on Autism

In American Sign Language, the sign for Autism is to make the letter A with both hands at the ears, then bring the a-fists around the front of the head until they meet, closing off the eyes.  The concept is Autism closes off the person from the world or creates a barrier between the person and the rest of society.

At a recent sign language class, there was a woman sitting next to me.  I'll call her Jane.  As my instructor, who is deaf, was telling a story about buying a new computer and giving his old one to his niece for Christmas, Jane laughed out loud and then under her breath whispered the word "shoes".  I was perplexed.  Nowhere had our instructor used the word "shoes" in his story, yet for some reason Jane thought the story was funny and had evidently been about footwear.  I surmised her receptive skills for sign language just weren't up as high as the other students in this advanced class.  As the instructor continued to tell different stories, Jane continued to be very amused, but always whispered incorrect words, sometimes nodding as if she agreed or understood when clearly she didn't.

When I mentioned this strange behavior to the instructor he informed me he suspected (or knew) Jane was a high-functioning Autistic person.  I was now fascinated.  Other than her mirthful joviality and sometimes misunderstanding the intent or subject of our teacher's stories, Jane seems downright common.  Her choice in winter sweaters is banal, her quick helpful nature (she jumped at the chance to fetch coffee for the class) is pleasant, her hair-do is well put together and her eagerness to talk to strangers admirable.  Yet if you listen to the meter of her voice, watch her mannerisms closely, there is definitely something there, almost indiscernible.  Or is it that I'm seeing things now which may not really be there; simple personality traits that make her distinctive but not autistic?

Aspergers Syndrome has recently been the cause celebre for Hollywood and television, or at least it has drawn special focus.  The show Community on NBC has a major character, Abed who supposedly has Aspergers.  The syndrome is marked by awkward social interactions, obsessions, and a lack of understanding of sarcasm or wit.  Abed speaks awkwardly, is obsessed with film and t.v., and in the first season certainly exhibited a lack of sarcastic comprehension, but as his character ages, he has become more and more "normalized" especially as his television associates become more and more eccentric with each season.  The recent movies "Adam" and "Mary and Max" both feature main characters dealing with Aspergers, as do a number of recent novels.  Last year's Amazing Race featured a man with Aspergers.  What is this sudden fascination?  It is fairly easy to create a character who has a "quirkiness" while still being for the most part "normal" by giving them the now familiar trait of Aspergers.  Gone are the days where an autistic character must be portrayed with fervent gusto by the likes of Dustin Hoffman in Rainman.

The United Kingdom conducted a wide survey of households and discovered about 1% of the total population had some form of autism, from severe to mild.  What was surprising is how many adults answered the survey that they "suspected" some kind of autism as an explanation for their own life-long condition.  The Los Angeles Times posted a recent article about the sudden "explosion" of autism cases in children, a nearly 20% rise over the last decade.  The problem with the concept of such a rise, they have determined, is that adults with autism have typically been diagnosed as retarded or even schizophrenic and either heavily medicated or locked away.  A study of adults in mental hospitals revealed a generous proportion of them were actually autistic.  The obvious conclusion is we are not really experiencing a dynamic up-shift in the number of autistic children, we are simply diagnosing it more often than a decade ago.  The number of autistic people in the American population is probably on par with the U.K. at 1%.

My sister and I have always joked she is a little bit crazy and I'm a little bit "retarded".  I will admit I have never been all that comfortable with being touched, it kind of gives me the creeps (my parents were not touchy-feely people).  I am very sensitive to sound and really can't stand loud noise (my father was the same way).  For most of my life I felt very awkward talking to people, and I can get very obsessed with certain subjects.  These could all be signs of high-functioning autism, albeit to a tiny degree.  Maybe the joke my sister and I tell each other has some validity.

on Schadenfreude

The Morrissey song goes "We hate it when our friends become successful".  We also delight in seeing people get their comeuppance.  So often a politico who stands firmly on an ultra-conservative "family values" position gets publicly outed when they are caught with a rent boy or as in the recent case of the Mississippi mayor who was investigated for shopping at a gay porn store.  The more these kinds of people set themselves up as moral pillars of the community, the farther they fall from grace when their hypocritical truth is revealed.  We eat it up with a spoon.

A good friend of mine has been working at an incredibly difficult job; a position that typically takes two or more people in other locations.  The board this friend has to deal with is impossible.  For instance, my friend has to do all the preparations for the board meetings and even take the minutes, even though there is a board secretary.  The board continually "tasks its members" to do projects, but they continually shirk their responsibilities and tell my friend to complete these tasks for them.  It's a ridiculous situation.  None of this was in the job description.  Therefore it is not surprising my friend is looking for work elsewhere.  My friend and I both wish the entire board will collapse in my friend's absence, but we both know they will persevere without a single lesson learned.  But oh what delight it would be if the whole organization collapses!

I blame television, books and movies.  These mediums always show us cause and effect.  If an evil doer causes problems, they will certainly end up badly.  Life, however, doesn't always go like that.  I guess that is why people cling so much to the concept of Hell and Heaven.  In this life evil people seem to get away with all their evil deeds while good people get punished with being poor or disease ridden.  People must believe that evil doers will be punished AFTER this life and good people will be rewarded.  It helps categorize things, makes sense out of a topsy-turvy world.


I know it is wrong to wish evil on someone.  Jesus turned the other cheek, but then he was Jesus.


A decorative plate hangs on our kitchen wall.  Printed on its face is a different take on the old 'serenity prayer' : "God grant me the serenity 
to accept the things I cannot change; 
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

And God turn the ankles of the people

who would do me wrong so that I 

may know them by their limp."

On Christian Love

A friend of mine comes from a very religious family and has a gay uncle.  I asked her how the family deals with her uncle and how the uncle deals with the family.

Her mother, I'll call her Ida had called her brother Bill in order for him to come to the family celebrations for Thanksgiving.  They spoke for quite a while.  She does not like his being homosexual, but she loves him and wants him in her life.  She really is just worried that at the end of it all he won't be there in Heaven beside her, and that makes her sad.  She let him know that she prays for his immortal soul out of love and kindness, not out of hatred or fear.

This seems a common thread I've been reading and hearing a lot about recently.  The Salvation Army, who have always been "anti-gay" issued the statement they only hate the sin, but love the sinner.  They don't believe in denigrating any human being, after all everyone is a sinner.

The love Ida has for her brother is genuine, and so are her faith inspired concerns.  She simply can not understand why Bill was still not coming over for Thanksgiving.  She only has love for him!

I wonder though if the shoe was on the other foot she would be so understanding?  Let's pretend I'm some kind of rabid Jew who believes the followers of Jesus are deluded.  If I were to tell Ida I'm praying for her to see the light and forget all this Jesus nonsense, after all I'm just worried she's going down the wrong path to salvation.  It's all out of love.  I wonder how she'd take it?  Would the simple fact I'm praying for her make her angry?  What if I was worshiping some other godly name, like Vishnu or Baal or Allah?  Would she get upset?  There are many people upset right now that they may have eaten a turkey for Thanksgiving that had been blessed in the name of Allah.  Somehow this tainted the turkey for them and endangered their immortal souls.  

Recently I was asked to speak to a room full of 13 year-olds at a Unitarian Church about my sexuality.  One question was brought up about the definition of being gay, bisexual, or straight.  It was explained there is a sliding scale (Kinsey) and most people do not fall directly on one end or another (fully gay or fully straight).  Bisexuals are a difficulty for gay people politically.  If a bisexual can truly choose which gender to pursue, then  sexuality becomes a choice.  If sexuality is a choice then everyone could choose to be straight.  Like Michele Bachmann just announced, "all gay people can marry as long as it is to someone of the opposite sex".  Problem solved.

If sexuality is not a choice, (as it wasn't for me) then the only thing people can "blame" is nature, and thereby God.  If God made us what we are, then it can't be wrong.  Sin must be a conscious act, except for the Catholics who believe in the stain of original sin from Adam & Eve which even newborn babies carry. If Ida's brother Bill was born gay, then all of Ida's prayers are actually just rails against nature, against God's wishes.  Is it really any wonder he didn't feel like going to her house for Thanksgiving?

on Coming Out

The headlines have been filled with missing babies, Eastern leaders captured or dead, and Star Trek movie star Zachary Quinto coming out of the closet as a gay man.  Why is this news, and does it really matter?

Many people will say, "who cares if you're gay or not, can't you just keep it to yourself?"  which is a very ignorant statement. A guy who sits in his office cubicle with a picture of his wife on his desk is considered a "good family man".  He is expected to bring his wife to company parties and events.  But what if he has a picture of his boyfriend or husband on the desk?  Trust me, I've been in that situation so many times!  It doesn't matter how liberal or diverse a company is, there will always be someone who will ask you "So what does your wife do?"  Luckily things have changed enough in many parts of the country that a reply of "My husband is a photographer" won't get you fired or lynched...sometimes.

Years ago Michelangelo Signorile used to write for the gay news magazine The Advocate (he's now on XM Sirius Radio) and he stirred up huge amounts of controversy by going on a campaign to out popular actors and actresses, politicians and sports players. Many gay people were aghast and wanted him to stop this practice, after all it's up to the individual to come out when they feel it is most appropriate.  Although I agree it is usually up to the individual, those people who are in the public eye need to come out soon or be forced out.  Like I said, it's controversial, but it's so important.  The more people that come out or are forced out, the more gays will be visible.  People are more likely to accept something that is not dark and shadowy, some fringe activity that the religious right can claim is evil, perverted, sinful and deserving of nothing but derision and avoidance.

When I was growing up there were no role models at all.  The only people I ever saw on t.v. or the movies were insane killers, twisted perverts, or the sad but funny sidekick.  These are the images the Religious Right still wants gay kids to see so that we won't "choose" this lifestyle.  Paul Lynde, (Hollywood Squares original Center Square and Bewitched's Uncle Arthur) who couldn't even remotely be considered straight, landed his own self-titled show.  The show's opening credits has Lynde opening the door to his home in a pose that said, "Hello, I'm fab-u-lous!", but then his wife comes up to give him a peck on the cheek and his daughter (played by Phil Silvers' daughter) smiles warmly.  How could such a show actually work?  Well, there were many, many households in America which looked exactly like this example.  If the show had continued maybe they would have introduced a new character, 'daddy's very close friend John, who will be staying in the guest room, and daddy will spend the night in there too because mommy kicks in her sleep'.

Recently a gay couple who have been together over 35 years invited Robert and me to a party at their house.  At the party they had hired a young gay college student to play piano.  When the party was winding down, many of the patrons gathered around the piano player and asked questions.  The first question was, "are you out?" to which the reply was an immediate "yes" but answered with a bit of shock.  Of course the young man was out, why wouldn't he be?  In the age of Ellen, Elton, Rosie, the L-Word, Queer as Folk, the Real World, Will & Grace, there are a lot of examples out there of gay people who are not tragic, psycho, or comedy relief.  One of the lesbian couples told how, when they were in their 20's or 30's they had to move around in bands or else they could get attacked.  They'd actually lost friends who, when walking to their car in the parking lot of a gay bar, were attacked and killed simply for being gay.

I was talking at another soiree to the parents of a young gay friend of mine.  The parents told me that Michael not only came out at a young age, he purposely spoke at an assembly at his high school, set up a Gay-Straight-Alliance club, and was very popular.  Times are definitely changing.

Now Spock is gay.  Well, not the character Spock of course, but at least the actor is out which is going to help even more young people feel that being gay is not a death-sentence.  This is the exact thing the religious right is so panicked about.  Good.

on Bad Neighbors

We used to live in a wonderful and artsy area of Portland, Oregon, just off Alberta Street.  The houses were all either traditional bungalows or Portland Style (four-square houses with the large front porches), or a combination thereof.  The neighbor to our South was a nice quiet family of four.  The father was a professor, the mother a retired teacher and the kids were smart, quiet, clean and polite.  Nearly every night I could see the mother and daughter washing dishes from an angled view out my kitchen window.

The neighbor to our West was a very elderly woman who required the use of a mechanical chair lift installed at her front porch.  You rarely even knew she was there except for the occasional whir and clang of the lift as she came home from grocery shopping.  Unfortunately this little old lady was getting forgetful and her granddaughter had discovered the gas stove left on far too many times.  The woman was put into a home and her two granddaughters moved in, along with their motorcycle-riding boyfriends.  From then on we were treated to extremely loud tailpipes, angry arguments, heated battles, sirens and cops blocking the street, loud death-metal music, and the near constant sound of that darned mechanical lift going up and down (all four persons living there were very, very obese).  They had two enormous dogs who would bark at any tiny instigation.  One day Robert was sitting on our porch swing when he heard the following loud declaration emanate from their house: "The whole house smells like shit, but I looked around and couldn't find any shit!"

Keeping it classy.

However, these were not our worst neighbors, by far.  To the immediate North was a man, probably in his fifties, who fancied himself to be a radio broadcaster.  There had been a fire in his house at some time in the past and for at least a decade the walls had no covering, just exposed studs and pink insulation.  He rarely ever left the house, but occasionally would have a few people staying there.  To his North was a small connector road which he would line up large boulders and park vehicles across so no one could use it.  His backyard and front porch was completely filled with horded items from broken washing machines to plastic chairs, all stacked up, rough and tumble with barely a pathway between.  He ran an electrical wire along the top of his fence to keep trespassers from entering.  And he erected a 50ft steel tower to broadcast his signals.

You would think he was breaking the law with the tower except that he didn't actually exceed the height limit for "antennae" in the city.  He also typically kept his amplification rate just barely under the legal limit.  This really didn't matter much because all the houses in the area, including ours, had old knob & tube electrical wiring. While this kind of wiring is fairly safe (despite many people's panic about "old" wiring) it kind of acts like a giant antenna, turning your house into a giant receiver.  When we'd plug in anything that had a speaker, including our telephone, it didn't matter if the item was turned on or not, the speakers would broadcast anything our neighbor was outputting.  Neighbors got together and complained to the FCC and to the councilpersons, but he was actually within the letter of the law.

I still remember a conversation I had with my grandmother.  She had called me and suddenly the neighbor began to broadcast his intermittent "show" which consisted mostly of saying "holy guacamole" over and over with an echo, or playing one of those Christmas songs featuring dogs barking the tune.  This time he was repeating, "you're a dirty bitch, you're a dirty bitch", to which my Grandmother replied, "what did you say, Bud?"  I tried to explain that it wasn't me, but his volume was far too high for me to get this across.

We even tried to talk to him, but it seems we were part of the "establishment trying to take him down".  He was paranoid and delusional and felt this radio broadcasting was his way to get back at the "man".

I don't miss him.

on Free Speech

Ah, the first amendment to our United States Constitution; what would we do without it?

This one little amendment has been fought for and against in courts, in Congress, everywhere throughout the U.S., for all of our history.  What are we allowed to say, where, when and how is the subject of many contentious fights.  The amendment itself states very plainly that "Congress shall make no law...abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble".  However, it doesn't mention laws made outside of Congress.


This is how we got obscenity laws which certainly do abridge the freedom of speech.  If something is obscene (a very vague and varied definition by the way) then citizens no longer have the right to say it, print it, distribute it, or even own it privately.  Yes, by definition you are not actually allowed to own pornography in your own homes.  This is how officials can break in (with a search warrant, unless it's deemed some kind of terrorism activity) take your computer and search for anything "obscene".  Now regular ol' porn will probably be permitted in most cases, but are you 100% sure every person shown in that pornography is of legal age?  Did you know the legal age varies depending on whether or not that person is engaged in "straight" or "gay" sex?  Yup, varied definition for sure.


What about "sexting"?  Should a high school student be sent to prison for the 'distribution of pornography' after she sent nude photos of herself to her boyfriend, who shared them with his friends?  A few years ago a woman was arrested for child pornography because she took photos of her baby in the bath tub and (rather stupidly) sent them out as a Christmas card.  More recently, this past summer, a major book store chain covered up a magazine because it featured a topless male model; a model that is renowned for having a very feminine face.  Because he looked like a woman, but had exposed MALE breasts, they felt they needed to cover it up "for the sake of the children".  Why is nudity so highly sexualized in America?  A family in Florida recently tried to sue their next door neighbor because the neighbor had two 4ft tall statues of the David which of course has exposed genitals.  The woman exclaimed, "what if my little boy saw that statue?"


People can peaceably assemble, this is our right guaranteed by the Constitution, and Congress can't make a law which prevents this.  However, if the assembly is deemed terrorist in any way then the "peaceably" portion kicks in and the gathering can be quashed, even in private locations.  Also, governments, Federal and Local can make laws stating the people must apply and be approved for a permit to gather in public places, presumably due to security and maintenance concerns.  If someone in the governing body determines they do not approve or like why the people are assembling, they can simply not approve the permit, or revoke it later at their discretion.


I've devoted quite a few blog posts about the power of words.  People certainly have the right to say whatever they want, but they must understand they have to accept the consequences of that freedom.  If someone shouts on a street corner (or Facebook for that matter) the company they work for is terrible, then that company has a right to fire them over it.  Sure, the person had every right to knock their employer, but the employer has a right to protect their image from slander.  If a person stands on a street corner (or again, Facebook) decrying a certain ethnicity, personality trait, etc., it is certainly their right, but what if it incites violence or degradation of the ethnicity, etc.?  This can be considered "hate speech" and can be outlawed. 


The Press is allowed to print whatever it wants.  However, there have been laws enacted which prevent certain claims by advertisers.  There used to be rules regulating how the media could portray the "truth", but those regulations were mostly gutted during the first few years of Bush Jr.  Now we have Fox and many other "news" organizations making up whatever they want to and sometimes running an obscure apology if caught.  Most of the time now, the media doesn't care if it's blatantly lying.  An acquaintance once told me major news
agencies will never get eclipsed by bloggers because no one would know whom to trust in the blogosphere. Do we know who to trust in the major news agencies?  The Egyptian uprising, now part of the so called "Arab Spring" was first reported from the site with hand held phones and broadcast over Facebook and Twitter.  The major news agencies were at least 8 hours behind.  Where will our news come from in the future, and will it be trustworthy?





  

on Recognition

I was watching a short film the other day and suddenly got a terrible case of Deja Vu.  I could have sworn I'd seen this particular scene.  A few minutes later the feeling subsided.  Deja Vu is not a prediction, or a memory from a past life.  It's a random misfiring in the memory center of your brain, giving you the sudden feeling of recognition without actual memory connections.  If you think you're suddenly having a psychic moment, try your hardest to predict what is going to happen next.  Once the next thing happens your brain will still trigger the recognition, but you won't be able to predict it.  A string of these recognitions will eventually alert the warning centers of the brain, telling you something ominous or wonderful is about to occur.  This is a defense mechanism scientists are still trying to work out.

Pattern recognition is an ability we are born with.  Babies see the shapes of faces, regardless of orientation (whether the face is upside down, sideways or right side up).  Eventually, before they can really focus, they can recognize their parents' or caregivers' faces from strangers.  Our brains can pick shapes, color, darkness & lightness out of nearly any image and turn it into a face, a body, or anything we can recognize.

Sometimes, if I wake up in the middle of the night and look at one of the pictures on the wall, or the lamp at the bedside, the shape may be common, but my brain can't recognize it.  It may take up to a minute or two for me to finally realize it's just a lamp and not a person standing there.  Sometimes I actually get angry because my brain searches for a reason that the painting on the wall is unrecognizable and comes up with an excuse: obviously that picture has been switched out by my partner.  If I'm still mostly asleep my brain may concoct an entire story about why the picture has been replaced. As I wake up and the picture's details emerge more clearly it will trigger the recognition and I will now remember where it came from and that it is the very same picture hanging on the wall for years.  I imagine this is how Alzheimer's disease feels as those memories disappear and all the familiar things and people no longer trigger recognition.

on TV Beginnings

When I was in High School my friends' family had cable. I was a bit jealous because my family refused to pay for the luxury so we could only get two clearly visible channels, and one fuzzy PBS channel.  My father finally installed a large antenna but in order to bring in the other channels (and those pesky UHF channels, remember those?) one had to turn a large disk and then wait to see if the channel came in as the antenna slowly turned.  Eventually the motor burned out and I became the official antenna-turner.  I'd have to run outside and turn the pole until my father would yell "okay".  This would usually be a seemingly never ending back and forth.

I remember going over to my friends' house (I was friends with all three of the boys, and sort-of friends with the sister and parents) in 1981 to watch for the launch of MTV.  All the screen displayed was a single image which I think said "coming soon", or maybe it was a countdown.  I don't recall that detail, but when the channel finally launched the whole household was ecstatic. Then we were treated to hours and hours of "Video Killed the Radio Star" by the Buggles.  Eventually the network began airing other music videos hosted by "VJs" like Nina Blackwood, Mark Goodman, Alan Hunter, Martha Quinn and J.J. Jackson.


In 1986 I moved to Tualatin, Oregon to be near my new job as an interior designer and store planner for America's largest privately-owned drug store chain (at the time). I had my own apartment for the first time and my own color t.v. set.  Up to that time I had only owned a small black and white set, so I thought ALF was actually blue (until the mom on the show asked "who left all the orange hair in the bathtub?").  TV was filled with the news that FOX would be launching a new television network.  The channel came on line with a small amount of FOX produced shows which would air weeknights.  At other times the channel was blank.

The first show to air was the Late Show with Joan Rivers.  She quit by 1987 and the show was hosted by guests until Arsenio Hall came on. With his popularity he was able to jump to one of the major networks and launch his own late night talk show.

The other programming included Married with Children, America's Most Wanted, and arguably the first reality show Cops.  I always watched the Tracey Ullman show with its irreverent cartoon segments "the Simpson Family".  I fell in love with nearly everyone on 21 Jump Street; I adored little Johnny Depp, but eventually threw him over for the new cast-member bad-boy Richard Greico. I laughed a lot at the New Adventures of Beans Baxter about a teenage or preteen who was a spy and even his parents didn't know. I howled at the show that started with a two-hour movie event called Werewolf, and had a little crush on John J. York.

There was a romantic-comedy show called Duet about a dating couple.  The main characters were only slightly amusing and a bit flat but it was the show's other characters that really stole the show.  There was the kooky secretary played by Ellen Degeneres, and the no-nonsense deadpan Alison LaPlaca, and the ditsy sister played by Jodi Thelan.  These other characters, especially LaPlaca drew the most audience appreciation.  Since this was a new network and they really didn't have a ton of shows being pitched, they were able to sit down and retool this sitcom in order to make it work.  They cancelled Duet and then "spun-off" the show Open House.

Another major retooling happened with a show called Second Chance.  It was about an older man who dies, is sent up to St. Peter, but given a second chance to right all his wrongs.  How?  By moving into an apartment above the garage of his own mother.  This way he can keep (a rather creepy) eye on himself as a teenager.  There were strange moments when his mother tried to put the moves on him, and lots of strange "hanging out" with himself as a teenager.  "Hey mom, the creepy guy renting our spare apartment is trying to have another one-on-one talk with me after leering at me all day while I played basketball in the driveway with my two friends".  This contrived storyline simply didn't work.  However, the boy that played the teenager was Friends' star Matthew Perry who was somehow able to make the series' banal lines impressively funny.  His teen costars were William Gallo who played Francis "Booch" Lottabucci and Demian Slade who was the nerdy Eugene Blooberman. The antics and likability of these three became the center of the newly retooled show called "Boys will be Boys".

on Art and Signs

The Cleveland Storefront Renovation program specifically mentions building signs as one of the items the program money can be used for. The local Community Development Corporations encourage business/building owners to create interesting, artistic signs. This brings up the question: can a sign be art or does it always remain a piece of advertising. Many city and government programs earmarking money for public art do not allow a sign to be considered art.

In some recent architecture blogs and even one architecture history tour of Portland, Oregon mentions the iconic Portland Luggage sign at the corner of SW Fourth Street. Not to burst anyone's bubble, but that particular sign is no more than 15 years old. I should know since I designed it. The original structure of the sign was part of the original bank, and then in the 80's it became a Church of Scientology. The sign towered nearly five stories high, capped with an oblique trim, with a dark blue face and gold open pan-channel letters spelling out the church's long name, vertically. The city codes had changed by the 90's when Portland Luggage purchased the building and began renovations and the old sign could not just have the letters changed out, major revisions were now required to bring it in-line with code.

For starters, the sign face (times two since it is double-sided) was about four times the limit based on the building facade and street frontage. This change would reduce the sign to barely reaching the second floor. Furthermore the code required there to be no more exposed neon, and if the sign is to be illuminated, it could not be seen from over 10 city blocks away. Now this last part of the code was ridiculous since at night the human eye can see light from sources over billions of light years away (called stars). There is no way to create an illuminated sign that can't be seen from the nearby mountains let alone 10 city blocks.

The important part of the design process was to simply not accept the code as written. I had long discussions with the code enforcer who disclosed that if the sign was "compelling enough in design" it could be granted a variance. By adding a metal globe to the top of the sign structure I was able to make the sign about 3 1/2 stories tall and keep the internal illumination. I did have to remove any exposed neon, but I was allowed to shine lights up onto the globe from the canopy below.

So the question could be answered, in this case anyway, that the sign is artistic enough to be considered special. The sign is obviously regarded by the architectural community as an icon, for which I am very proud, but is it art? The American Sign Museum in Cincinnati seems to imply by its very existence that not only are signs a piece of nostalgia and items of advertising, but certainly are objects of art.

Recently I convinced a friend to seek funding from the Store Renovation Program to purchase his business sign, but to pursue a local art grant to hire an artist to manufacture the sign, thereby getting two funding streams for one expense. My fingers are crossed he will be successful in gaining both sets of money and getting a terrific sign and a significate piece of public art.

on Lilith

There are two versions of the creation of man in the Bible (Genesis/Bereshit).  In the first God makes Man and Woman out of clay.  Then a little bit further on Adam tells God he is lonely and so God takes a rib from Adam and makes Eve.  According to many ancient sources (Midrash for one) the first woman, who was created from clay like her mate, felt she was equal and not subservient to Adam.  This woman was called Lilith.  She is credited as Adam's first wife, who had her own mind and either decided to go her own way or was banished from the garden.

Then Eve came along and said, "yes Adam, yes Adam" to everything he said.  Of course without the fortitude of Lilith, Eve easily fell prey to the Devil's machinations and ate of the forbidden fruit.  Because of Lilith's supposed defiance and equality she has been raised up as a symbol of pure feminism, and her name has been adopted for the "Lilith Fair" concert series and has been used widely in Wiccan and other non-Christian religions and organizations.

In some earlier writings Lilith mated with an Archangel named Samael.  Then in later writings she became a seductress and a demoness.  Most of these depict Lilith as a demon sent by the Devil to prey upon young men to defile themselves; in other words the original succubus.

I think it's kind of amazing how much folklore, tales, history, and religious text can evolve from a simple discrepancy in the Bible.

on Cursive

I just read an article in the Times the other day regarding how American schools are no longer teaching cursive handwriting.  The author made two points to bemoan this loss: 1.  how will kids be able to read the original Declaration of Independence, and 2.  how will people sign their names?

First of all, in the interest of full disclosure, I have always despised cursive.  It is an invention that came about in the mid century to replace an older "archaic" form of handwriting that was supposed to be easier to learn and easier to read.  The concept was to make all handwriting look the same.  Each letter was supposed to be constructed identically by each individual in such a way as to remove anything remotely individual.  This means that even signatures were supposed to be non-individualistic, which of course is a legal problem.  More on this a bit later.

In the seventh grade my science teacher required everyone to take copious notes and then turn in a finished notebook at the end of the term.  My hand would ache and I simply could not keep up. Cursive handwriting was slow and difficult for me to master.  After a few dozen pages, I realized I couldn't read what I had written.  I decided to change my own handwriting.  I sat down and developed a new style of written alphabet full of flourishes and interesting shapes.  Then, after a week or so of honing, the curly-cues and difficult line-work smoothed out.  It was a form of printing with stylized letters.  By forcing myself to write in this new alphabet, and only in this new form, I completely changed the way I wrote from that day forward.  Although my handwriting was eventually reshaped by tedious lettering assignments in Architectural Calligraphy, many of the letter shapes have remained in my day-to-day hand writing.

Back to the article:  The Declaration of Independence is not written in cursive.  It is written in a form of calligraphy where many of the lower case letters are connected to one another but many are not.  It is very readable because most of the letters are simply italicized versions of present-day fonts with obvious exceptions being the letters "s", "r" and the capital "Q".  Even someone who has never once seen these versions of these particular letters can figure out what the document says, just as someone in present day can understand the old word: "Congreff" even though the s's look like lower case f's.  As for the signatures on the document, they are as different from each other as they are from the text itself.

This leads me to the second point of the article, that kids won't learn how to sign their names. A signature is an individual, stylized piece of writing.  If the students learned cursive the way it was meant to be taught, their signatures would, in no way, be individualistic.  I can recognize my own signature in a split second. Yet, my signature is really made up of those stylized printed letters and not cursive. Hand printing is still an individualistic style of writing, regardless of whether or not the letters connect to each other.  The human hand will always make little movements with repetitive use that are markedly individual.

So I say, let this old form of handwriting simply die out and fade away.  It has served it's usefulness and has become passe.  Just as the older forms of writing have passed on, this one should be allowed to disappear.  Sure, we can feel its loss, just as some are complaining about old incandescent light bulbs going away, but we shouldn't cling to it just because it may have had a purpose one time, long ago.  Let it go people.  Let it go.

on Evolution

Score one for science and zero for creationism in Texas.  The Texas Board of Education voted unanimously to reject any creationist supplements to its science curriculum.  This is quite a change for this notoriously "right wing" school board.

Evolution has been coming under attack ever since Darwin (and his predecessors) proposed the concept.  The fight between teaching school children we were created by magic or we were created by a complex biological function seemed to finally come to an end with the Scopes "Monkey" Trial.  Evolution won.

When I was in high school, I saw a film which tried to explain evolution.  The animation presented showed a fish that sprouted legs, walked onto the beech, then became a lizard which eventually turned into a bird.  The animation took about three minutes.  Despite the fact the narrator said this conversion process took millions of years to accomplish, most of the other kids sitting at my table shook their heads and whispered things like, "I don't believe a fish can turn into a lizard", or "I've never seen a fish jump out of the ocean and turn into a bird".  Although the biology teacher was adept at his subject, I really don't think he was ever able to fully explain evolution to these kids.  And I believe he was probably better at it than the majority of teachers out there, which may explain why so little of the population understands the theory today, or even what the word "theory" actually means.

Too much CSI has dumbed down the word "theory", making it something like a shot in the dark or merely a guess.  I'm not over exaggerating the importance of Darwin's theory when I state it is the underpinning of all our understanding of biology.  Evolution is the umbrella process that incorporates "survival of the fittest", "natural selection", and "mutation".  Without those parts, biology is relegated to "it works by magic".

So I celebrate the Texas Board of Education and hope the teachers really teach the theory so that kids can actually learn it and understand it.  Otherwise in a few short years we're going to see more polls showing the American people overwhelmingly believe magic is the best way to explain our origins.  

on Ghettos

When Robert and I, along with our friends Jeff & Corie, visited Venice, I wanted to spend time roaming around the original Ghetto, the very place where the name came from.  It was an enclave of Jewish people who had been compelled to live in a particular area by the Venetian Republic.  I was out of luck however, because it was a Saturday and everything was closed for Shabbat.

Forced segregation is one thing, but many different types of people purposely choose to congregate and live in a particular area.  There is power in numbers, and being surrounded by people who are similar to you can be empowering and safe.

Back in the 1970's, the city of Washington D.C., our nation's capital, was predominately black.  It reached a pinnacle of 71% black just before the 80's came.  One area that was probably closer to 90% is the H Street area.  In recent years the population has shifted and now whites have taken a slight majority at 51%.  H Street is changing.  The lower income levels of the population along the street has made for ripe pickings when it comes to cheap property.  Recently the city tried to pass ordinances for H Street that would ban chicken wings (because they presumably draw rats and choke dogs) and would remove hair salons from future financial development funds.  To most people these two proposed ordinances were racially motivated.

The city has also targeted this area for much development including new sidewalks, decorative street lamps and new street cars.  The increased development meant the existing store owners' property taxes increased dramatically.  Also, many of the property owners were charged "frontage", meaning they had to pay a fee for every foot of property along the street.  These sudden fees and taxes have driven many stores to close.  On the other hand nearly twice as many new stores have cropped up along the burgeoning way.  Some of the older residents are pointing to these new stores and noting the lighter color of the new store owners' skins.  Many older residents bemoan the loss of the familiar neighborhood they grew up in, or raised families in.

It provokes thoughts regarding racism, progress, development, and nostalgia.  Is change always good?  We would typically look at the new sidewalks, storefronts, etcetera and see it as a good thing, as progress.  But what has been lost in order for this progress to be made?

The famous Castro Street in San Francisco has traditionally been home to the LGBT community for decades. I will admit that the sheer freedom I once felt, walking hand in hand down the Castro with Robert, without fear or even any adverse glances, was beyond wonderful. To be surrounded by "people like us", "our own kind" was both emotionally satisfying and thrilling.  Despite the differences in political, historical, even sexual concepts, the LGBT was and is a community and you could never find it more visible than in the Castro, with a possible exception of Greenwich Village in NYC.

As the housing prices climbed along the Castro, many older LGBT residents sold and moved to other locations.  The city of San Francisco has become a welcoming place, without any need for a ghetto.  Gay men and women can walk down most of the city's streets without fear, most of the time.  The beauty of the well kept neighborhood is attractive to families and soon many couples with young children were moving in.  These families were usually very tolerant of their LGBT neighbors, and wanted to raise their children in a very diverse, open and liberal area.  However, the next wave of residents were a bit more conservative.  They were looking for a good, clean neighborhood with many amenities, good schools, and a terrific location for commuting to down town.

Along the Castro, for decades, one could find stores with mannequins in the display windows sporting leather harnesses, chains, clamps, tattoos, mohawks, and any number of other accouterments.  The LGBT community has been marginalized by society for its sexual orientations, and thereby for its sexual "proclivities".  Perhaps as a way to rebel against that marginalization, the community has embraced an "in your face" attitude about sex.  As we gain more and more acceptance within the general public, we no longer have such a dire need to rebel.  These storefronts are beginning to fade away on their own.  However, recently some of the new families moving into the Castro have begun to complain about the displays.  Citing their children's impressionable minds, they have demanded that the stores black out their windows or remove any of the "offending" items.  This is an effort to "clean up" the street and make it even more family friendly.

And that is how the ghettos disappear.  Should we bemoan the loss, or celebrate the progress?

on Titania

Here's a quick quiz:  What substance makes your smile brighter, your skin clearer, your paintings more colorful, your memory larger, and your air less polluted?  The answer is Titania!

Titania is actually Titanium Dioxide.  Titanium is a very tough metal that can withstand extreme heat and abuse, which is why it is the metal of choice for the space shuttle.  The human body doesn't seem to reject Titanium very often which is why it is also the metal of choice for joint replacements.  Titanium Dioxide is a very special substance that can be produced in eight different variables, some by adding immense pressure and some in more synthetic ways.  However it is created, Titania is all around us, in most of the products we use.

Pigment White number 6 is called Titanium White, and what any painter will tell you is indespensible when creating a masterpiece.  In any food where the manufacturer wants the color to really stand out, or wants white, the color is called E171, or Titanium Food Color.  It is used to make plastics white, which was a huge breakthrough, allowing labels and logos to be printed directly onto plastic containers instead of making paper labels.

The sunscreen we apply to our skins, to protect us from UV light, has some zinc oxide in it which reflects the sun's rays, but mostly it utilizes Titania to block the absorption of the UV rays into the skin.

The toothpaste we use is typically white.  Now this makes intuitive sense in a psychological way because who wants to brush their teeth with something black, green, or brown? However, Titania has a really wonderful quality humans have been taking advantage of a lot lately.  It can take UV light and convert it to oxygen!  Yep, it's an oxygen generator.  This is how it turns your teeth white, as long as you can somehow guarantee your teeth are exposed to UV rays.

Oxygena is an Italian produced ceramic floor (and wall) tile that utilizes Titania in its glazing.  The tiles can actually produce oxygen, making the air a bit fresher around them, again as long as they are exposed to UV light.  In fact, because they produce oxygen, any pollution that has accumulated on them will easily wash away because the oxygen doesn't allow the pollution to stick.  In this way Titania has been dubbed a "pollution scrubber".  There's even a brand of stucco, the exterior cementitious coating building material, that utilizes Titania to "self clean" its surface.  Imagine, buildings that self clean themselves, remove pollution buildup and add oxygen back into the air!

The Japanese have successfully used Titania to trap electrical impulses and create computer data memory at an extremely high efficiency level.  Is there anything this substance can't be used for?

Titania uses a process called PhotoCatalysm, in other words, it uses the light energy to break apart air molecules to produce oxygen.  This process of light energy conversion is being looked at by inventors as a possible source for energy production.

Titania, the miracle metal!

on Gay Russians

At last year's Cleveland International Film Festival a rousing documentary was shown called "Pride" in which the narrator travels to a handful of notoriously anti-gay countries and pro-gay countries to see how they celebrate Gay Pride.  Most of the film centers around Russia, Moscow specifically, and a man named Nicholai Aleksev.

In the film the narrator tries to meet Aleksev who then brings together a group of supporters at an undisclosed location.  They use covert phone calls with mysterious coded messages just in case they are being recorded or the phones are tapped.  They issue a statement to the media they will be organizing a protest in one location, but instead go to another location so they won't get any reporters or secret police showing up.  They launch a parade that consists of only a few people with a couple signs, but the parade is over in a minute because they don't want to attract too much attention.  It's very cloak and dagger.  Watching the film makes one shake their head in shame at how these poor gay rights activists must live in the shadows.  The film lauds Aleksev tirelessly; you simply cannot help but sing his praises.  And of course we have all read stories of how Moscow wouldn't allow gay marches, etc. so the film rings very true.  By the end of the film nearly everyone who was present in the earlier meeting has been arrested for "seeding civil unrest".

I made friends with Aleksev on Facebook so I could show my international support for his cause.  That's when things took a strange turn.  Amid the fervent supporters I started noticing some detractors, and astonishingly, some of these detractors were Russian.  Before he suddenly de-friended them and erased their posts, these detractors claimed they were meeting openly in Moscow and forming distinct political movements which were gaining some traction.  They claimed Aleksev was making gay rights all about Aleksev and his cloak and dagger routine was simply an act to gain international support.  Aleksev brushed off the complainers as people who didn't have vision, or as simply people who didn't like Aleksev.

Last year, on his Facebook page, Aleksev claimed he was thinking about coming to America.  His American fans clamored to be the first ones to welcome him.  Then he dramatically claimed he would never set foot in the country because he "hates" America with every 'cell in his body'.  He made a number of such statements, but his fans reassured him they would still welcome him and reminded him that American politics don't necessarily reflect the attitudes and beliefs of the people.  He finally gave in and decided he would plan a trip to the United States.

Finally, Nicolai Aleksev made his voyage to the U.S., paid for in part by the Human Rights Campaign (HRC) and some Californian gay rights groups.  They set up a number of press interviews and a couple of speaking engagements, selling reasonably priced tickets to sell-out crowds.  Nicolai "joked" that he was going to enter the country and while at customs he would create a commotion.  His American sponsors/handlers asked him not to play around in such a manner, as he could get himself thrown out of the country.  He entered quietly and safely.

As he made his way across the country, Aleksev gave interviews, most of which had been previously arranged by his handlers.  Everyone counted on Aleksev being extremely outspoken in his views.  What they didn't count on was that his views would also be extreme in unexpected ways.  His HRC handlers began to terminate the interviews and cut the press junket short, hurriedly rushing him to California and avoiding the rest of America.  Rumors began to spread that Aleksev was not only fervent in his support of gay rights, but also a racist, an anti-semite, an anti-Muslim, an anti-American, an anti-anti.  He seemed to dislike everyone who was not a white Russian gay male.

When he got to California, Aleksev had grown tired of being told "not to speak".  On the day of the big presentation and speech, Aleksev balked and refused to go.  He found a few "friends" who took him out on the town to a myriad of gay bars and venues.  Then he was asked, perhaps not politely, to pack his bags and go back to Russia.  Tickets were refunded.  His final parting words were delivered in a couple of interviews where he claimed his HRC handlers had badly managed him, had coerced him into delivering only prepared speeches, and refused to let him have the "freedom of speech" that American's tout so much.

Upon returning to his homeland Aleksev issued statement after statement condemning America and their support of the "evil Israel state".  He then said he'd been arrested by secret police and held in a prison in rural Russia, but then the next day he was on a plane to Switzerland.  He claimed to be poor, yet he vacationed in Switzerland for three weeks and then moved there at the beginning of 2011.  His Facebook page documents at least three separate vacations since that time.  It's good work when you can get it.  His Facebook page also documents his extremely anti-semitic views, not just political views on the state of Israel, but how Jews ruin the world.  He pulls no punches when it comes to his hatred of Americans, Muslims, and Arabs.

Aleksev may have helped the gay rights movement in Russia, or perhaps, as other gay groups in Russia claim, he has hindered them by focusing on getting arrested and making grand speeches which only help to buoy the anti-gay rhetoric of politicians.  The New York Times recently called him the "face of gay rights in Russia".  This is certainly so since his is the only gay face from Russia we've seen.

on Karma

Hindus believe that people are born into particular castes: the Brahmins or Priests, the Kshatriyas or Rulers, the Vaisyas or Skilled Tradespersons, Merchants and Minor Officials, the Sudras or Unskilled Laborers and the Pariahs "Harijans" or Outcastes.  You must do the best that you can with your lot in life.  If you are born a Vaisya, you can be a merchant, but be the best merchant possible, and even be a rich and successful merchant.  However, you are not supposed to cross over to another caste.  For instance, if you are a merchant, you are not supposed to desire to be a priest, that would generate Karma.  If you accept your lot in life, be happy and don't strive to be something else, you will eliminate Karma and make your future lives better.  If you live your life without generating Karma, then your next life may be in a higher caste.

This goes against the American grain.  In the U.S. we are told as children that we can be anything we want to be as long as we have the will and determination.  We can even become President of the United States!  For many people this concept develops itself into a constant dissatisfaction with their lot in life.  Let's face it, only one person, up to now always white male, gets to be the President every four to eight years.  That leaves an awful lot of people who will simply not be President.

I'm not advocating giving up and rolling over when conditions are truly bad.  Just think about where you are in life and ask yourself if you'll ever be satisfied.  Have you always told yourself, "I'm just working at this job as a stepping stone to something higher"?  Of course you have.  Very few people are at the "top of their game".  Once we have a supervisor position we are taught, even by our own bosses, that if we aren't shooting for upper management then we just aren't "motivated".  We must always desire to "better ourselves" and "move up the ladder".

I was at a dinner a while back when a dear relative announced after all the years of trying, she was finally pregnant.  Both her mother and her mother-in-law openly wept at the "miracle".  It had finally happened.  God had finally blessed them with a grandchild.  However, not more than a couple of minutes had passed when the mother-in-law announced that twins run on her side of the family.  Both of the mothers instantly burst into exclamations of how truly wonderful it would be if only they were blessed with twin grandchildren instead of just one.  I was appalled.  Their brief moment of happiness was immediately quashed with the instant desire for something better.

My father, as a senior retiree, was invited to take part in a project put on by the police of Eugene, Oregon.  He and a group of fellow seniors would walk around the downtown malls and write "tickets" on any vehicle parked in a handicap space without a visible permit.  The tickets were not-so-friendly reminders and carried no actual weight, but it scared the bejeebus out of people.  My father got huge satisfaction out of it.  However, once the ticketed person realized it wasn't an actual ticket, they usually threw the paper away.  My father decided to start wearing a jacket which looked similar to a police uniform.  He kept asking for a shirt that read "police", but of course they kept refusing him.  Eventually he quit the group.  Just issuing a reminder wasn't enough for him; he yearned for real power.

I think we have all, from time to time, felt inferior to others.  I don't make very much money, so I feel slightly inferior to rich people.  I don't have an expensive education, so I can get a bit inferior-feeling when surrounded by Harvard and Yale alumni.  Of course this is ingrained into us.  The colleges themselves drum the concept of superiority into their students, who are paying for the education and therefor want something in return for their money.  If the student is going to spend a great deal of money, more than someone going to a "lesser" college, they want to feel they are getting the superior education.  I've been in a room where people are discussing a not-present colleague and I've been absolutely flabbergasted when they say, "yes, but she went to Cleveland State", so obviously her education doesn't count for much.

All this striving, inferiority, superiority, power, yearning, is creating so much karma in the world.

My mother used to work for Key Bank.  She worked and worked, put up with office politics, suffered through strategic realignments as her branch was bought and sold several times, and always she had a goal in mind: one day she would retire and take it easy, or maybe travel, or maybe take up some kind of hobby.  She was never satisfied, always working for that elusive future.  When my father retired early, it forced her to put off retirement for a few more years than she had planned.  Then she developed breast cancer and passed away.  There never was a retirement, an easy time, a travel plan, or a new found hobby.  She spent her life striving for something better that never came.  So much karma.

So ask yourself, "when will I be satisfied?"  Is it in the future somewhere?

on Movies

Movie Review time:  (warning,  do give away some pertinent details of these movies which could spoil the film for you.  I won't explicitly tell you the ending, but many of the details lead directly to the endings)

Over the last few days I have seen The Adjustment Bureau, Limitless, and Source Code.

The Adjustment Bureau:  3 out of 5 stars.
Matt Damon stars as a rising politician who has a chance encounter with a lovely woman that changes his mind about a speech, thereby altering his own fate.  A mysterious group of men control fate, and have set up this "chance encounter".  However, due to an error, he runs into the woman again and this sets off a chain of reactions in time.  The Adjustment Bureau must correct the time line by keeping Damon and the woman apart.  As the old saying goes, 'you cannot un-ring a bell', so Damon is rightfully aggravated and decides to fight the "powers that be".

The movie plods along through the encounters between Damon and the woman and the pace doesn't really pick up until Damon discovers what the Bureau does.  Even then we must watch as Damon gets more and more frustrated.  Finally the movie and the characters take off when Damon decides to fight fate.  The message of self-determination versus prewritten fate is heavy handed but necessary to the plot.  The Christian demagoguery is a bit overdone and by the end of the movie everyone should know what will happen or they just haven't been paying attention.

Limitless: 4 out of 5 stars.
The Hangover's Bradley Cooper stars as a deadbeat writer who's laziness and procrastination drives everything away from him.  His "dealer" former brother-in-law slips him a dose of a new experimental drug which stimulates the "unused" portion of the brain, turning a deadbeat into an intellectual and financial genius.  The memory call-ups seem a bit like the television show "Chuck", while the concept of the drug's side effects and waring-off symptoms is reminiscent of the novel "Flowers for Algernon".

Cooper does a pretty good job being the quasi-hipster turned into the Wall Street douchebag.  The story is fairly well thought out and has a bit of a surprise ending.

Source Code: 4 out of 5 stars.
Cow-eyed Jake Gyllenhaal plays a man who must use 8 minutes of the past to stop a train from blowing up.  Each time he returns to the train he gathers just a little bit more information.  Of course his mission is derailed (pun intended) when he begins to care about one of the passengers and about his own mysterious past.  The script is well crafted and the mysteries are layered over themselves.  The big boss Ruttledge is the only down-side to the film as his acting seems stilted and amateurish.  The end of the film probably creates a few more questions than it should, but time travel/alternate realities tend to do that.

on Commencement

We give important events in our lives a sense of sanctity.  Without the pomp and circumstance of a graduation ceremony, graduating high school, or college would just be another day like any other.  Now-a-days there are ceremonies for graduating from grade school and middle school.  I wonder if this tends to water down the big ceremonies.

We don ceremonial robes, to help mark the occasion as something separate and special from our regular routine.  Graduation robes at colleges tend to be styled after the clothes of the renaissance, giving a nod to the distant past as if the knowledge itself has traveled down the years, untouched and unscathed, to be delivered upon graduation.

We carry flags, march bands, brandish swords, do elaborate dances, and carry Roman-like standards to help buoy up the ceremony.  We make things and events sacred by layering meaning and important-looking movements onto them.  We invoke God to approve or at least look kindly on the event.

And we make speeches, heavy and meaningful, to give the event a sense of heaviness and meaning.  The Commencement speech is usually delivered by someone with recognized gravitas, celebrity or learning.  The speech itself is meant to spur the graduates on to great accomplishments.  It is a speech to rouse the fires of purpose, to arm the arsenal of the educated minds.  Such a speech should cause a sudden burst of applause, but usually only causes an obligatory and begrudged clapping of hands after it is finally done.

I was thinking to myself, as the Commencement speech was being given at my niece's College graduation.  The speech was so boring and weakly assembled, my mind wandered regularly.  I wondered if the speech was really necessary.  Sure, we must have a Commencement speech, right?  If we didn't have one, it couldn't really be a graduation ceremony.  But if the speech itself is so poorly crafted, doesn't that actually denigrate the ceremony itself, thereby doing the exact opposite of its purpose?  The ceremony suffers with the speech because it must have the speech.

The graduating class from this particular college was very small.  A tiny bit of research could of turned the speech into something more personal, adding a little factoid about each of the graduates.  This would have made the speech more memorable.

I also attended a High School graduation ceremony for over 350 students.  Two speeches were made by students, one by a perky stereotypical blonde cheerleader about school spirit, and a morose speech given by a seemingly morose teenager about overcoming life's obstacles, but in reality seemed to about giving in to depression about those obstacles.  The Commencement speech was given by a man dressed in layered black robes, perhaps the principal.  It was unmemorable.  I would bet money on the fact not a single graduate that day would be able to tell me what the Commencement speech was about, or recite a single line.

The Commencement speech is a throw-away speech.  It is mandatory, but unmemorable.  Can you remember your Commencement speech from your High School or College graduation?

Pomp and circumstance.   

on Memory

Robert's oldest brother Richard was already serving in the military overseas when Robert was born.  The age disparity was so great Robert was closer with his niece and nephews than with his own brother.  Kazuko married Richard with the hopes of a new life in America, a chance to live the indelible American dream.  She ended up living in Hoisington, Kansas, a tiny town in the very middle of the United States surrounded by a flat, harsh country.  Kansas is hot and humid in the summer time, cold and snowy in the winter.

Now in her Seventies, Kazuko lives at a home for the elderly, her memory fading daily.  She is suffering from Alzheimer's, arguably one of the cruelest diseases.  Many times she things her daughter Kathy is actually her sister, coming to visit or pick her up for some event.

This past weekend Kathy earned her master's degree and Kazuko attended.  I'm not certain she understood what was really occurring, but she seemed proud of Kathy.  Kazuko herself had earned two bachelor's degrees in a Japanese college, a remarkable feat for a woman in those days. The next day Robert's other niece graduated High School and again Kazuko was in attendance, and again I'm not sure she understood where she was or why she was there, but all the time she smiled.

Outside the event Kazuko paid more attention to the sky than to the photo opportunities occurring around her.  She pointed upward at some balloons which someone had released, floating up against a sun-setting panorama and said, "It's so beautiful!"

Although she spoke to me a couple of times, smiling all the while, she seemed a bit disturbed when I followed the group.  She stayed very close to Kathy.  I was a stranger and she didn't know what my intentions were.  At one point she looked around at all the caps and gowns and told me that she 'had always wanted to please her father.  Her father was an ambassador and traveled all the time, rarely home.  By going to college and getting a good education she thought it would make him proud.  However, the education would also give her the ability to survive without a father, if need be.'  He disowned her when she married Richard, a deep cut that wounded her for the rest of her life.

The past is clearer than the present.  The moments of clarity come and go.  Are we still people when we no longer have memories, or are we really the sum of our memories and nothing else?  Kazuko still feels the pain of a missing father, a lost husband and son, and she can still find beauty in the simplest of vistas.

on Spying

When I was about 10 my family was visiting my Aunt Marge.  During these times I usually tagged along with my cousin Debby who was two years older than me.  We would occasionally take the twenty minute walk through the back woods to the reservoir, or maybe go and visit the very old alcoholic who lived in a tiny shack made of old doors.  No matter where we went Debby and her friends would smoke and drink beer, even though they were only 12 or 13 years old.  I tried both items and hated it so much I never touched the stuff again.  I still don't smoke and extremely rarely will I ever try a beer.

One time Debby and her neighbor Raymond (who was my age and in my class at school) walked to the reservoir where we showed each other our "privates".  That was the first time I ever saw a girl's "area".  It really wasn't very interesting.  They made me swear never to tell, but then Debby regularly used the incident as a threat: "I'll tell your mother what we did by the lake if you tell [fill in the blank, about the smoking or the drinking]".  She used the threat in order to keep me silent about visiting the old drunk in the door shack since her mother forbade her to go there.  He was a nice old guy who told us things about history.  I think he may have been a teacher once.

During this one particular time, Debbie and Raymond and a few other of her friends decided to play a game called "spying".  What this consisted of was sneaking over to a neighbor's house in the dark and watching through the windows.  I didn't think this would be fun, but went along anyway.  As it got progressively darker, we ventured through the woods to the Mayhews' house.  Their house was a split-level ranch with huge front bay windows.  They were just finishing dinner when we arrived.  The light from the windows would give us away, so we carefully each took a tree to hide behind.  For some weird reason, watching them walking around, silently mouthing words to one another and cleaning up their dinner table was actually fun.  We found ourselves laughing, rather loudly.  I had no idea about voyeurism, nor the mechanics that could create amusement, but couldn't help myself being intrigued.  I wondered who one of the daughters was speaking to on the phone, or what joke Mr. Mayhew had told which had really cracked up Mrs. Mayhew.

Suddenly one of us laughed too loudly and all the Mayhews looked out, into their front yard, directly at us.  Now the real excitement started.  With our hearts pounding and nervous laughter erupting, we took off running, around the side of their house, headed for the woods and safety.  As we were running the rest of the kids leaped into the air.  As I was wondering why they had leaped, I suddenly became aware that I was falling.

The Mayhews had what is traditionally called an "open sewer" which consisted of a ditch about four feet deep by two feet wide.  It ran from the house to a cess pool about 40 yards away.  The sewer was full of green algae, water, and of course solid and liquid waste, exposed to the air.  Although these types of sewers were and are illegal in many areas, this was rural Oregon in the seventies and many farmsteads still had them.

Being only 10 my chin was just above the "water" line.  My hands clung wildly to the grass on the banks, keeping me from sinking further.  The outdoor lights came on and a door opened.  I was soon lifted from the ocher and stood on the Mayhews' cement patio.  I took off my clothes, except for my underwear as they hosed me off with freezing water.  Debby and friends returned to the house and she made a call to my mother.

I had to walk all the way back through the woods, barefoot, my reeking wet clothes in a garbage bag.  My mother's mood was odd; she seemed disappointed that I had allowed myself to get into such a mess.  I don't think there was a punishment for any of the night's activities.  I supposed they felt I'd suffered enough of a trauma.  To this day I can remember the grisly details I've left out of this post, and they are nausea inducing.

Okay, now that you're sufficiently grossed out, you can return to whatever you were doing previously.

on Manners

Recently I saw a post with a list of 15 points of etiquette people should teach their children.  The list contained gems like "knock on a door before opening it", "use a napkin", and "say thank you if someone does something for you".  The author of the post exclaimed that these simple manners also extend to adults.  I thought I'd add a few manners adults should definitely use:

1.  When getting to the top or bottom of an escalator, do not stop in order to chat, or decide which way to go.  Think about a direction prior to your landing.  This goes for elevators too.
2.  When you are pushing a stroller, especially a double or triple stroller, or a shopping cart, realize you may be blocking an entire aisle in the store and make sure to pull over.
3.  When you are at a red light, don't creep out into the intersection.  If you do creep out, then when the light turns green - GO, don't suddenly look down on the floor to find something.  This seems to be a trait specific to Clevelanders.
4.  Speaking of driving, Ohio law states if the power goes out, you are to treat the intersection like a four-way stop.  That doesn't mean you just continue to drive through regardless of the other streets.
5.  Don't eat with your mouth open, and don't smack your lips while eating.  I can't count the number of people I see and hear doing this.
6.  Don't play your music loudly with your windows open.  This goes double for when you are in your car.  You are not our personal D.J.
7.  Don't post anonymous "troll" comments on newspaper or other websites which are hateful or designed to rouse emotions.
8.  Don't take your babies to restaurants.  I know you want to go out, but so does everyone else.  You know your baby is going to cry at some point.  If you absolutely feel you must take your baby to a restaurant, then if it cries immediately take it outside.  The next time this happens I'm going to scream in your ear and see how you like it.
9.  Don't talk on your cell phone while in a public restroom.  There may be a slight chance the person at the other end doesn't know where you are, but it's just really disgusting. I will continuously flush the toilet, cough and make fart noises if I catch you doing it.
10. Don't use words like "synergistic", "paradigm", or phrases like "part of the conversation", or "human condition", they all make you sound like a douche, and you probably are.
11.  If you meet someone for the first time you can ask what they do for a living, but don't ask where they went to college, that's just pretentious.
12.  If you don't watch television, don't use the internet, aren't on Twitter or Facebook, don't look down on people who do; you're not that elite.
13.  Never, ever talk about yourself in the third person; Bud doesn't like it.  See how douchey that sounds?
14.  If there's a joke you wouldn't tell in front of someone of color, of a different religion or sexuality, then it's not an appropriate joke.  This isn't about being "politically correct", it's about you not being a bigot.
15.  Back to driving:  if you are at a red light, please use your turn signal to indicate which way you will be turning; don't wait until the light is green and then turn on the signal.  If you are turning right, don't wait until the light turns before you finally decide to turn; unless there's a sign prohibiting it, just turn and get the hell out of my way!

on Mementos

Near the end of the play (and subsequent movie) by Harvey Fierstein, Torch Song Trilogy, the main character Arny collects three objects into his lap.  Each one represents the supporting characters from all three acts of the play.  Each object is imbued, by Arny, with the memories of these loved ones.

Some people may argue objects themselves somehow absorb memories, emotions, or energies of people, events, and environments surrounding them.  Many religions believe in the power of objects as not only symbols but actual repositories of such energies.  Some Native American and Eastern religions and philosophies give objects souls.  In Judaism an object can be holy and worthy of respect if it has been blessed or made sanctified by ritual.  For Catholics an object can hold power if it contains a tiny piece of a saint.

I am surrounded by objects that don't necessarily have a function.  There are vases and statuettes that don't have any use except as decoration.  I am disappointed if one of these objects break because they are pretty, but I have no problem selling these off if I need the room or feel the objects have become intrusive.

However, I also have many objects that once belonged to a cherished person, or was bought or created at a certain time in my life.  There are many objects around our home which reflect a particular event in our life together.  These objects have some power, but really only to me or those close to me.  I would be sad to see these broken, sold or abandoned.  On the other hand, if a storm came and destroyed them, or I became so destitute I could no longer hold onto them, I would be sad, but I could still live without them.  I have my memories and don't necessarily require objects to stir them up.  My life and memory doesn't depend on owning objects.

There's no telling what object will have nostalgic value to a person.  A lamp owned by my grandmother may have very little actual value on the market, but it has value to me.  However, I only have a few such items.  I don't need everything my grandmother used or touched in order for me to cherish her memory.  Some memories are too painful to be constantly reminded of them.  I don't want objects around me that are depressing.  I did not keep the last book my mother read before succumbing to cancer, even though we found a letter to us inside its covers.  The book was just a book.  It didn't remind me of my mother; I never saw her reading it.  There were other items from my mother I did keep and have fond memories of, but the book represents a painful memory and I will not allow objects to have that kind of power over me.

When people allow objects to have power over them, they become hoarders.  There are different kinds of hoarders such as shopaholics, but those who keep boxes of items, unopened because the memories are too painful, are allowing objects to hold sway over their lives.  The same goes for people who need to keep nearly everything their loved ones once owned, as if volume of objects makes up for their loss or replaces the missing person.

As I get older and more aware of my mortality, I know the items from my childhood are losing their memento value.  Having too many of these items clutter up our lives.  I keep thinking some day I'll get out my N-gauge train set and set it up, despite having no room for such an endeavor.  I'm not ready to give in just yet; there still may be time and a place to set up the trains, but I've begun to give up on many other childhood items. A foray into Ebay is in my near future.

on Fireflies

Visiting Ohio was a treat for my father because he adored fireflies.  He had never seen one until he came out here, but running around my sister's backyard, catching the little beetles was a childhood dream come true.  According to many websites, fireflies to not inhabit the western states; nothing west of Kansas.  A large part of Science is observation, and this is what I observed back in 1982 or 83 at a friend's farm.

My friend Gene lived in an area west of the town Noti, Oregon called Hale Valley.  His family owned a farm there where often a gang of us teenagers would gather for an all-night game of Dungeons and Dragons.  One summer night we decided to play "flashlight wars".  Each person would receive a flashlight that would count as a "weapon".  Spatial parameters were set up; a boundary to the north marked by a dirt road, to the west by a large meadow, to the east by a fence and the south was Gene's family farm.  We entered forest and scattered.

The rules of the game are very simple.  If you light up someone with your flashlight, and could identify them by name, that person is dead.  However, upon entering the forest many of us began to team up.  This way we could more readily watch our backs; there's power in numbers.  My friend Patrick, who had brought along his younger brother and his cousin Hugh, was crouched near a stump when I came along.  I saw him and ducked behind a bush.  We were at a stand off.  Soon we made a pact and were walking together through the forest searching for the others.  We were pretty sure that Gene had already teamed up with Mike and it was likely Chuck had teamed up with Chris, and they may have all teamed up together.  We decided it would be advantageous for Patrick and I to team up with his cousin and brother.  The sides were being drawn.

As Patrick and I entered a small clearing, we saw a strange, tiny light move up and down.  Patrick whispered to me that he suspected his cousin Hugh was smoking 'again'.  It seems Hugh had tried to smoke before, but had promised to never try it again. Now Patrick appeared to have proof of his cousin's shame.  Hugh wouldn't answer our calls; was he being stubborn, or trying to trap us?  We arrived at the exact spot where we had seen the light, but all we could find with our flashlight were a few small beetles on the ground.  As we left the clearing the light returned.

That next day I told my father of the experience but he didn't believe me.  He thought I had imagined the whole thing since fireflies didn't live in Oregon.

Months later we were visiting our family friends John and Mary who lived in a lumberman's shack deep in the forest.  John was some kind of caretaker/supervisor to the lumber camp and received a house as part of his compensation.  He told my father and I a story about a nest of "glow worms" he'd found a while back.  It had formed in a large broken tree situated in the middle of a marsh.  When he got to the glowing ball, he hit it and the thing dispersed and fell into the water below.  Upon closer inspection he found it to be made up of many tiny glowing larvae.  John had reported the incident to the University of Oregon, but again was met with skepticism.  They told him it was probably just a traditional "will o'the wisp" formed by swamp gases.  Of course this didn't explain how he could catch up to the glowing ball, nor how he could have hit it and saw glowing larvae.  

We know, statistically, there are more insect species on the Earth we have yet to discover, than there are insect species we have already discovered.  Could it be the scientists don't really know if there small pockets of fireflies in the Pacific Northwest?  After all, fireflies are found on nearly all of the continents, so they are a very distributed insect.

Lately, due to light pollution and industrialization, firefly populations are disappearing.  Maybe some of them found a respite in the forest of Oregon?  Maybe Bigfoot is breeding them. 

on French Travel

This is a story I've told countless times; so often that I now have it down pat, so I decided to share it here.

Nearly 20 years ago I decided to travel to Italy with a friend.  At the last minute, the friend backed out but I decided to continue.  The first leg of the trip, due to the cost and flight plans, landed me in Paris where I was to explore for a couple of days and then take another flight to Italy.  This was the first time United Airlines was offering a direct flight to Paris at a good discount rate.  I went through international customs at O'hare Airport.  I gave the gate-man all my tickets and he picked through them to find the parts he needed, pushing them down into his wooden podium, and then I boarded my first international flight.

I landed in the beautiful city at the height of tourism season, not speaking any French; not the best time to visit.  The locals lived up to their rude legends, but honestly they just didn't have the time for me to fumble through the strange monetary system.  I didn't understand the difference between "sayz" and "seyzzzz" which was about ten francs.  This language barrier was to play an integral part of the story.

I roamed around the city for the first couple of days, taking in the regular sites such as La Sacra Couer, the Louvre, the Arch d'Triumph and of course the Tour d'Eiffel.  Of course I called them the Sacred Heart Church, the Louver, the Arch of Triumph and the Eiffel Tower.  On the third day I decided to get my stuff in order and make sure I had everything for the next flight.  To my dismay I discovered I only had the receipt portions of my tickets.  I looked back in my memory and recalled how the man at the gate at O'hare had stuck the other parts into his podium.  He had taken my actual tickets, including my return home ticket!  I was beside myself.

Then a terrible wind storm came through Paris. The wind whipped through the central columnar courtyard of the hotel and caused such suction it blew several windows out of the rooms, including mine.  They quickly and efficiently relocated me.  I figured out, with some help, how to call the United Airlines office.  They said they would have to investigate, but that I needed to come to their offices the next morning.  They were not located in the airport, however, they were located downtown by the Opera.  I got out my map and figured out a route.  I left first thing in the morning.

I went to the Metro station and approached the window.  The man behind the glass looked at me tiredly.  I pointed to the map destination, a stop called "Voissey" and pushed some coins to him.  He shook his head and pushed the coins back, saying something I couldn't comprehend.  This occurred several times and I was getting more than frustrated.  He kept saying something about a library, but I kept saying "no, Opera".  Finally an English speaking man behind me shouted, "it's free!", I shook my head, so he clarified, "before 8am in the morning the Metro is free.  He won't take your money."  The man behind the glass shouted, "Oui, Libre!" Again with the Library?

I rode the Metro through many stops, keeping track of the one I needed.  Turns out I would have to get off and change trains at this "Voissey" station.  Finally arriving, I jumped off the train and approached the gate.  It wouldn't open.  Now that it was after 8am, the train was no longer free and I needed a ticket to actually enter this portion of the station.

There were no glass windows with grumpy people behind them here.  This was an automated station with a giant machine you put money into, select your destination and it gave you a ticket.  Each destination was printed on a tiny strip of white paper, about the size of the paper from a fortune cookie, stuck inside a little clear plastic square button.  Unfortunately they were not in alphabetical order, they were in order by distance, all in French and there were about 100 destinations.  I searched and searched but couldn't find the "Voissey" button.  I was getting desperate.  At this time of day, no one seemed to be riding the train.  Every time it stopped, no one got on or off.  I was helpless.  Whenever someone would finally come by I'd say, "Pardon", point at the machine and say, "Vwah-see?" and they would nod and answer "Oui".  I'd return to scanning the darn buttons over and over.

Finally a kind person used their ticket to open the gate and then blocked it so I could squeeze through.  Out on the street I hailed a taxi and had the driver drop me off at the corner of the street I had been told the office was located.  The streets in Paris radiate outward from central points like stars, hence they are called "etoile". I wandered up and down the blocks, taking different legs of the star each time but I couldn't find the office, nor did anyone seem to know where it was.  I finally went into an American Express store and they were able to direct me to the brand new United Airlines office down the street.
As I approached the office a middle-aged woman was rolling down a metal grill over the face of the office.  She saw me and said, "Fair me cat!".  I didn't understand her so she said in English, "We close at four".  I looked at my watch and was astonished.  I had left before 8am that morning and was arriving after 4pm that afternoon.  I was crushed and completely exhausted.  I returned to the hotel and cried.

I was eventually able to get my return home ticket, but unable and unwilling to go on to Italy.  I had such a terrible time I really just wanted to get home.  I also had just met Robert and really didn't like being away from him.

When I got home I told Robert the whole story.  He know his French very well (even some Frenchmen we've met have wondered where he grew up in France!) so he was able to quickly point out the error of my ways.  The entire time I spent pointing at the machine in the train terminal and asking passersby "Vwah see?", I was really just saying "Here it is?", for which their answer of "yes" made more sense.  The actual destination I was looking for was pronounced "Vwah Say".  No wonder they had all looked at me like a crazy person!