The Summer Camp from Hell

            When I was around 10 my parents decided that it would be good for my brother and me to go to summer camp. We were living in Topeka Kansas and the YMCA camp was a couple of hours bus ride out into the middle of a swampy nowhere. What possessed my parents to send their chubby, shy, insecure, and non-religious son to Christian camp I will never know. Never having been away from my family the horror began as soon as my brother left to be with the older boys and I was taken to my cabin and shown the pee stained bunk that I would call home for the next few weeks.

            It had already been a long day and I was hungry so thankfully it was dinner time and we were shown to the large mess hall. Having been seated at a long wooden table and food placed in front of me I was ready to start eating, but that would be too easy. You see this is where I first started to learn about “The fear of God” because at that first dinner a random boy was asked to lead the 100 plus people in saying “Grace” before the meal. I didn’t even know what Grace was so for the rest of the 2 weeks I was scared to death that I would actually be one of the chosen few.

            This being summer camp, our days were filled with what were supposed to be fun outdoor activities. Hikes, I didn’t have the right shoes, couldn’t keep up, and was always out of breath. Team games like capture the flag, I was the last one picked and had to guard the flag. Bow and arrows, I just couldn’t get the hang of it. Now it wasn’t all bad, there was one activity that was so cool, “Marksmanship”. Hand a 10 year old boy a loaded 22 caliber rifle and watch out.

            The one activity that I was good at was swimming but the camp didn’t have a pool. We swam in a small lake that was more like a big pond. It had a small beach, a lifeguard tower, and about 100 feet out there was a raft with a diving board. The rest of the pond was surrounded by trees, weeds, and reeds right up to the waters edge. The first few times was fun doing the usual kid stuff, splashing, throwing mud, and just keeping cool. On the third day I was almost to the raft when the lifeguard starts yelling “Snake, everyone out of the water!” I froze, snake, what do you mean snake? I couldn’t comprehend it, my mind went blank. After what felt like an eternity I started swimming as fast as I could back to shore only to realize that everyone was yelling at me to go back, back to the raft. It seemed that the snake, and not just any snake but a “Poisonous Cotton Tongue Water Moccasin” had cut off my retreat. I don’t know if it’s possible but I think I pooped my trunks, had a heart attack, and walked on water all at the same time because next thing I knew I was huddled on the raft with a couple of other kids who had made it there alive. Eventually they came out to get us with a row boat and a rifle. Needless to say, I didn’t go swimming again, even after we were told that the snakes usually stay on their side of the lake and the lifeguard now sat with a rifle in his lap.

            The horrors continued: My towel fell off after a bath and I stood naked in front of a big crowd. I broke the skis while trying to water ski. Other kids would attack our cabin during the night. And when my parents came for a family visit they wouldn’t take me home even after I locked myself in the car. But all that pales in comparison to the horror of what came next.

            The morning of our last full day at camp we were loaded on busses and driven out into the swamps. I started to hear this rhythmic sound that was like this alternating high pitch, low pitch chirping. As we got deeper into the swamps it got louder until it was almost deafening. As I cautiously stepped off the bus I was handed a rifle and told “OK boy, let’s get us some dinner”. I still didn’t know what was going on so I followed all the other kids down a trail out into the swamp. That’s when I saw them and discovered what that weird noise was, FROGS. Hundreds of them, not just little frogs but giant “Bull Frogs”. They were huge, as big as a dinner plate with hind legs at least 12 inches long. At the exact moment that I realized “Frog Legs” was for dinner the carnage started. Shots rang out and frogs started flying through the air. It was horrifying and I couldn’t take it, I dropped my rifle and ran back to the bus, stopping just long enough to puke my guts out.

            That night we had our farewell dinner of Frog Legs that I must admit kind of tasted like chicken. I never got called on to say Grace so I survived my Summer Camp from Hell. When I think back about that adventure the thing that always comes to mind is the kids riddle: What’s green and red and goes 100 miles an hour? Why a frog in a blender of course.

To view the column in it's original form go to page 14 of the following link. Winters Express 8/25/11

Read the Label

             So this 4^th of July I got to thinking about what it means to be American. Not in the patriotic or we’re better than they are sense but just in the label. I was born in the state of New York, which is part of the United States of American and is in North America. My older brother was born in Argentina that is in South America. My sister’s husband’s family is from Nicaragua which is located in Central America. From what I can see that makes us all Americans. Maybe here in the states we should try a little rebranding and call ourselves USAers, pronounced with a Brooklyn accent (you-say-uh). Let’s see how that rolls off the tongue, “I’m not an ugly American, I’m a USAer”.

            OK, seriously this makes me want to ask the question, why do people feel a need to label themselves? Republican, Democrat, Liberal, Conservative, Gay, Straight, Raiders Fan, Giants Fan (yea, yea, different game), Black, White, Christian, Muslim, the list goes on and on. I know that historically we labeled ourselves to show inclusion in a family, group, or clan. This was primarily for protection from or dominance over a rival group. But the world has changed, for one thing it’s more homogeneous and we now know that as a species we have more in common than differences with people we don’t know. For another point the groups have just gotten too big for everyone to have a majority in common. Just as a simple example, in the U.S. there are 130 million voting age people, if you take out the smaller parties that still leaves over 50 million people in each of the 2 major parties. I for one find it hard to believe that give their different life experiences, educational, and socio-economic backgrounds all those people think, feel, and believe the same way. So why do so many people want to march under a particular banner and I guess my bigger question is why don’t I?

            This may seem like an oxymoron but I have always labeled myself as a non-conformist. Or to quote Groucho Marx “I don`t care to belong to a club that accepts people like me as members”. I have always been pre-disposed to go in the opposite direction of the crowds as well as to question authority. Sure I was once a teenager wanting to fit in but I always felt I was different and didn’t fit in. But even not fitting in comes with labels; loner, rebel, outcast, etc…

            Currently I guess my label would be; a middle aged lower middle class non-religious rural-urbanite white Hispanic of Jewish descent. Now that’s a mouthful. Maybe we should try a little rebranding here as well. Instead of middle aged, I am now a semi-centenarian something and with the way the economy is going it won’t be long until I am part of the upper lower class. As for color, Casper the friendly ghost was white I’m more of a dark pink with a touch of gray. I am a non-believer that Shirley keeps telling me is one of the “chosen people” and yes I do speak Spanish.

            So where is all this labeling and rebranding taking me? I guess if I have to be labeled I want to set my own priority, so here goes. I am in this order; Human, Man, Husband, Son, Brother, Friend, & Neighbor. You see it’s about sharing the planet with other people, so what color my skin is, or what God I do or don’t believe in, or even how much money I have shouldn’t matter. Sadly it seems that according to the main stream media those things are all that matter.

            That brings me back full circle to the whole American and USAer thing. What if I want to be part of a bigger group with a grander label? Let’s say a citizen of the Earth, an Earther as they are called in the Science fictions movies. If the Supreme Court can grant corporations the same rights as people and corporations can be multi-national why can’t people be multi-national as well. I mean we are already so interconnected when it comes to commerce, entertainment, and communications. If that connectivity can benefit mankind as a whole why not expand it?

            OK, so a few columns back I was ragging on the economic drawbacks of a “new world order”. Now I’m wondering, if enough of the 7 Billion people on earth are like minded that may not be a bad thing. As a matter of fact, I think the only way for survival in the future is through cooperation, compromise, and a lot less labeling.

To view the column in it's original form go to page 13 of the following link. Winters Express 8/4/11

I can't help myself.

            Long story short, I was talking to someone recently about how I was dealing with a situation that I wasn’t particularly happy about. I was concerned about future problems that may arise because of what he was doing when he said something that I found very profound and haven’t been able to stop thinking about. Basically he just said “You can’t help yourself”. He was talking about the ramifications to me because of how I was dealing with the situation but that’s not relevant to the rest of the story.

            I was amazed at how perceptive he was in being able to pickup on one of my life’s major flaws, because truth be told I can’t help myself. For as long as I can remember I’ve been doing things that I knew I shouldn’t be doing and were somewhat self destructive but I did them anyway.

            When I was a little kid I used to sneak into my fathers study and look through his desk drawers. Once I found some “dirty books” and I can say that was quite the eye opening experience. When I was a little older I babysat some of the neighbor’s kids and used to look through their stuff as well. One of our neighbors worked for the FBI and one night I found his revolver in a cupboard above the refrigerator. That really scared me so I quit being so nosey after that.

            When I was in Junior High I got in trouble for playing with fire. My friends and I used to light strips of Magnesium and watch them burn because it reminded us of the stuff they used on Mission Impossible to cut through metal. The way I got caught was stupid and I knew better, but I took a test tube full of gasoline on a school field trip where it came open in my pocket while riding in one of the teacher’s cars. I almost got kicked 

out of school for that one.

              In High School I started doing all sorts of thing I knew I shouldn’t do. I skipped classes, smoked Camel non-filters, drank booze, did pot, and enjoyed the occasional trip with the help of some psychedelics. I argued with my parents and lost any direction I had in earlier years. It all became just about the party and having fun with my friends. I hated studying (now I would have been diagnosed with attention deficit disorder) and school so I didn’t go to college even though I had the opportunity.

            As an adult I continue to be “self destructive”, not physically because I quite all my smoking and only drink moderately, I continue professionally sabotaging myself and I can’t help it. I’ve been fired from two good paying management jobs because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut or my displeasures to myself. The first time I “tattled” on my substance abusing boss to his mother (see my column titled “I should have taken the watch”), the second time I had the owner’s daughter working for me and she was (and I don’t say this lightly) an idiot. She drove me crazy and I guess I ragged on her one to many times because out of the blue my position was eliminated (her brother later told me the truth).

            Then there’s the story of Steady Eddy’s Café in the Flint, MI farmers market and how I gave it away. This was our second restaurant and it was a restaurateurs dream (in hindsight), we were only open on market days so only 4 days a week, it was an all cash business, the equipment was included, and the rent was very low. We had year round steady business and on Saturdays we kicked butt, we were non-stop from 7am to 3pm. It was a comfortable income and not that hard of work but as usual I got bored and burnt out. One day in our third year my wife Diane got really mad at me for some joke that the cook and I were pulling on her and she stormed out for the day. I got angry back and said F**k It, let’s just sell the place. I placed an ad in the paper and had a buyer within the week. That was 15 years ago and he ran it until his death in 2009, his daughter runs it now and it’s still called Steady Eddy’s with most of my items still on the menu.

            So what have I learned about why I sabotage myself? I’m not sure but as my therapist told me years ago, one of these days I need to get over “my fear of success”.

To view the column in it's original form go to page 14 of the following link. Winters Express 7/14/11

My Fathers Farewell Tour

     My father and I had a special bond that was different than what he had with my siblings or with other people. I know now that we were more alike than I ever wanted to admit while he was alive.

     As adults those similarities brought us closer together but as an adolescent I strictly adhered to the natural law that “Like Repels Like”. When I was a teenager I can truly say that I hated my father and he really didn’t like me much. Now I know that it was because we were both stubborn, head strong and always thought we were in the right.

     I was 21 and he was 49 when I first realized my father was mortal. When the phone rang I was expecting it to be my father but instead it was his wife and the first thing she said was “your father had a heart attack”, in that instant I thought he was dead. She then told me he was in the hospital and I just started to shake and cry. I don’t ever remember having felt that kind of fear and anguish. That day was the first time in many years that I remembered that I loved him. That was also the day that in my father’s eyes he stopped living and started dying; I guess he also realized that he was mortal.

     From then on Nitro was in his pocket and death seemed just around the corner. For the next 24 years he and I spent way to much time worrying about his mortality even as our lives went on. I got married, he got divorced. He moved to Paris, I eventually moved to California. He had a couple more heart attacks and bypass surgery, I just got older but not much wiser. 

     As time went by and his health continued to deteriorate he often talked about suicide, but the reality was that he loved life, he just hated getting old, and as I get older I can totally relate.

     Over those years we learned to trust each other more, communicate openly and honestly, and we were able to talk about almost anything. And talk we did, every couple of Sundays he called all his children and even though to most of my siblings it was kind of a joke and  pain in the butt,  I really looked forward to his calls.

     We would talk about what was going on in our lives, about his health, world politics, about the state of society, and about how messed up the world was. In the last year of his life (post 9/11) he became very pessimistic about how the powers that be were ruining the world; he worried about his children, his friends and family in Argentina, and especially about how his grandsons were going to survive.

     In the fall of 2002 when he was 73 years old my father did what I now call “The Farewell Tour”.  Even though we didn’t know it at the time I truly believe that he did know the end was near.

     He came for a weeks visit and got to see most of his kids and grand kids, my mother (first ex-wife), and one of his best friends from Michigan who was visiting the bay area. He and I then went to LA for the day where another of his very good friends was visiting his children there. 

     During this whole time my father was not doing all that well, his doctors had been trying to get him to put in a pacemaker but he steadfastly refused. He was also joking (so we thought) with all his friends that this might be the last time they saw each other as they were all getting old.

     Anyway this visit ended like normal with him heading back to Paris. A month later my father went to a Bioenergetics conference in upstate New York, there he got to see a bunch of his old friends and colleagues. That evening he called his younger brother in Argentina just to check in and after breakfast on the second day he took his newspaper, sat down under a tree and died.

     It’s been 9 years since he died and every Sunday morning I still wish the phone would ring. When some geopolitical event happens I want to know what he would have thought. When I see or read some reference to France or Argentina I think of him. There are so many unexpected things that remind me of him and I know he will always be in my heart. Even though I didn’t always appreciate him I know he loved me and was a bigger part of my life than I ever realized. I will miss him for the rest of my life.

To view the column in it's original form go to page 14 of the following link. Winters Express 6/16/11

Stocks & Stones may Break our Bones

My wife thinks its nobodies business, but if you’re writing an honest commentary then you need to tell the truth. So here is my reality, I’m underemployed, underinsured, underwater on my mortgage, and sadly I’m not alone. Unfortunately more and more Americans are finding themselves in the same boat. What’s even sadder is that it didn’t and doesn’t have to be this way. So what’s the cause? In very simplistic terms, it’s Greed, Laziness and a little global conspiracy for good measure. Now obviously G&L are nothing new, they are 2 of the 7 deadly sins that have been part of religious dogma for millennia. What are new is the scale, speed, and shear number of people that can be affected and or “infected”. What I mean by infected is how easily people can get caught up in the greedy allure of an easy money bubble. The most recent bubble being housing and we all know how that’s turning out. I want to focus on the Stock Market and how technology and speed have turned it into just another form of gambling. Now don’t get me wrong, I like to gamble but we should save that for the casinos, lottery, or a friendly game of poker.

            

When I was first learning about economics the concept of a stock market made sound financial sense. It kind of worked like this; a company (that actually produced something) needed capital to grow so they offered shares of ownership (stocks) in return for a percent of the profits that were then paid as a dividend. For years the basic strategy was to buy quality stocks and hold them (prices didn’t fluctuate much), sometimes for generations. Wealthier people just bought more and middle class people either bought or were given stock in the companies where they worked. That’s what it was like growing up in Flint, MI a General Motors town. Everyone I knew had some relationship with GM and only bought and drove GM cars. They also bought stock when they could. The community was made up of executives, supervisors, and line workers that worked at GM as well as at suppliers like Goodyear, Dow Chemical, & AC-Delco. There was a pride and sense of ownership, back then you could get your butt kicked for owning a Ford let alone a Japanese car.

            

Then something started to change, companies started outsourcing, workers quit caring about quality, and the markets became obsessed with share price instead of company value. I don’t know what happened first or who’s to blame, I only know that it’s been spiraling downward ever since. This brings me back to the markets and how they help perpetuate the death spiral. Because everything has become so fast with computerized trading and fractions of a second can mean big bucks, the market has become very short sighted, it’s all about the quarterly reports, that’s only 3 months of a persons or companies working life. If a company is doing poorly but says that they are going to lay off employees they get rewarded by the market and their stock price goes up. If a company is doing well but didn’t meet the analyst’s expectations their stock gets clobbered. To compound the problem executive compensation has been tied to the performance of the stock not just the company. Back in the day, the average CEO made 50 to 100 times the average workers salary. Now it’s become obscene with that number rising 10 fold at the same time that worker wages and benefits are being eviscerated. It’s no wonder that just like me the average American is struggling.

            

So is all this a result of a fluke global recession caused by a greed driven housing bubble or is it something more? Well I for one love conspiracy theories and ever since hearing way back in high school about David (very rich guy) Rockefeller’s Trilateral Commission and it’s goal of “remaking global trade and finance” I have believed that eventually we would have what George Bush Sr. (a Trilateral member) called “A New World Order”. I also believed this could be a good thing as it would create a better chance for peace in the world. But what I didn’t realize then, but am starting to see and feel now is that to create a true, fair, and balanced global economy you need a level playing field. The problem is that America and the EU are to high and even with China and Asia’s growth there is no way they can catch up. So that means our economy needs to come down so we can meet them halfway. Looking around at how fast the world and its economies are changing the only thing I can think to say is “are we there yet?”


To view the column in it's original form go to page 13 of the following link. Winters Express 5/19/11

I'm only human - but what kind?

I think I’m a defective human being. How’s that for a way to start a conversation. Let me rephrase that a little. I think I’m either a defective human, an enlightened human or least of the three possibilities, a normal human.
Let me state my case. There are some basic human traits that got our species to this point in time:
~ Walking upright. Okay, that’s a given most of the time or at least on the day after I see the chiropractor.
~ Use of tools. I know many people have told me I look like Al from the TV show within a TV Show, “Tool Time” on “Home Improvement,” but as my wife and John Siracusa will attest, if it’s a power tool, you better keep it away from me.
~ Building fire and cooking food. I almost got kicked out of high school for playing with a makeshift blowtorch made out of a syringe, gasoline and a lighter, and all I can say about cooking (and eating) food is that it’s one of the surest ways to enlightenment I know.
~ Self awareness. Yes, I look in the mirror and know that it’s me, except on the days I see some old guy that reminds me of my dad.
~ Ability to reason. As my wife is so fond of saying, “Things happen for a reason” — I just can’t always explain it.
~ Use of language to communicate. On this one, I prefer a good stare or roll of the eyes than to actually speaking.
So, those were some fun basics, now here come the biggies:
~ Desire to procreate. I ‘m different than most humans on this, as I have never — and I mean never — had a need to create offspring. I don’t know if it was a lack of physical need or my life experiences (nature vs. nurture) that made me not care if my genetic code or bloodline ends with me. I think that answer gives me one notch towards enlightened because it means my ego doesn’t have to see a mini-me to be satisfied. Oh, and just to be clear, sex and procreation are two totally different desires. Enough said.
~ Belief in a higher power. On this one I make Tom Stone look like a choirboy. I guess because I was raised without any religious teachings or even discussions in our house I didn’t even start thinking about God until I was a teenager. Since I had never been indoctrinated with any set of beliefs and as a rebellious youth who questioned authority, it just didn’t make sense that the world as I knew it was designed and controlled by some all-knowing but unseen omnipotent person or thing.
By that age, I’d heard Mr. Spock on Star Trek say “It’s illogical” so many times that I pretty much couldn’t help but feel the same way about God. I just didn’t understand how for millennium, people had been going to war and killing each other in the name of religion, and I still don’t understand how it continues. Even though I don’t personally believe in God, I’m actually envious of the faithful with their unquestioning belief. I sometimes wish I could trust that much.
~ Knowing we are mortal. We’re all going to die, even though to live life, we have to be in a state of denial about this fact. I never thought much about death growing up even though it was all around me. Two of my sisters, my grandparents, countless pets that I buried in the back yard and, of course, all the deaths in Viet Nam that we saw on the news every night. The specter of “assured mutual annihilation” also hung over our heads during the Cold War as well as all sorts of natural disasters.
As I get older, I find myself thinking about death much more often, not because of any health issues but just because I know it closer. Since I don’t believe in an afterlife, I don’t fear death; sadly I sometimes even long for it. What I really fear is dying. I don’t want to suffer and I don’t want my family and friends to suffer either. But the reality is that we will, some of us physically and all of us emotionally. What I fear the most and what causes me the most anguish is the thought of separation from my wife. I don’t know which of us will be left behind, only that most likely, one of us will be.
So, as I think about some of the things that make me human, I realize that it’s the thinking of those thoughts that separates me and mankind from most of the other life forms on this planet we call home. I’m now even more confused than ever as to what kind of human being I am, so I guess maybe that just makes me normal.

To view the column in it's original form go to page 14 of the following link. Winters Express 5/5/11

From Trash to Treasure.

            One of the reasons I started writing this column was because I was feeling a need to personally explore and then share my thoughts and life’s story with my adopted community. I’m starting to feel old, and yes I know I’m only 53 but in my minds eye I’m still 16 and when I was actually that age, 53 seemed ancient. I also sometimes feel insignificant, I mean on a grand scale I’m only 1 of almost 7 billion people on earth and on an even grander scale I’m only 1 of over 110 billion people who have lived since the beginning of civilization. I’m sure more than a few of those people have contributed to the betterment of their fellow men. On a smaller more local scale, I look around at my friends and neighbors and I see parents, teachers, farmers, doctors, researchers, safety personnel, musicians, artists, and the list goes on and on. All these people seem to make some kind of difference but I wonder about me, what have I done? I haven’t raised any kids, taught anyone, cured any diseases, or created any music or art. In my ancient 53 years on this earth have I made a difference? I can’t say for sure but I hope maybe a little, so let’s see.

            Shortly after Diane and I opened our first Steady Eddy’s Café in Michigan we were shorthanded and looking to hire some more help. We had a young woman working for us who had a neighbor that lived in the same trailer park and was looking for work so I agreed to interview her.            Melody, or Mel for short showed up for the interview with a couple of her kids in tow, she had them go sit in a booth while we talked. At that moment, in my mind, Mel was the classic stereotype (and there’s no P.C. way to say it) of “White Trash.” She was barely 30 with a teenage daughter, overweight, was loud, smelled of cigarettes, and hadn’t worked in years. I eventually learned that her life was actually the complete stereotype. She lived in an old trailer with an alcoholic husband who treated her like crap and that’s why she wanted and needed a job. She was pleasant enough during the interview and promised to work hard if I hired her; I was desperate so I did.

            As you can imagine, Mel’s life had beat her down pretty good, she had low self esteem and not a lot of confidence. Right off the bat Mel was the hardest worker I had ever seen. She was willing to do any job, showed up to work on time, and was truly happy to be there. Steady Eddy’s was her sanctuary, her escape from life. The more she worked and interacted with the customers, the more her confidence grew. The more confident she became the more she started thinking about her personal issues and wanting to change them. She lost weight, quit smoking, and started trying to figure out what to do about her relationship. Diane and I were always supportive when she complained about how her husband treated her and we told her she didn’t have to take it. Eventually she got strong enough to kick him out and file for divorce.

            By this time Mel had become my most valued and trusted employee. She was still loud and drove me a little crazy but I was glad she was there. We had opened a second restaurant at the Flint Farmers Market and then sold the first one. At the farmers market Mel blossomed even more and everyone there loved her. While working at the market she started dating one of the farmers who had an apple orchard and eventually married him. In the meantime Diane and I sold the café and left Mel behind. She stayed working with the new owners for a while but once she got married she became a farmer’s wife and that meant a full time job at the orchard and baking pies for the market.

            Since Diane and I moved to California we only talked to her every couple of years but I know her life is still good and a hell of a lot better than when we meet her. So when I start feeling insignificant and sorry for myself I think about Melody and how I did help change some ones life for the better. I may not have set out to help anyone and in fact it was originally self serving but if I’ve learned anything it’s that if you treat people with kindness and respect the odds are better than 1 in 6.9 billion that you will make a difference, and you can’t hope for anything more.


To view the column in it's original form go to page 13 of the following link. Winters Express 4/7/11