumerica

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jaclynisms (my daughter at two years of age)

While scooping up a wad of apple sauce,

"Happy birthday to my fingers"

While rubbing a tube-shaped rice cracker on her lips,

"I'm using lipstick"

Seeing ketchup on her fingers,

"Doctor—owee—owee"

The green vegetable that looks like little trees

"Bark-oli"

Jaclynisms (at three years of age)

Dinner Prayers

Thank you for our flowers

All your hands and

All your hair—

Let us taste our daily toast. Amen.

Thank you for my Daddy
Who is very good at coloring. Amen.

(Note: He's a landscape architect)

How to Make a Horsey Go Faster, yell,

"Kitty-up"

When asked to take a nap on a sunny afternoon,

"Would you turn out the light?"

The Japanese food made from soybeans

"Tofood"

What we use on our skin to protect it from the sun

"Sun's cream"

What we ride to go to another floor

"Yellowvator"

The Tropical Fruit Sometimes Appearing on Pizza

"Porcupineapple"

U.S. Drops Atom Bomb on Hiroshima, August 7, 1945: The Choice between Hell and Reason

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Wed, 07 Aug 2013 14:54:00 +0000

How unfortunate for the citizens of Hiroshima, Japan to know that their city is famous throughout the world only as the first city to be bombed with a nuclear bomb. The bombardier of the Enola Gay dropped “Little Boy” on the unarmed city 62 years ago today, killing 70,000 civilians instantly. Not distinguishing among elderly, babies, women, or other innocent non-military.

But that wasn't the end of it. 70,000 may have perished as a direct result, but 60,000 more died shortly thereafter from related injuries and illnesses. And as many as 200,000 total died within five years, from the bombing or the after-affects.

Nagasaki became the only other city to be the victim of an atomic bomb a few days later, where Japanese report 75,000 more were killed instantly.

One week after the first bombing, Japan surrendered, perhaps explaining the propaganda found in every American child's history textbook that the "atomic bombing was justified as a stimulus to end the war" If you could stand in the middle of Hiroshima and feel the hatred directed at you because you are an American, if you could tour the Peace Museum in Nagasaki and see the photos and study the mementos, if you could immerse yourself in the humanity behind the bombings, as I have done—you might not think so.

The bombs targeted civilians. How many tens of thousands of those slaughtered were infants, for instance? It's true that the citizens were warned before the bombs dropped. Leaflets saying the bombing would take place were scattered throughout the towns days before (I saw samples of those leaflets at the Nagasaki museum). But could the entire population leave? Perhaps like the Hurricane Katrina disaster, those who had resources could get out of town—if they realized the leaflets were not just a scare tactic, that is.

Many scholars are convinced Japan was on the verge of surrendering at that late point in WWII, where whole towns were on starvation rations. My Japanese Mama-san remembers living on rice and pickles in Tokyo for years. And certainly other Asian countries starved in subjugation to feed the Japanese. Kamikaze bombings were the last bastion of a war strategy devised by a desperate military that had plenty of airplanes but not enough fuel to keep them aloft.

To add to the madness, the developers of the new nuclear technology must have had an intense desire to test the mettle of their new war toys, and seen an opportunity to do so, despite pleas by such eminent voices as Albert Einstein, Douglas MacArthur, and Dwight D. Eisenhower not to.

In 2007, Hiroshima's mayor said—because Mayors can speak these truths when higher-up politicos can't—“The Japanese Government, which has the duty to work for the abolition of nuclear weapons through international law, should protect its pacifist constitution, which it should be proud of, and clearly say 'No' to antiquated and wrong US policies,” The antiquated and wrong U.S. policies Tadatoshi Akiba referred to are the ones that somehow allow the nuclear arms proliferation that has made America the proud owner of undoubtedly the largest stockpile of bomb-ready fissile material and nuclear bombs in the world. Congratulations to us, huh?

If you have the opportunity to visit Japan, please make plans to tour the Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum or the Hiroshima Peace memorial Museum (Nagasaki being much the friendlier of the two cities). I can attest that it is a life-changing experience. And my father was a bombardier in WWII.

On August 8, 1945, Albert Camus said it best, “Mechanized civilization has just reached the ultimate stage of barbarism. In a near future, we will have to choose between mass suicide and intelligent use of scientific conquests [...] This can no longer be simply a prayer; it must become an order which goes upward from the peoples to the governments, an order to make a definitive choice between hell and reason.”

Brilliant Advice for Trayvon Martin's Father

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Wed, 31 Jul 2013 18:54:00 +0000

Award-winning investigative journalist, Greg Palast, in an open letter to Trayvon Martin's father:

(From Truthout.org--one of the greatest independent news sources)

An Open Letter to Trayvon Martin's Father

Would You Grant a Concealed Gun Permit to This Man?

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Tue, 16 Jul 2013 19:16:00 +0000

Arrested for resisting an officer with violence
Entered alcohol education program
His fiancee took out a restraining order against him due to domestic violence
Made 46 calls to the local police department reporting suspicious activity of black males
Fired from his job as a bouncer for being too rough with the customers
A relative accused him of molestation when he was a child
Is described as confrontational and hateful toward blacks

How can such a person as described above be granted the right to a concealed weapon? In the state of Florida, that is the case. The victim of this violent, prejudiced, confrontational person was unarmed 17-year-old Trayvon Martin and the attacker, George Zimmerman.

Paranoid/Shizophrenic with Delusions of Being a Police Officer Acquitted on Second-Degree Murder Charges, July 13, 2013.

(From WashingtonPost.com)

The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan Rollin’ into Modern Times

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Mon, 01 Jul 2013 20:35:00 +0000

Contents

Early Days: “Like a Rollin’ Stone”

Voice of a Generation:“All Along the Watchtower”

Religiosity: “Tryin’ to Get to Heaven"

Enduring Legacy: “Time Passes Slowly”

Under the Influence: “The Tambourine Man”

Later years: “Dignity”

Early Days: “Like a Rollin’ Stone”

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

Fraud, liar, thief, copycat, mooch, slut, poser, but then again, Bob Dylan was only 19 and gathering up the pieces of who he would become. He slunk around from couch to couch in Greenwich Village, guitar in hand, rarely washed, usually unkempt, strumming and humming a little, jotting down notes to songs, smoking, slouching. And often his confidence was out of proportion to his abilities—at first. But that confidence propelled him until his drive and

absorptive curiosity and life experience caught up with him. Somehow, he sounded authentic right from his first original song.

From the liner notes of his debut album, Bob Dylan, “In less than one year in New York, Bob Dylan has thrown the folk crowd into an uproar. Ardent fans have been shouting his praises. Devotees have found in him the image of a singing rebel, a musical Chaplin tramp, a young Woody Guthrie, or a composite of some of the best country blues singers.”

Dylan’s early vision is legendary, “He's the American song-and-dance man, the sleight-of-hand man, mixing up folk roots, beat poetry, Chuck Berry, Baudelaire, Texas medicine, railroad gin, and his own psychedelic mutations of the blues . . .” (Rolling Stone Biography).

Voice of a Generation: “All Along the Watchtower”

There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief,
"There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief.
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth,
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth.

Dylan affected hobo speech, mixed with hipster expressions—at an early age. He crafted talking songs, like Woody Guthrie. And much has been made of the Guthrie connection—how Dylan patterned himself after the great folk-troubadour, he of the “if you play more than two chords on the guitar you’re showing off” fame. At first it was affectation, then it evolved into Dylan’s unique voice and style.

But can he really sing? This topic came up in a recent discussion. One die-hard fan insisted Dylan sings better than Bono, and that he’s actually an accomplished vocalist. Another swore that his voice is lousy. No one questioned Dylan’s utter greatness and we all admitted how much we adore his music. I insisted that if you analyze Dylan, that greatness will start blowin’ in the wind. It’s not just his voice, his storytelling, his charisma, his inventiveness, his musicianship, poetry. It’s more—it’s his inscrutable Dylan magic.

Just as Billy Holliday’s voice changed after years of abuse, so Dylan’s has too. He finally blew it out somewhere between MTV Unplugged (1995) and Time Out of Mind (1997), I don’t know whether to mourn this change or not. The semi-sweet youthful growl had expressive flexibility. The newer, coarser growl is appealing in flava, reminiscent of old smoky blues honky-tonks and ramblin’ men. It’s all good, I want to say. However Dylan’s voice sounds, its monumental effect is clear. As Arlo Guthrie said about Dylan, “the truth rang out so loud in his words, not just for me, but for an entire generation.”

Religiosity: “Tryin’ to Get to Heaven

When you think that you lost everything
You find out you can always lose a little more
I'm just going down the road feeling bad
Trying to get to heaven before they close the door

As with other themes—women, drugs, friends—with religion, Dylan has gone through different phases. Of eastern European Jewish descent, he donned a different persona as he changed his name from Robert Zimmerman to Bob Dylan in 1962. In 1979, under the influence of his lover, back-up singer Carolyn Dennis (with whom he had a child), he converted to Christianity. After a few albums dedicated to the cause (Slow Train Coming, Saved, and Shot of Love), he drifted back to himself, around 1983. “I don't go to church or to a synagogue. I don't kneel beside my bed at night. I don't think I will. I have yet to face the terror I read about in all the great literature. But, since politics, economics and war have failed to make us feel any better—as individuals or as a nation—and we look back at long years of disrepair, then maybe the time for religion has come again, and rather too suddenly—‘like a thief in the night,’ ” Dylan said in a 1979 Rolling Stone interview. He won’t talk about his beliefs, but he did study Chabad-Lubavitch, one of the largest branches of Hasidic Judaism, starting in the early '80s, and reputedly continues to practice, at least on holidays.

Enduring Legacy: “Time Passes Slowly”

Time passes slowly up here in the daylight,
We stare straight ahead and try so hard to stay right,
Like the red rose of summer that blooms in the day,
Time passes slowly and fades away.

Who could keep it up for 40 years? Dylan’s had so many bursts of genius, and the last three albums, the “trilogy,” as Columbia Records CEO Steve Barnett puts it, referring to Time out of Mind, Love and Theft, and Modern Times) is but one example. Most A-list singer/songwriters would do well to have four or five enduringly great songs. With Dylan, you’d be hard-pressed to limit it to four or five dozen. And even in his lesser albums when his mojo stumbled during the 80s (Empire Burlesque, Knocked out Loaded), there are hidden gems, such as the silly and lovable “Ugliest Girl in the World” or the haunting “Dark Eyes.” Even the Basement Tapes, made when Dylan was ostensibly recovering from a motorcycle accident and that he recorded with members of The Band in a basement under the crudest of conditions—cannot hide his juiciness. As Dylan said, “Art is the perpetual motion of illusion. The highest purpose of art is to inspire. What else can you do? What else can you do for anyone but to inspire them?”

Under the Influence: “The Tambourine Man”

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.

It’s tempting to say Dylan’s brilliant lyrics and scorching expressiveness have raised the bar for popular music over the decades. Over 3,000 artists have recorded his music, and it’s been suggested that The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix and others of his generation were inspired by Dylan to write more authentically of their own experience. In Down the Highway: The Life of Bob Dylan, Howard Sounes writes of Dylan, “He is a minstrel guru to millions who hear their deepest thoughts and feelings expressed in his songs, an artist who is perceived to be an original thinker, whose work encapsulates wisdom.”

But how does Dylan feel? He did make international news recently when, in a Rolling Stone interview, he tossed off music over the past 20 years as sounding “atrocious” and suggested that Napster was okay to give it away, because “it ain’t worth nothing anyway.” Admittedly, he seems to have been referring more to the quality of the recordings than to the ability or imagination of the performers. But does he disdain current artists? Hardly, as he famously name-checked Alicia Keys in his just-released Modern Times album, on the “Thunder on the Mountain” track.

Maybe Dylan will never be anachronistic, as much of his just-shy-of 500 song repertoire sounds freshly potent given the zeitgeist of the post-9/11, post-hurricane Katrina turbulent world as it did in the post-Cuban Missile crisis and nuclear scares of the 60s when he first started writing.

Later years: “Dignity”

I went down where the vultures feed
I would've got deeper, but there wasn't any need
Heard the tongues of angels and the tongues of men
Wasn't any difference to me
Chilly wind sharp as a razor blade
House on fire, debts unpaid
Gonna stand at the window, gonna ask the maid
Have you seen dignity?

Storyteller, embellisher, borrower, synthesizer, guest, womanizer, legend, but then again, he is known all over the globe, he has written 475 songs on 48 albums. He’s received the Polar Music Prize, a Grammy for Lifetime Achievement, Kennedy Center Honors, been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and the Songwriters Hall of Fame. He is one of TIME Magazine’s 100 most influential people of the 20th century. His “Like a Rollin’ Stone” was named the greatest song of all time by Rolling Stone (with another 11 songs in the top 500, and 10 albums in the top 500). He’s won a Golden Globe and an Oscar. Did I leave anything out? Oh, he also has a Broadway musical, together with Twyla Tharp, that’s opening soon—as well as a movie, in which he plays a character much like himself, and a movie that involves six actors to portray six stages of his life. Dylan famously said, “What’s money? A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night and in between does what he wants to do.”

Where Were You When you Started to Doubt the Official 9/11 Story?

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Tue, 11 Sep 2012 10:42:00 +0000

Note: On another sunny Tuesday morning in September, eleven years ago today . . .

For other September 11, posts, check here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Normally, I don't get my news from television. I'm not saying that proudly—as though I'm too good to absorb the din and clamor of the opiate of the masses, predigested spin-doctored effluvia that's seasoned heavily with propaganda. Nope, I'm saying that because I have a secret—the images of daily news are too horrific for me. What I see flashes straight through to my soul, bypassing the usual editorial board obstacle course that reason and logic have constructed over the decades. I mostly get my news from online, especially Google News (“untouched by human hands”), Truthout, and from my favorite blogs, Huffington Post, or OpEdNews . I'm also fond of Newsweek (I simply filter out some of their Conservative leanings).

But when September 11 hit with a giant smash on the psyche of the world, I became a televisio-drombie-zoid. I hardly slept or ate for days. I simply stared vacantly at the screen, surfed channels, and cried. The images of those little bodies casting themselves out of the towers into certain death, well, they are seared into me indelibly.

Out of all the troubling events of that day—the ones that actually got broadcast, anyway—the one that haunted me for the longest was the image of then Chief of Staff Andrew Card leaning over Bush's shoulder (as Bush sat in a Florida elementary school, reading "My Pet Goat," no less) and whispering in the presidential ear. The expression on Bush's face—that's what killed me. Card was informing Bush that the second World Trade Center tower had just fallen to "terrorist" attack. Bush looked, well, like you had just told him he was going to have veal cordon bleu for supper instead of filet mignon. A little bummed, a little concerned—but that was all.

Over and over I replayed that moment in my head. How could any human being—one who is ostensibly not in any way connected to the atrocities—hear that news for the first time and not be shocked and upset and, well, made to dash boldly from the room and rush to take care of his country during a crisis of unprecedented proportions? In fact, after Bush "heard the news" for the first time, he sat there—for 15 minutes. He picked up reading the story to the children. He paused for a photo op with the teacher. He carried on, business as usual.

No way could I digest that information—that casual, cavalier demeanor of Bush's in any way other than to believe that he knew. The more I thought about how Bush knew about the events of 9/11, the sicker I felt. Months went by before I thought of or even had the courage to do some research online—after all, I was recovering, mourning, in my own way, the loss of innocence and the belief of the United States as the "Good Guys." And how would I do my research, anyway? What would I look under, um, "suspicious lack of amazement on Bush's face when told about attacks"? But I did start to scrounge around. Scared though I was, I had to know more. Well, it didn't take much scrounging to undercover more insidious and more horrific information—fact, speculation—all of it. Conspiracy theories of many ilks. The ones that made most sense pointed toward, not passively "allowing the attacks to happen," but worse. Far worse. An inside job. Deliberate planning. Controlled demolition. The creation of a New Reality.

I'm still researching, I'm still learning and wondering, but the most convincing and erudite treatise I have found so far is this: Joseph P. Firmage's Interesting Facts and Theories on 9/11 essay, in which he analyzes the mountainous debris of evidence and pulls out 42 "facts of significance," intersecting them across three possible theories about what happened. The most overwhelmingly cogent theory is the one that, sadly, points to Bush administration officials as having "architected and caused them [the attacks] to happen." Firmage is a heavy—scientist, CEO, writer, visionary of our times—a great thinker. Not the kind of person to be swayed by flighty theories that are espoused by fringe crazies. His scientific pedigree is rock solid. His essay is available online, free, in PDF format at the Journal of 911 Studies. Please read it. Please let me know how you feel. Please tell me I am not alone.

Frustrated Frog FInds Fun Flagging

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Thu, 06 Sep 2012 15:54:00 +0000

Going Green, One Lawn Mower at a Time

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Tue, 04 Sep 2012 11:28:00 +0000

[Photo above: Me mowing our lawn--and enjoying it for the first time ever.]

Does mowing your lawn with a gasoline-powered lawn mower drive you crazy? The noise. The exhaust fumes. Having to lug noxious chemicals around. Scaring the family dog. Well, there is a cure in site. If you can afford the extra up-front cost, a battery-powered cordless or a plug-in lawn mower might work for you.

Given the choice, we opted for a battery-powered beauty from Neuton Power (NeutonPower.com), the Neuton CE–5, retailing for $399.00. The Neuton's sleek green body and super-cool lizard logo-tires make it the most stylish grass-mower in the neighborhood. But spending your entire time trimming your lawn in relative peace, enjoying the smell of cut grass only--is priceless.

If you live in Ventura County or Los Angeles County, you are in luck--these two counties have air-quality control agencies that run programs to provide huge discounts when you trade in your old gas-guzzling, stinky lawn mower and opt for a quiet, stink-free mower. Ventura County's trade-in program lets you pick either the Black & Decker corded or cordless lawn mowers or the Neuton CE-5 or the CE-6 (a larger mower). We ended up paying only $89 for our lawn mower, with free shipping--and we got rid of the old machine that was simply taking up space (your trade-in mower does not have to be in working order). The Neuton mowers were more highly rated and by far the most stylish, so it was an easy choice.

Thanks, Stan Cohen at the VCAPCD for making the process so easy, and thanks, Ventura County, for doing a beautiful thing to promote clean air, one green lawn mower at a time!

One Man’s Feast is Another Man’s...

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Mon, 20 Aug 2012 16:43:00 +0000

Have you ever eaten anything really strange? What was it and how did you feel about eating it? Let me know.

Here’s a ditty about some of my strange and stranger dining experiences—plus thoughts on why we humans eat the things we do. It ain’t always just about taste.

Tumerica.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Americans ate heartily of horseflesh,

a mere century ago.

The English still eat with impunity

Christmas Pudding (the more lard the merrier)—

That is years old.

They lack disdain for internal organs,

Like some Native American tribes,

The Japanese, and Central Americans as well

(Menudo: Tomato-intestine soup).

Terrapin soup, though

Not appetizing to me

is an aphrodisiac to the Japanese,

Who also treasure the slightly-to-deadly

Toxic puffer fish flesh—

Raw or otherwise.

An ardent Afghanistani admirer

Once made me goat stew.

And was it dog or not,

I dared not ask at the cafeteria in Manila.

Chinese are perfectly pleased

To eat most anything

That once moved—or still does.

The Japanese are fanatics of freshness, too.

Gui-odori, “eat-dance”

Means eating something that's still living.

A charming kimono-clad lady once

Served me a still-struggling

Skewered sashimi of who-knows-what fish.

The Japanese also have a penchant

For the contents of crab crania.

It comes in little jars like jam—

all the better department stores carry it.

What’s inexplicable

Outside one’s culture,

is the association that makes food pleasing—

vigor, prestige, memories of childhood.

Is Hawaiian poi innately appealing?

Or fermented soybeans (natto)

With the gooey texture of okra

And the smell of high school locker room?

These may be foods only a mother could love,

Or the former child of same

who grew up with them.

Let’s admit at least this . . .

One man’s feast is another man’s, well,

Would you mind passing the potatoes?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Fri, 03 Aug 2012 18:54:00 +0000

Some of the kinder negative adjectives used by critics to describe the XXX Olympiad Opening Ceremony in London: Quirky, Twitter-y, Eccentric, Scattered.

Naturally, there were die-hard Anglophiles who raved on and on about it, as thought trying to convince themselves ("Bloody brilliant," exclaimed a Huffington Post critic) that greatness should be the English way by default, if for no other reason than their immense cultural contribution to the world.

Even though I have a soft spot in my heart for what makes up the majority of my ancestry, I found the London Opening Ceremony to be a yawn-fest, replete with moments of embarrassment--for the Brits--and just plain, "What were they thinking?" and "Didn't they actually consider who that would look?" Overall, as unattractive a hodge-podge of disjointed skits as I have ever seen packaged together in my life. Bad choreography. Ugly, dull colors through the first half and messy chaotic colors in the second half. I tried to explain to my nine-year-old why this Olympics Opening was so awful--"It's a small nation," and "They do tend to be a bit dull." But where was at least the ATTEMPT to impress? Where was the epic? And why, oh, why did we have to look at those seven men dressed in top hat and tails in the Victorian/Industrian sequence for so, so long?

Danny Boyle, you let us down. Did you not have enough time to get your act together? Were you not interested in beauty? In pageantry? In color? I would have kept the few and the cool moments--the queen heli-jumping was adorable. The girl-meets-boy skit was interesting, but should have been condensed down to about 25% of what it was. Start the ceremony off with a major splash and work that tedious agrarian skit somewhere in the middle--reducing it to a tolerable few minutes. Add liberal doses of color and extravagant music. Highlight more of the English greatness and less of the English tedious pompousness.

Some critics who agree with me:

Okay--what did you think?

POTUS and General Dwight D. Eisenhower Warns About the Military-Industrial Complex

noreply@blogger.com (BroderWriter) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 15:21:00 +0000