Monday, December 28, 2015

SOME REALLY STRANGE QUESTIONS OF MINE

Some questions that I have collected along the road of life.

Is my guardian angel a boy or a girl?
I was late reporting to work on my first day and they fired me.  Can I sue them?
How can I tell if my friend is lying to me?
Why do cats eat mice?
Will there be a time when no more original music tunes will be possible?
I hear the light switch and see the light at the same time.  Why did you tell me that light travels faster than sound?
I stepped on a banana peel this morning and I didn't slip and fall.  Why do people in the funnies always fall when they step on a banana peel?
How can birds stay warm and fly when the air is freezing?
What's the best question I can ask to show that I am smart?
Is there a question that can be asked that is impossible to answer?
Why do some people laugh at my jokes and some do not?
If money isn't everything, what is?
Cousin Tony told me that left-handed people are smarter than right-handers.  Is that true?
I asked my father, "Why should I care what other people think of me?"
          His answer: "To live with people, you have to be people."
Are snakes evil?
How can you be sure that you've won an argument?
Is going to sleep like dying?
If curiosity killed the cat, why do you encourage me to learn by being curious?
What takes more time: Flying from Los Angeles to New York at 500 MPH at 10,000 feet or flying from Los Angeles to New York at 500 MPH at 35,000 feet?  (Assuming the same line of flight)
Why do I crave food even if I am not really hungry?

These are some that I took from the top of my head.  You got some?  Get them off your chest before the New Year so that you can start the Leap Year with a clean slate!

Peace and tranquility to you all.


Saturday, December 26, 2015

CHRISTMAS DAY TRAFFIC STOP (3:00 AM)

You know, I haven't scribbled too much too regularly on these "pages" lately, but tonight, I just got this burning sensation in my gouty fingers and my spongy grey matter to do something seasonal.  It was also caused by the totally silly questions that I started to ask myself about what would happen to my friend (yeah, I do have 1) who was stopped coming home from a "noche buena" (happy night) party after Midnight Mass.
My friend is not afraid to have fun in the right circumstances.  Christmas is one of the better suited circumstances for having fun...including ascertaining the quality of the Holiday Tequila.  So, he obliged the hosts by testing the libations of choice.  One of them was a gift that regularly sells for $125.00 per fifth.  After all, they wanted to know if what they were serving was respectful of the guests.  Like it says in the Bible, "you only serve the best."
According to my friend all went well until on his way home he saw the wig-wagging blue light on the cruiser roof reflected in his rear-view mirror.
Let the tape in the "black box" - you know, the one that contains all the incriminating facts despite the total obliteration of the rest of the vehicle - yeah, that one - so, let the tape show that the curious police person who conducted the interrogation was polite (my friend is a a safe shade of white), and he (at that time of day,on the holidays, they are all "he") gave the driver a choice as to whether or not to take the "breathalizer" test.  My friend said "yes" to the breath test.  Depending on your point of view, he "passed." :-(
When I asked him why he did that, his answer was:  "I thought it was my only way to beat it in court."
"Huh!?!" says I
"Lemme explain," says he.
"That fine and respectful servant of the state does't really know if I was cogent enough to appreciate 'the consequences of my consent to the test.  He didn't test my mind he only knows what the breath 'machine told him. He didn't ask me when my last swallow took place.  When he asked me how far 'away I lived from that spot, I told him a quarter of a mile.  I said that I would park my car and walk 'the rest of the way home.
'He agreed.  Got in his car.  Watched me for a minute or two as I started to walk and then he left.
'When he left, I got in my car and drove the two miles home.  He must not have checked my car's 'location since not a soul has called me nor come to the house to arrest me after two days.
'I'm gonna beat this guy like a drum in court.  He determines that I am too impaired to drive.  He also 'determines that despite that I'm reasonable enough to consent to an incriminating act like take a 'breath test.  Sorry, man, you gotta be outta yer mind to consent to an incriminating act in front of the 'tin badge.  So how can I be sane enough to be guilty of a crime?"
Oh, wait, you say, but he'll say that you lied to him about where you lived and that you drove your car home so as not to have to walk two miles.
"Right you are," I shout, "but he doesn't know who drove my car home.  Besides, because I was able to be so astute as to outwit Mr. Blueshirt means that 'I was not too impaired to connive and therefore not too impaired to drive.  Therefore he arrested a 'person who could not possibly be guilty under the law."

I win!

Thursday, November 26, 2015

THE DOOR

The door, 11/25/2010
This is the door to the bedroom where the two Dion Boys passed from infancy to quasi adulthood.  Along the way they and their father did some interesting "guy" things.  Some of the more interesting things were the moments along the way when I would read to them from books that I thought they would enjoy based on the simple relative judgment that they were writings that I had enjoyed.
It started with the Old Testament stories that I had heard from my Grandfather.  By the time that I had the time to share tese stories with my children, I had the wisdom to do whatmy Grandfather had done and spared them from the exposure to the more racy ones.
We went from there to the Hobbitt and the three books starring Frodo vs Gollum.  That took two years of nightly, or quasi nightly bed time reading.  Along the way, The Door developped into a contemporary pictorial exression of the rights of passage of the masculine elements of the household.  As far as I can tell, the latest addition to The Door was in the vicinity of 2005.  There are three protagonists, Jo-El, Jason and Enrique.


The present state


This is the door in its present state. 11-26-2015.
There are a lot of stories
behind The Door.  If only
the prime mover behind it
would regale the world with
the story.

 

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

A DOCTOR'S [MD] WISDOM

Hey, I went to see a doctor today for something really benign, but interesting.  For about a year now I have this uncomfortable feeling in the upper left hand corner of my back.  It feels like an itch but even my best Chinese backscratcher thingie doesn't make it go away.  So, two weeks ago I decided to talk to my Primary Care Sawbones about it. I figured, "Hmmm, maybe this could be cancer or some such pesky disorder.  So, I showered, powdered and other such things that you do when you prepare do disrobe in front of a stranger.  I have to admit, I really felt quite spiffy.  Amost like going to the Junior Senior Prom, for goodness sake.  So after the usual preliminary security screen, like you know, First name, Last name, weight, age, blood pressure, pulse, temperature, what drugs you're on to stay alive and where does it hurt, I was ushered into the 10 x 10 cubicle, still fully clothed and told that the doctor would be in shortly.
I sat there for about 5 minutes and then the Man walked in after knocking on the door to announce his presence.  That was rather unnecessary since I was still as modestly covered as when the nurse abandoned me.  I told the Doc why I had come.  He put his hands deftly on my back,over my clean shirt, rubbed around the area a little bit and said, "You've got arthritis."  Heee, Haaww, this guy has been seeing me for 12 years and he announces to me that he has discovered that I have arthritis.  I was torn a being at a fork in the mental road...Was it better to discover that this guy finally found out that I have arthritis or to celebrate that arthritis is not nearly as deadly as cancer?  So, guess what - I shrugged and asked, "So how many people have arthritis in the upper back?"  He said, I don't know, but you do."
Now, he can also read my mind.  I'm saying to myself, "This guy never even came close to touching my bare body and he announces that he knows I have arthritis.  Maybe he's gambling because he knows that it's not cancer and that I have had the gout for nigh on to 45 years."
So, because he can read this, he says, "Go down the hall to X-ray.  If I see anything strange, I'll call you."  Hmmm.  I paid $25.00 for this!
So, I go to X-ray, pay another $25.00, get a few pictures taken (even at my age she protects the jewels with the lead shield) and I walk away.
I don't have anything to worry about.  The prognosis is for non fatal pain - for now.
Rrinnggg...Yeah, a week later.  The doc is sending me to a speciaist in "Physical medecine."  No kidding,  Physical medecine.  As opposed to what?  Or maybe I should ask, related to what?  So, what the heck, I may as well go, even if only to find out what Physical medecine is all about.
I go.  Same routine.  This time,when she asked me how tall I am I said, "Tall enough so that my feet reach the floor."  She laughed, and when all of that was determined, I went into another 10 x 10 room.
In comes the doc.  A mere child.  Small Asian kid.  I'm thinking, "This guy ain't getting physical with me."  He's looking at me a little strangely, but I can't figure out why.  But then he shows me the famous X-rays and repeats the diagnosis, "You have arthritis."  Then he answers the obvious question, "Not too many people have arthritis in the upper back because there's not much bone movement up there."  Phew, I'm glad we got that out of the way.  I'm also glad that now I can actually celebrate the fact that I have arthritis.  I tell him that and he smiles and says, "I know why you're happy.  I was surprised to see how much better you look in person than you do on paper."
Huh?  "Yeah, when I walked in after reading the stat sheet and saw you I thought that I was in the wrong room."
So there.  Not only do I have arthritis in a weird location but I found out all about it without taking one stitch of clothes off to find out.  That's good, because if that young boy doctor would have seen me naked, he would have discovered that I look worse in person than I do on paper.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

QUID EST VERITAS ?

Dicit ei Pilatus: "Ergo rex es tu?"  (So, you are a king?)  (Ref. John 18; verses 37 and 38)
Respondit Iesus: "Tu dicis quia rex sum ego. Ego in hoc natus sum, et ad hoc veni in mundum, ut testimonium perhibeam veritati. Omnis qui est ex veritate, audit meam vocem ". 
Dixit itaque ei Pilatus: "Quid est veritas?  What is truth? (Pontius Pilate)
This question was posed 2,000 years ago, and it wasn't new, even back then.

This article is provoked by the fact that I feel as though I have reached a point of about 210 degrees fahrenheit when it comes to the way that the lack of truth in our daily interactions has just about become 100%.  
The truth does not seem to be a part of our daily lives any more.  Even in our very own living rooms.  I was at a birthday party (a quiet, old people's type celebration) and a newcomer to the group of usual suspects turned out to be quite the conversationalist.  He has a lot to say and I allowed my uncontrollable curiosity to take sway and found myself listening to him for about 30 or 40 minutes with nothing much more than grunts and nods from me.
He strung out a line of various "conspiracy theory"stories that were rather interesting, but not compelling directives to factual truth.  The best one was the complete assurance that the Bush family engineered the assassination of JFK.  Now, I have to say that in my view, the Bushes could not organize a three car funeral, let alone the assassination of a president.

As I separated myself from him I mentioned that he should know that I was convinced (still am) that the vast amount of things that he said as though they are truth rung false to me.  His reaction?  "You don't trust the government and the media, do you?"  I told him, "No, neither your stories nor theirs strike me as being 100% worthy of my trust."  He just walked away.  I am very sure that he is happy that he won't have to put up with me at his Thanksgiving shindig. Which is true...and mutual :-)

Then, today I heard that the New York Times had an editorial taking the government and the presidential candidates to task for not correcting certain egregious fabrications that come out of the mouths of politicians.  The one that has been catching the greatest amount of attention these days is the story that Don Trump has been telling which describes his witnessing of thousands and thousands of Arabs dancing in the streets of Jersey City as the Twin Towers came crashing down in New York, across the East River on 9/11/2001.  One report in reaction to the New York Times' editorial was that everyone, from politicians to Joe Lunch Bucket is convinced that politicians, the media, the official government offices, the military, in short, EVERYONE lies -- all the time.   So to call anyone back to the factual truth is not worth the effort.

So, it appears as though we are living in the greatest cloud of dishonesty (if 100% lying is dishonest) that has ever existed.  Pretty daunting isn't it!  Everything that is spoken is a lie. Everything that is thought and not spoken is also a lie because it is the retention of the truth. 

Have you noticed that I did not include everything that is WRITTEN?
Therefore, be careful what you fight for







Monday, November 23, 2015

WIN SOME, LOOSE SOME -- REMEMBER 'EM ALL

You know, ours is a very strange life. I have two thoughts today. One old one and one new one.  This is the old one and I am visiting it because it has been there for over a year now. Not only that, the new one is a real strange one and it is really challenging.  Nerdy challenging...geeky stuff.  So geeky that there is no picture for it, I am sure.  So I will have to wait for the thought that will come to rescue me from the depths of a thought that can't be pictured.  Go ahead, turn that over in your head for a while and you'll see why I am starting with playground swings.  Now that you can picture.  Assuming of course that you lived somewhere in the vicinity of a playground that had swings.  Yeah, we had them where I grew up.  When I was older they disappeared.  Someone told me it was because there was not enough money to pay for the liability insurance needed to protect the town from the parental lawsuits.  Maybe.  I can't relate to that because when I grew up in that town all we cared about was who was going to be coming back from Europe and/or Asia, not too much about who fell off the swings at the playround yesterday. Now you know how old I am.
Notice that the little boy above is just sitting there.  We can't really tell whether or not he is dejected because the swing is not flying for him like it does for the older boys.  He seems to look forlorn, and I don't blame him.  That happened to me a lot.  Learning how to keep the swing flying after getting an initial push was a rather long and trying process for me.  (Retart!)  After I was able to keep it flying, it took me about three or four semesters at the playround MIT lab before success at starting from a stop became mine.  Along the way I had built a great reputation as the fat little kid who couldn't even fly a swing.  Man, I tell you, I was stupid...no, really stupid.
Now, I wasn't a girl, but I can tell you that I looked like this a lot in one of the worst Summers of my life.  How many mornings I would leave the house early and walk the 1/3 of a mile or so to the playground where I would be alone and I would grunt, and cry, and scream, throw sand, anything but be smart enough to get that sadistic machine to do for me what it did for every other creature on the planet.  That was the Summer when the older boys refused to give me the initial push.  Even friend "Red" J... (he's no longer around) told me to learn on my own.  Now that really raised the hackles of the back of my neck.  It was so bad, it weakened me and went home crying.
In case you're wondering: No, there is no happy ending to this story.  It took me at least three more weeks of  frustrating leg flailing before I discovered the full body, fulcrum-based harmony that was necessary to get the inertia to break and take to the air.  I never did get much accomplished that Summer, but at least I did have the body memory that I needed to have great fun the following year.  I haven't forgotten it, but I sure don't waste any time thinking about it because it reminds of just how stupid I can be.  That's why it took 5 years before telling the story here.

Saturday, November 21, 2015

CHRISTIANITY IS LOVE; ISLAM MEANS PEACE; JUDAISM IS LOVING LAW

These days it is difficult to not think about the relationship that humans have with one another as defined by the religious faith to which they identify.  I do not profess to be an expert about what it is that I am about to opine, but opining is what this space does best.  I therefore allow myself the liberty of making a few remarks about the strengths and foibles of human beings when it comes to the religion with which they identify and the factual conduct that they display in their every day lives.  I am certain that you will be able to identify with some of the following remarks. 
Christians and Jews are commanded by the Holy Bible to love one another.  We Christians and Jews alike all know that.  We also all know that to follow that command is not easy.  After all, there are many different expressions of Christianity as we all know. At last count there were some 3,000+ "denominations" of Christians around the world. I, for one, can confess openly that it is not easy for me to love the adherents to some of these denominatioins just as there are many of them who can't stand the sight of me or any other Catholic.  So, yeah, we have some work to do there.   
I have come to know that there are similar feelings among some of the different expressions of Judaism as well. Oh well, I guess that even God can't win 'em all!
We all know that there are divisions in the Islamic world as well.  It would be nice if we Christians and Jews could present the Muslims with a united front and be sure that we were better than they, but we can't.  Just as they cannot present the Christians and Jews with a united front and win the prize for being the religion of peace, even by pointing to the peaceful relations that they might want to present between their various factions.
Now, I can't speak knowingly about Yoga, but I do know that there are different expressions of Yoga spirituality too. I happen to have first hand experience of that.  What I have not been able to ascertain is whether or not the adherents of one expression and the other in Yoga harbor negative feelings about one another.  No, I am not interested in finding out. 
At this point, I'm almost willing to bet that there are negative feelings among Atheists as to their common reasons, or lack thereof, for unbelief.  Bad feelings about people of differing opinions seem to be the norm of the human condition.  
Heck, just think of the political goupings in the world and you'll see just what it is that we are made of.  

So, at this point my conclusion is this:  Don't quote me the Holy Koran and I won't quote you the Holy Bible.  You, Mr and Mrs Christian, don't quote me the Holy Bible and I won't quote the Holy Bible to you.  To you all, myself too, let us all show one another by our habitual conduct the behavior that expresses the lived experience of the words that we would have quoted to one another from one Holy Text or the other. 
If we do that regularly and without fail, we will have no reason to cry at one another's funeral, guaranteed.       

Friday, November 20, 2015

ANNIVERSARY - A FEW DAYS

365 THOUGHTS X 500 WORDS, ON AVERAGE = 329,000 and if I remember right, I think every single one of them has been "G" rated.  As I wrote that, I found myself wondering if anyone knows what that means these days.  You might want to let me know.
The last few months, quite a few,I might add, I wrote notes to mysef about thoughts that I would like to write about.  That's as far as it got.  I have been writing a lot, but not in this space.  That's too bad because this is the one space where I generally have the most fun.  So now you know that what I have been doing is somewhat less than fun.  But now that the calendar has come back to the starting point of this blog, I figured that I might as well revisit you for moment.  

Five years is not a great amount of time in the long run.  However, when I tell you that when I started doing this I was only 73.6 years old, that should tell you that 5 years is a long time.  That is one large number.  There are many who were reading this back then who are not reading it now.  Back then there were barely 60 people on the mailing list.  Now there are twice than many plus those who follow it on Google+.  In the space of time, I joined Facebook and after three months I shut it off because it was pestering the daylights out of me.  Google+ is much quieter.  I still get pestered by Zuckerman's Folly but it is easier to press "delete" than to spend time making "friends" that I have never met.  Go ahead, call me old fashioned.  

So, now that I have come back, I am going to have to try to keep in touch over the next few days because the real anniversary date is creeping up on me...November 25 if I am not mistaken.  Then I am going to be leaving for Bethlehem, the Real One and I just might have a chance to write you a word or two from that vicinity.  If the angels don't keep me up all night with their singing.

Take it easy, y'all and stay tuned.



Wednesday, November 18, 2015

KILL 'EM WITH HUMOR

They have the arms,
Screw them,
We have the Champagne!
The great war between secular Liberty, Equality and Fraternity and Theocracy (with my respectful tip of the Christian hat to my Jewish brethren).
The meaning of today's cover of the weekly satirical magazine published in Paris...The very one that was attacked by the Theocrats (so called) last January 7...goes very deep into the complex situation that is the prevailing environment in many parts of the world.
It is interesting to me and to the publisher of Charlie Hebdo:  The secular environment of freedom and mutual respect is seen as an insult to the Theocracy that is attached to the religious faith of a portion of the country's population.  The magazine is saying, "Do what you will and die in anger while I live my life out in joy and good humor.

That's my thought for the day.  You can tell that this event has really grabbed me.  Don't worry, I'll get over it.  Even if I don't, you still are expected to not cry at my funeral, even though Champagne, and its close and distant relatives, are no longer a part of my life.

Peace and joy to you all.

PARIS

It has been five decades, at least, since I was enjoying the seductive charms of the world's finest city.
Actually, it has been +/-55 years since I was there for the first time.  It was for Summer classes in French literature at the Institut Catholique de Paris.  It was a Summer when Algeria was terrorizing the city by placing Plastique bombs in the metro stations.  So, we walked the three kilometers (1.9 miles) to and from school. The streets were as hirsute as porcupines with the amount of military long arms on the streets and gathered at the entries to the underground transportation system.
I was young, apolitical and wide-eyed about being in Paris. It was a great month.  I had a student pass to the city.  Louvre, Comedie Francaise, Tour Eiffel, Versailles, etc.  I even had a student's discount ticket for the Metro.  I was able to put it to good use once the French gendarmerie got the situation under control and took the Metro back from the terrorists.  Actually I think I learned more from the streets than I did from the school during that month.
Once more after that month I was in Parish for about two days.  It was barely all I could afford, so I was glad to get out of there.
I have been to France a number of times since then, but never again to Paris...Physically.  I never go to France without dreaming of my favorite big city in the world.  (N.B. San Diego, California is my favorite, but compared to Tokyo, New York, Rome, Jerusalem, Manila, Los Angeles and Chicago, San Diego is not a big city.)  By the way, if your city does not appear on this list it is simply because I have not been there, ever, for more than an airport "pit stop."  Sorry, Madrid :-(  You too, Amsterdam.  London?  I admit, I have avoided it on purpose.
So, now I have been re-living my first month in Paris.  It has been a hard year for me especially since this is the second attack on Paris within a year.  It comes to my mind that in some ways Parisians bring it upon themselves with their "in-your-face" arrogance.  So, have you ever been to New York?  Have you ever started to roll 2 seconds beyond the change of the light without hearing a horn?  Have you ever needed directions on the street?  The terrorists of 9/11 didn't dare do their thing on the street level in New York.  No siree! They opted to stay out of the way and do it from the air.
BUT, I've got news for them...messing with the French in Paris is a real bad choice.  Twice in the same year!  The result is going to be the 21st century version of the Guillotine...heads are going to roll...lots of them...The French carry a centuries old, festering disgust for the grade of people who are responsible for these attacks.  This is not over.  ISIS has just embraced an armful of fury...trust me on this one.  It is a fury born of a nine centuries' old gestation.  The baby is not going to be named
"Cal I. Phate."


Il y a déjà cinq décennies, au moins, depuis que j’ai eu le grand plaisir d’apprécier les charmes séducteurs de la plus belle ville du monde.
En fait, il y a +/- 55 années depuis la première fois que j’ai mis pied-à-terre à Paris.  Ce fut pour des classes d'été en littérature française à l'Institut Catholique de Paris. Ce fut un été quand l’Algérie terrorisait la ville en plaçant des bombes de Plastique dans les stations du métro. Donc, nous marchions les trois kilomètres entre notre domicile et l'école. Les rues étaient aussi hirsutes que les porcs épics avec la quantité de longues armes militaires dans les rues et devant les entrées du système de transport souterrain.
J’étais  jeune, apolitique avec les yeux écarquillés d'être à Paris. C’était un mois merveilleux.  Je disposais un laissez-passer d'étudiant à la ville. Le Louvre, la Comédie-Française, la Tour Eiffel, Versailles, etc., J’avais même acheté  le ticket de réduction pour étudiant pour le métro. Je me suis trouvé en mesure de le mettre à profit une fois que la gendarmerie française prit la situation sous contrôle et libéra le métro des menaces des terroristes. En fait, je pense que j’appris plus dans les rues qu’à l'école au cours de ce mois.
Une fois de plus après ce premier séjour, je me suis trouvé à Paris une deuxième fois pendant environ deux jours. Il était à peine tout ce que je pouvais me permettre ($), donc j’étais content de sortir de là.
Je suis allé en France un certain nombre de fois depuis, mais jamais à Paris ... Physiquement.  Je ne vais jamais en France sans rêver de ma grande ville préférée du monde. (NB San Diego, en Californie, est ma préférée absolue, mais par rapport à Tokyo, New York, Rome, Jérusalem, Manille, Los Angeles et Chicago, San Diego n’est pas une grande ville.) Par ailleurs, si votre ville ne figure pas sur la liste, c’est tout simplement parce que je n'y suis pas allé, jamais, pour rien de plus qu’un arrêt au stand à l’aéroport.  Désolé, Madrid :-( et toi aussi, Amsterdam.  Londres ?  J’admets que je l’évite sciemment.
Donc, maintenant, je revis mon premier mois à Paris. Cette une année se montre difficile pour moi d'autant plus que c’est la deuxième attaque sur Paris dans un an. Il me vient à l'esprit que, à certains égards les Parisiens appellent ces actions sur eux-mêmes grâce à leur air de supériorité.  Alors, avez-vous déjà visité New York? Avez-vous déjà mis un délai d’au-delà de 2 secondes avant de rouler au changement du feu sans entendre un klaxon? Avez-vous déjà eu besoin de directions pour votre promenade? Les terroristes du 9/11 n'ont pas osé faire leurs dégâts au niveau de la rue à New York. Non Messieurs! Ils ont choisi de rester en dehors de la voie et de le faire à partir de l'air.

MAIS, j’ai des nouvelles pour eux ... tordre le français à Paris est un vrai mauvais choix. Deux fois dans la même année! Le résultat va être la version de la guillotine du 21e siècle... des têtes vont rouler ... plusieurs ... Les Français portent depuis plusieurs siècles, un purulent dégoût de la catégorie des gens qui sont responsables pour ces attaques. Cela n’en veut pas plus. ISIS vient de cueillir une brassée de fureur ... croyez-moi sur ce coup. Elle est née d'une gestation de neuf siècles de fureur. Le bébé ne va pas être nommé "Kali Phat."




Friday, October 2, 2015

TODAY I SAW GOD - NOW I KNOW / AUJOURD'HUI J'AI VU MON DIEU - J'EN SUIS SUR / HOY VI EL SENOR DIOS - AHORA NE SOY SEGURO


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I saw God today, about 5 hours ago.  Boy, He was ugly then, but now He is as resplendent as the sun.

The last two months  have been rather demanding when it comes to doing good deeds for people who accost me at the gas station.  I have been "hit" three times in the last two months.  The story is always the same and the size of the vehicle is always at least three times greater than my small Honda Civic Hybrid.
The story line is this.  Excuse me but I'm coming in from Arizona.  I left in a hurry because I was told that my sister had been diagnosed with cancer.  My mind is not right.  I left in a hurry.  Can you help me with a little gas so that I can reach her in ...(name the city)
It varies a little but the emergency has been cancer and the vehicle is always a beat up old Chevvy or Dodge van, lots of rust, loud engine, and, in one case a yappy dog who cut my contribution down to $5.00.

5 hours ago, the Voice from the Kitchen and I were on our way back from San Diego to the city where she works.  We decided to stop for some fuel so that we could feel more secure burning it off the top rather than off the bottom. (That's a paraphrase of a favorite oft repeated axiom of Edward Dion.)
We pulled up to the pump, I got out, ran my $100.00 prepaid Shell card through my side of the pump and began to fill the tank.  As I was standing there waiting for the auto shut-off to work, there came a rusty old Chevvy "beater" van, just like in the documentary films.  It stopped right opposite me and from the cab tumbled out a scraggly, broomstick thin, wrinkled female with dim eyes, unkempt hair, dirty clothes all wrapped up in a mysteriously unpleasant cloud full of olfactory challenges.
She came to me and with surprising poise and grace excused  herself, told me how embarassed she was to disturb me, but she felt that she had no other choice.  She underlined the fact the she was not seeking money, but she did need gas since her vehicle was nearly dry.  She was not crying, she was not teary eyed, she knew what her situation was and she knew that she had to abase herself to stay afloat somehow.  
She told me that her husband had been diagnosed with advanced, incurable cancer and since they were in dire financial straits, they had both come to the conclusion that this was going to be the end.
She needed gas for her vehicle, the rest would take care of itself, one way or the other.  As my tank was being filled, we exchanged other talk about the human condition and we had connecting mental and emotional wave lengths.  My tank was now filled and I told her that I would now give her some fuel.  In the process of running my card, something went wrong, so I had to stop the process and restart it.  All along we were working on being nice to one another and I must say that it was comforting to her, and she said so.
I succeeded in running my card, so everything was set.  Because Belle was waiting in the car and because we knew there was a lot of traffic on the 100 mile road ahead, I took my card out of the mechanism and as I handed her the pump I said, "We are leaving now.  I am trusting you with $20.00 from my card.  May God bless you.  She was happy, we parted gently and politely.  The Voice from the Kitchen asked if I had given the lady something and I said yes.

We got back on the road and suffered through 2.5 hours of traffic over a distance that usually takes 90 minutes.
We got home.  Unloaded the car.  Ate the evening meal.  Showered.
I remembered my smelly Noah and wondered if I still had any animals left in my prepaid ark.

I went to my computer and entered the necessary information to see if my new found, unidentified friend had held herself to the entrusted amount of $20.00, or ???

My friends, you know that I would not be writing this if she had ripped me off.  You have my breath taking assurance that she took about $20.00 from a card that she could have tried to get more from.
There were $45.50 on the card when she started to fill her tank and when she was finished the card had, and still has $24.68.

I saw God today, and I'm still trembling from the experience.  I hope that He will introduce us some day...she and her beloved husband.



Je l'ai vu Dieu aujourd'hui, il y a environ 5 heures.  Je vous certifie qu'il était laid, et plus que laid, mais maintenant il est aussi resplendissant que le soleil.

Les deux derniers mois ont été plutôt exigeants quand il vient à faire de bonnes actions pour les personnes qui m'accostent à la station de carburant. J'ai été "sollicité" trois fois au cours des deux derniers mois. L'histoire est toujours la même et la taille du véhicule est toujours au moins trois fois plus grande que ma petite Honda Civic Hybrid.
La ligne de l'histoire est la suivante. Excusez-moi, mais je suis venue de l'Arizona. Je suis parti à la hâte parce qu'on m'a dit que ma sœur avait été diagnostiqué avec le cancer. Mon esprit ne se tient pas bien claire ces jours-ci. Je suis parti à la hâte. Pouvez-vous me aider avec un peu de gazoline de sorte que je peux finis le voyage vers elle qui habite ... (nom de la ville)
L'histoire varie un peu, mais la situation d'urgence est normalement le cancer et le véhicule est toujours une vieille chevvy  toute rouillée ou Dodge van, beaucoup de rouille, moteur bruyant, et, dans un cas, un petit chien aboyant constamment qui a coupé ma contribution jusqu'à $5.00.

Il y a 5 heures, la Voix de ma Cuisine et moi étions sur notre chemin de retour de San Diego à la ville où elle travaille dans la mission des pères de notre Dame de La Salette. Nous avons décidé d'arrêter pour un peu de carburant afin que nous puissions être assures d'arriver chez-nous sans contre-temps.
Nous sommes arrivés à la pompe, je suis sorti, j'ai passe ma carte pré-payée de $100.00 à travers mon côté de la pompe et avais commencé à remplir le réservoir. Comme je me tenais là en attente que l'arrêt automatique éclanche, il vint une vieille chevvy rouillée "déchevelée", tout comme dans les films documentaires. Elle s'est arrêté juste en face de moi et de la cabine a chuté sur une femme mince comme un manche de balais, ridée avec des yeux sombres, cheveux hirsutes, les vêtements sales tout enveloppés dans un nuage mystérieusement désagréable plein de défis olfactifs.
Elle est venue à moi et avec aisance et grâce surprenantes s'excusa, me raconta comment elle avait honte de me déranger, mais elle sentait qu'elle n'avait pas d'autre choix. Elle a souligné le fait qu'elle ne cherchait pas l'argent, mais qu'elle avait un grand besoin de carburant puisque son véhicule était presque à sec. Elle ne pleurait pas, elle n'avait pas les larmes aux yeux, elle savait ce que sa situation était, et elle savait qu'elle devait se rabaisser pour rester à flot d'une manière ou d'une autre.
Elle m'a dit que son mari avait été diagnostiqué à un stade avancé, d'un cancer incurable et puisqu'ils étaient dans une situation financière désespérée, ils avaient tous deux venus à la conclusion que cela allait être la fin.
Elle avait besoin de gazoline pour son véhicule, le reste suivrait la course de la nature, d'une façon ou l'autre. Comme mon réservoir était maintenant rempli, nous avons échangé une autre paire de paroles sur la condition humaine et nous avons réalisé une connexion plaisante d'ondes mentales et émotionnelles. Mon réservoir était maintenant au plain et je lui ai dit que je voudrais maintenant lui donner un peu de carburant. Dans le processus d'exécution de ma carte, quelque chose est allé mal, donc j'ai du arrêter le processus et le redémarrer. Tout au long, nous nous sommes amuses avec des gentillesses de l'un à l'autre et je dois dire que cet échange fut réconfortant pour elle, et elle l'a dit.
J'ai finalement réussis à connecte ma carte, donc tout a été réglé. Parce que Belle m'attendait dans la voiture et parce que nous savions qu'il y avait beaucoup de circulation sur la route de 160 kilometres de parcours, je pris ma carte du le mécanisme et comme je lui tendis la pompe je lui dis, «Nous partons maintenant. Je vous offre $20.00 de carburant chargés sur ma carte. Que Dieu vous bénisse." Elle était heureuse, nous nous sommes laissés doucement et poliment. La Voix de la Cuisine m'a demandé si j'avais donné quelque chose a la dame et je lui dis que oui.

Nous sommes revenus sur la route et avons endure le malaise de 2,5 heures de trafic sur une distance qui prend généralement 90 minutes.
Nous sommes rentrés chez nous. Avons déchargé la voiture. Avons fait le souper. 
Je me suis souvenu de mon Noé malodorant et me demandai s'il me restait encore des animaux dans mon arche prépayé.

Je suis allé à mon ordinateur.  J'effectuai les informations nécessaires pour voir si mon amie nouvellement trouvée, bien que non identifiée s'était tenue à la quantité confiée de $20.00 ou ???

Mes amis, vous savez que je ne raconterais pas l'histoire si elle m'avait trahi. Vous avez mon assurance qu'elle a pris environ $ 20.00 à partir d'une carte qu'elle aurait pu essayer d'en obtenir beaucoup plus.
Il y avait $45.50 sur la carte quand elle a commencé à remplir son réservoir et quand elle a terminée son versement, la carte avait, et a encore $24.69.

J'ai vu Dieu aujourd'hui, et je tremble encore de l'expérience. 
Peut-être nous nous reverrons un jour au paradis.  Elle et son époux bien aimé.

Sunday, September 27, 2015

I GOTTA HAVE SOME FUN WITH THIS GUY

If I were wrong, don't you think I would know it?
This is one of the greatest moments of my young life.  I am so glad that I am familiar with the one of the earliest biographies of the "One who doesn't have time for political correctness."  It makes me wonder if it is because he is too busy counting his $10 billion or it he is confusing political correctness with basic kindergarten level politeness.
Back in the mid 17th century my favorite classical writer, Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, AKA, Moliere wrote about a Misanthrope who had the same basic problem as the sweetheart in the picture.  He was convinced that the world had to pay attention to him because he was the only one who would "tell it as it is," in season and out of season.  He had one difficulty, the woman that he loved didn't like the forceful torrent of negativity and invective that came out of the mouth of her pursuer.  In the book, Alceste, the guy who didn't have time nor penchant for the niceties of life, wanted this woman more than anything.  In our present lives we are led to believe that the man with no patience for human niceties wants the White House more than anything.  $10 billion worth of anything.  That's impressive.

Enjoy yourselves, boys and girls, this show still has a while to run.

By the way:  Alceste does get the girl, but only after a very radical about face.
Don't hold your breath on this one. 

Friday, July 31, 2015

BEING OLD CAN BE NEAT

The other day I was having my breakfast, all by myself since the Voice from the Kitchen had already gone to the office for her daily dose of gainful employment.  There is nothing eminently lofty about that, I know.  What is the point of my remark is that while I was doing this, I remember the freedom that I was celebrating fom the screeching directives of MJT, otherwise known as Mama to me, and "Mina" to just about everyone else who knew her.
You see, I was eating a banana.  Yes, a banana for breakfast.  Totally forbidden in the childhood of the five growing children in the 1 Hartford Street home of the Dion household.  Bananas were too "filling."  I have to use that word because it is the closest word that I can use to translate the French word that we would hear if we tried to eat a banana for breakfast.
So since then I have been thinking of the small joys that I get to celebrate now that I am beyond the age of 7.
Besides bananas for breakfast, I get to eat fish raw; I get to eat fish-head soup; I get to eat kimchee (You know, the smelly pickled cabbage Korean stuff); I get to drink coffee just before going to bed for the night; I get to drink my coffee black, too; I get to go outside barefoot in the rain (a rare delight in Southern California); I get to make my bed when I want to; I get to take as many showers as I want, when I want; I get to wear (or not wear) what I want around the house (and even out of the house); I get to eat one meal a day, you know, the one that starts when I get up and stops when I go to bed; I get to talk the language I want around the house (like English, you know); I even get to eat and watch TV at the same time; I get to eat all the ice cream I want (Yes, even in the Winter); ditto for water melon; I get to wash the dishes when I want; I don't have to wear a tie to church; I don't have to run a family taxi service for my aunts on Sundays; and except for not having to turn off the radio in my room at 9:00 PM sharp, I guess that I have run out of joys that I have now that I am old.  Oh,no, I just remembered, I can talk as long as I want on the telephone.  MJT would be happy though, because at my age I have enough of about 2 minutes, so that isn't much of anything to celebrate.
I hope that some of you get the same little things to smile about as you go through life these days. Heck, you have to have something to keep you going, right?



Friday, July 3, 2015

A NEW CONSTELLATION...HAPPY BIRTHDAY

"...on June 14, 1777, the Second Continental Congress took time from its busy schedule to pass a resolution stating that 'the flag of the United States be 13 stripes, alternate red and white” and that “the union be 13 stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation'.” (History Channel)
I have to admit, very candidly, that I have never been what I consider to be a "flag waver."  But I do have a personal experience that is real.  

The only other flag that I had ever beheld in its "natural" setting was the Canadian Maple Leaf.  Then one day I was on my way to Rome, Italy where I knew that I was going to live for the next four years.  It was a long 14 day boat ride from Boston to Naples.  It never struck me as being significant then, but was we pulled out of Boston harbor on an Italian ship, it was the last time that I was seeing the American Flag for the duration of my stay in Europe.  Once out of Boston, any national insignia that I saw were Italian.
We stopped for a while in the Azores, under the Portuguese flag, of course.
Then we docked in Gibraltar for about eight hours, and what we saw, of course, was the Union Jack.  
On to Palermo and then Naples and then, finally, Rome.  I had started my life under the Green, White and Red with a more than occasional visit to the White and Gold of Vatican City.  
I was treated to three Summers under the Red, White and Blue of France.

Nowhere, no time did I ever feel homesick for Old Glory.  It was a totally non-issue for me.  Never a twitch or pang of longing.  Not even during the heart wrenching week around the assassination of JFK.  It happened in November and school was my top priority.  I had no time for television, especially in a world without satellites, except for one.
The US flag showed for about 20 seconds, but it was just the first act of the spectacle that was to follow and which we awaiting with great intensity.

Three years later, upon touching down in Los Angeles California, emerging from the airliner and setting eyes on the American Flag, it hit me.  I had a connection to make to San Diego, but everywhere that I went, I sought the flag.  I checked every corner of the airport, the chest of every official's uniform, seeking the flag.  I couldn't get enough of it. I was this way for at least a week, maybe more.  It was at this moment that I came to understand the meaning of the national flag.  I haven't forgotten and I never will forget.

Lately we here in the United States have experienced a good dose of ambivalence over our national emblem and the spirit of its meaning.  We have heard some impassioned statements about the meaning of the confederate, "stars and bars" banner.  This has to be the only country in the world where the emblem of recessionary rebellion still finds favor among a goodly slice of the population related to the rebellion.  We have heard some very passionate encomium about the brave and dedicated souls who shed their blood for the rebel cause.  I have to shake my head when I think of this.  Some of the thoughts that I have had run something like this:
     We beat the valiant and dedicated Redcoats, and they don't fly their flag        here.
     The British beat the French and Indians in Canada and neither one of the      valiant and dedicated losers fly their flag in Canada.
     The Canadians have asserted themselves over the British whose flag is          nowhere to be found flying in Canada...not even in British Columbia.
     The indigenous tribes who suffered massacre at the hands of the                    colonists were valiant and courageous but they don't fly their flag(s).
     Vatican City lost plenty of territory in Europe, but it has to                            be satisfied with flying its flag in its own, very own contemporary                  territory.
Losers don't get to fly their flag as a consolation prize for their valor.  They get to live under the flag of the victors or try their valor again, if they dare.

This is the anniversary of the Independence that was captured from the British some 230 years ago.  The British have come to learn that they lost the battle for the part of the world south of the 49th parallel.  They don't get to fly their flag in defiance here.  They won the battle for the territory north of the 49th parallel and they don't even fly their flag there.  The French lost the fight for the same territory and they don't get to fly their flag there, not even in defiant Quebec!

Those who want to continue flying the confederate flag should remember that they are still enjoying the independence and freedom that was won from the British and shared with the rest of the population of the United States.  They also enjoy it with the biggest losers of all, the indigenous peoples who were slaughtered and decimated by the encroachment of the European colonists.  They don't get to fly their flags in defiance of the existing order.

The Stars and Stripes, love it or leave it.  There are a lot of places in the world where you can go and won't have to look at it every day.  

Just a few thoughts from an old guy with defiant French Canadian roots.

Sunday, June 28, 2015

IT'S AGAINST THE LAW TO FEED WILD ANIMALS -- Hmmm?

This is the post that I told you to expect day before yesterday.  I can't get over the dichotomy that this presents to anyone who lives in the park, mostly.  It is also rich in mental curly-q's, such that when I read it, I couldn't help but wonder how long I could keep the mental smiles going before the novelty wore off.
The first item that struck my funny bone was the fact that it seems to be very important that ducks are being eaten by other wild animals.  Really!  Wow,imagine we have a pond in the park that is frequented by a rather large population of ducks, also wild, I always presumed.  It is really not news, (or is it?) that the occasional one should be caught napping by a carnivorous wild creature.  Actually, if a duck gets eaten by a coyote the duck is to blame, really.  Wings against feet!  Is that a fair pairing?  Not in my book.  By the way, so what?  The manager signed this notice. I am protecting the innocent here.  He understands wild life being that he hails from northern Ontario, Canada.  You know, fur trapping country and the home of the oldest corporation in North America.  So he knows nature...you know, coyote eats sleeping duck...
I was rather happy to see that the sign did not suggest that the Chinese lady around the corner could have snitched one of our dear wild Mallards.  (Actually, she's safe since she is a figment of my imagination.)
Now, here's the punch line:
This is a representative portion of the Mallard population that I caught on camera just as most of the gaggle had finished dinner as provided by the kind human souls of the park.  A group of humans contributes $1.00 per month, per person to buy seed to serve as daily (illegal,per the posted notice) dinner to the "wild" animals--- the feathered type who are either too lazy or too fat to fly away from the four legged carnivorous types who might happen along.
In a short and impromptu conversation with the manager earlier this morning, I inquired as to the natural status of the ducks.  Wild or not wild?  Animal or not animal?  He just shook his head and looked at me with a smile of the type that only an authority figure can give a peon.  It came to mind that it might be quite a while before anyone will get arrested for the crime of feeding the wild animals.
So, dear friends and neighbors, seeing that none of you is neither coyote nor raccoon, you may want to check out our fat, waddling denizens.  You might encounter one sleeping with head tucked under wing and then decide if you want to engage in the complicated process of extricating yourself from having turned yourself into a raptor, you, a domesticated animal forcing yourself upon wild(?) fauna who should have been alert enough to fly away from you in the first place.  Or are these feathered creatures really more friends than fauna?

Care to give it a try?

Oh, by the way, are stray (feral?) cats wild animals? Maybe, but they don't like duck...fur is OK but feathers?  Yuukk!

Friday, June 26, 2015

MANHUNT -- GO BABY, GO!

Oh, yeah! 20 days and counting!
Oooppsss!  Not too much more counting left, maybe.
Looks like one of my guys committed suicide by cop.
It will be an interesting read when the story gets captured between hard covers.
I was trying to tell them by telepathy that they had to split.
So, they have split.
I'm betting that they flipped a coin to see who would be the "sacrifice."
Uh, no, sorry.  It's unlikely that they would have a coin.
They must have followed the Biblical ploy of casting flat stones.
Be that as it may, now there is but one.

I started developing this in my mind one night when I saw a picture like the one you see here.

Imagine 1,000 more of these people looking for only 2.
Now, of course, only 1.
I must confess that I hold these two in some kind of admiration.
Imagine, on the run for three weeks with nothing but the clothes on their backs.
What did they eat?
What did they smell like?
How could they hide?
Were they lucky enough to have been pursued by stupid dogs instead of smart ones?
One other thing that tweaked my being into admiration is the fact that they have not harmed one single civilian during the whole episode.
Of course, the episode still has to come to a close.
However, so far so good on that front.

I also have a lot of questions that I suppose will be answered in the book.
Where did they get the tools?
I mean, these had to be fairly sophisticated tools to get through the walls.
What about the tools to cut the pipe open so cleanly?
Didn't these tools make any noise?
Seems to me that there had to be more than two state employees implicated here, unless everyone else on the state payroll is as deaf as a pot!

So, now I am going to continue to root for the other guy.  He isn't a good artist like the first one, but day to day manhunt watching is a neat little passtime.
I wonder what odds the Irish gambling houses are giving that he too will arrange to get shot by the gendarmes?

So, that's my thought process (yep, I do have one, believe it or not!) for the time being.

Wait until you see the next one about feeding the wild animals.  Not in New York.  California.
I hafta take the photo tomorrow.

Monday, June 15, 2015

OXYMORON -- CAN YOU FIND A MORE CAPTIVATING ONE?

Every now and then as we travel through life one step at a time we are stopped dead in our tracks by something that we wish we had devised, but...
But, we are glad that since it is fact that we haven't caused it to be, at least we are blessed with the knowledge that it is there right in front of us.
This writing is one of those things.  The head-on clash of ideas doesn't shut the lights off.  Quite to the contrary, it literally shocks the lights of my brain into some dimension of clarity that takes me beyond a point where any previous enlightening convulsions concerning the concept of love have ever taken me. The depths to which it points are so far unfathomable.  I'm still working on finding my way down, or is it up?  Should I have said "heights?" Hmmm, maybe so.  One way or the other, I suspect that I will spend some fairly intense moments in rather heavy duty mulling over this one.

Rends-moi mes chaînes
 Je me sentais libre
Quand j’étais lie à toi.
Maintenant, je ne suis plus lié,
Plus paralysé dans la liberté que je ne l'étais

Confortablement menotté à ton amour.

De temps en temps en parcourant à travers la vie étape par étape, nous sommes arrêtés raide par quelque chose que nous souhaitons que nous-mêmes avions réalisé, mais ...
Mais, nous sommes heureux que puisque c'est déjà accompli hors de notre initiative artistique, au moins, nous sommes heureux d'en avoir fait la connaissance et la pièce est là juste en face de nous.
Ce texte est une de ces choses. Le choc des idées de front n’éteint point les lumières. Bien au contraire, il cause une dimension de clarté provenant des lumières de mon cerveau qui me prennent au delà du point où toute convulsions éclairantes antérieures concernant le concept de l'amour ne m'avaient jamais conduit. Les profondeurs auxquelles ils pointent sont à cette heure insondables. Je m'efforce toujours à trouver mon chemin vers le fond, ou devrais-je  dire les "hauteurs?" Hmmm, peut-être, je suppose. D'une façon ou d'une autre, je soupçonne que je vais passer quelques moments assez intenses en ressassant le défi que présentent les tensions de ce petit poème..

Devuélveme mis cadenas
Me sentí libre
Cuando estaba atado a ti.
Que ahora estoy no ligado,
Más paralizado en la libertad de lo que nunca fue
Cómodamente maniatado a tu amor.

De vez en cuando a medida que viajamos por la vida un paso a la vez que de repente nos detuvimos congeladso en nuestras pistas por algo que nos hubiera gustado haber ideado, pero ...
Pero, nos alegramos de que aun que es un hecho que no hemos causado que sea, al menos, hemos sido bendecidos con el conocimiento de que es allí justo en frente de nosotros.
Este escrito es una de esas cosas. El choque de frente de las ideas aparentemente contradictorias no apaga las luces de my mente. Muy por el contrario, choca literalmente las luces de mi cerebro en alguna dimensión de claridad que me lleva más allá de un punto en cualquier convulsiones esclarecedoras anteriores sobre el concepto de amor.  La profundidad a la que los puntos están tan insondable. Todavía estoy trabajando en encontrar mi camino hacia abajo, o es para arriba? ¿Debería haber dicho "alturas?" Hmmm, tal vez menos. De una forma u otra, yo sospecho que voy a pasar unos momentos bastante intensos en deber reflexionando más intensivamiente  sobre éste.

Saturday, June 6, 2015

SPANGLISH -- FRANGLISH -- SPAÑILIANO, ETC... TAGLISH TOO, MAYBE?

http://www.sandiegoreader.com/news/2015/jun/03/press-1-spanglish/
Welcome to San Diego, the second largest city in the world where Spanglish rules and the only one where such linguistic magic can even be glorified as an art form.  If you care to read the article before going any further into my true to life stories about linguistic mish-mashes, click on the link that serves as the caption for the cover of the "San Diego Reader" weekly free magazine with an average circulation of  115,000 [Wikipedia, April 2015].
I grew up in Western Massachusetts where a large part of the population was of French Canadian descent, I included. So naturally, we spoke French less fluently than our parents and grandparents.  Let it be said though that even they had a serious tendency to mix their mother tongue with English words and expressions.  It is over 100 years, four generations, since Franglish was introduced to the area.  It is now all but gone.

As the years wore on, I migrated from Franglish to Spanglish by moving to California with a few linguistic  stops along the way.  How I got here is a long story.  It is a story that is as interesting as the metamorphosis of Western Massachusetts from Franglish to Spanglish [Puerto Rican immigration] and my relatives didn't even have to move! Because they did not move, they are surrounded by a new tongue that has grown up around them.

The story in the San Diego Reader depicts a very classy project that was realized at one of the famous and popular museums in San Diego's marvelous relaxation and strolling area, Balboa Park.  This is a huge park of some 1,200 acres complete with a mammoth outdoors organ, many museums and a wonderful arboretorium. The production of Spanglish depicts one form of hodge-podge language, the classiest possible form that was worked out for the production that resulted.  One of these days I will have to go see it, en vivo, as we say in Southern California and Madrid.

The Spanglish and Franglish of the simpler type goes like this.

I was the HR Director for a company close to East Los Angeles.  I got the job because of my fluency in Spanish.  Here's a sample between me and an EE from ELAX.

Me: Sabes que?  Se nos hace que tu camioneta ocupa el espacio del dueño en el estacionamiento. Podria ser justo?
EE-ELAX:  Eee, por favor, can you speak Ingles?
Me: But you asked me to speak Spanish when you entered my office.
EE-ELAX:  Eee, not understand a proposito del dueño.
Me:  Ah.  Tu troque (truck, got it?) esta en el parking del patron, maybe?
EE-ELAX:  Oh no.  Mi troque is parking en el otro lado del railroad crossing, no here.

This was a 25 year old employee from East Los Angeles who professed to not know English.  His problem was worse than that, he did not know Spanish to boot.  We did straighten out the parking problem and we parted friends.
I tell this story a lot because it is true and I have a dear friend from East Los Angeles who speaks very straight English and some rudimentary Spanish from his background.  Across the years, he has decided that if he is going to speak English he is going to do it right.  His Spanish is quite strong on the listening side, but but not so great on the speaking side.  This happens more often than not as people mature and realize that they have to communicate better to deal with the wild, wild world.

Me?  I can speak and understand a lot of things, especially when I get hungry.  I had some rather interesting linguistic experiences over the years and especially when I worked in Tijuana, Mexico. You want to hear some fluent Spanglish?  Go to work there.  Even some municipal signage is in Spanglish.

In this world, it is unwise to not learn the meanings of "cross-over" language.  On the Internet, some words stay in English and some are translated literally and this sometimes makes a polyglot laugh, or brings on confusion.
For example, the French do not use the term email.  They simply say mail in the masculine gender.  It never means what we accept as the default meaning of the word "mail."
They also do not say "Fin de semaine" for "weekend."  They say "weekend."  They've been saying "weekend" for decades.  We Franco Americans (and French Canadians) NEVER say "weekend" because it is one expression that we do not accept as being acceptable Franglish!  So there!

So, friends and  neighbors, Enjoy your taste of San Diego Spanglish Culture.
I can't wait until some artist discovers Taglish!


  

Friday, June 5, 2015

EINSTEIN QUOTE -- IS THIS WHAT HE MEANT?

One thing that it ain't, is a guess!
It is a predictor of what it can cause
It can be tested for veracity
WHAT IS A THEORY?

The logic of a theory must stem from an inner coherence, not because
external evidence makes it the most logical over other theories.  
(Albert Einstein, as quoted in "Jews, God and History" by Max I. Dimont.  Published by Signet Classics, 2004) 

You know, I have been so busy and so occupied and pre-occupied in the past several weeks that I am wondering where the beginning is and where the end is.  It is like the cat and the ball of twine.  The cat sees the ball and often doesn't see the end, so it just goes from side to side and he doesn't make any progress.  That's probably why the ouse is at such a disadvantage.  The cat knows where the mouse begins and where the mouse ends.  That's good for the cat.  Not so good for the mouse.

When it comes to hypotheses and theories, it's this way.  A hypothesis is like a ball of twine.  A theory is a mouse.  It actually gets us somewhere.

How many times have you heard someone say, "I don't believe that, it's just a theory."  [No it's not.  It's a mouse.] I know, you can't count how many of them you have because it is such a common comment. It is so tempting to push a reality aside because it's just a theory.  It is so tempting that we miss a good chunk of life letting certain valuable facts lie outside of our intellectual asset bank.  If it weren't for theories we would not know a lot of what we know. [If it weren't for mice, would we have cats?] Furthermore, we would not have the ability to gauge our degree of safety as we went along our daily lives.
Much of our lives are lived in the theories of probability as measured by mathematical theorems.  So, when we drive an auto or walk down the street, we count on the fact that our safety is assured because the chances of our being destroyed are minimal compared to our chances of getting back home in one piece. [not so for the mouse]  It's a good thing that those statistics are a theory that works.
Medicine is one of those theory-filled facets of our lives. [Hmmm, so many theories, in fact, that I think of it as a ball of twine]  Think of it a little bit. We all know that certain practices can harm us.  But experience shows us that if we are observant we can actualize the harmful practices to a certain degree and still survive quite nicely, thank you.  We know that the theory is righter than not, so we know how to measure our pleasureful actions so that we stay protected by the truths contained in the theory.
You see, theories are not guesses.  Theories are conclusions.

Actually, I like Einstein's thought.  I think that it is fitting for it to come from a close relative of the Creator.  The thoughts and inspirations that generate inside of us, through our intangible spiritual side are what drive us forward to catch the wily mouse.  That is the part of us that gives our life value.  It is the inner fire that we have that drives us along the correct path toward our happy ending.  

We make so many vain guesses in life that lead us nowhere.  So many times those are made because the wrong raw material went into their making.  The next time we have a hypothesis about our life, let's use the material that we have on the inside to clear the path and enlighten the goal so that we come up with a solid theory about where it is that we are headed and how we are going to get there.

In short, we need to catch more and fatter mice...by finding the way to get that done.