The Revolution will not be Desensitized.

On Christmas evening I was scanning the news headlines on the internet, I quickly glanced over the bombings in Africa & the Middle East without a second thought but my attention was caught by another headline. “7 dead in Grapevine Murder/Suicide”, I don’t normally click on a story like that because I really don’t want to know all the gory details but this time I did. There wasn’t a lot of detail at that time other than 6 members of a family were shot while opening their presents and then the shooter killed himself. I went to bed with that image in my mind and needless to say couldn’t go right to sleep. I was thinking about what makes it possible for one human being to kill another with such callousness and lack of sensitivity.

This brings me to my topic of Desensitization. As a species, humans have developed a survival instinct that allows us to not think or feel about something that is physically or emotionally painful to ourselves or others. On the most basic level most of us have been desensitized to the fact that we are mortal and at some point will cease to exist so we just go about our lives ignoring that little detail. Some people’s jobs require a level of desensitization such as emergency room staff, fire fighters, and the police. I can only assume that to be a combat solder you have to be desensitized to the feelings of the enemy that you are trying to kill (and is trying to kill you). I guess war and killing is the ultimate level of desensitization.

But what about the more subtle forms of desensitizing that are going on around us all the time, like when you watch one of those CSI cop shows on TV or a horror movie and they show you the dead bodies over and over. Then you see the real news about some little kid that’s been missing for a month and their body was just found. Do you feel horrified or is it just another of life’s episodes where you think “glad it wasn’t anyone I knew” and don’t give it another thought. What about all the violent video games that a lot of people are playing. Don’t you think that seeing as well as causing all that blood and gore for hours on end will make you less sensitive to the real thing? I think the last realistically violent movie I saw was Saving Private Ryan and that was over 10 years ago. I decided then that I didn’t want to be desensitized. If I see a real dead body or act of violence I want to feel sick, disgusted, and horrified. I never want to feel those things for entertainment as so many people do these days.

How about desensitization as a form of brain washing. If all you hear from the media, the talking heads, and partisan politicians is their one side of the story as well as the vilification of the opposition doesn’t that desensitize you to any opposing view? Doesn’t that totally undermine the ability for civil discussion? No wonder government can’t get anything done or help the average Joe.

Speaking of the average Joe, the mass media has been desensitizing us to our own plight for years and it’s finally culminating in the crash of our economy and standard of living. What I mean is that for the last 30 plus years we have been told laboring is bad, financing is good. Working with your hands and making something wasn’t as valuable to our society as manipulating financial instruments. We were desensitized to the needs of the average American, a living wage, health care, and a quality education. We glorified the rich who were making obscene amounts of money with their stock options, bonuses, and executive compensation packages. They were getting wealthy by dismantling and selling off the assets and equity that had been built by manufacturing, by laborers. We all wanted to get rich so we desensitized ourselves to reality and bought into the housing bubble and easy credit that kept it inflated.

When I was gathering my thoughts for this column and thinking about a title, the song and poem by Gil Scott Heron “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised” came to mind. (gilscottheron.com/lyrevol.html) It made me think about the “Occupy Wall Street” movement and how I do think it’s time for another American Revolution. I’ve often said “we need a revolution, I just don’t want to be here when it happens”. That was before I looked up the definition of a Revolution, (from the Latin word revolutio, “a turn around”) is a fundamental change in power or organizational structures that can take place in a relatively short period of time. That’s not so scary, doesn’t have to be violent, and it doesn’t have to be painful. I think most of us agree that we need change so maybe this revolution will not be desensitized.

To view the column in it's original form go to page 12 of the following link. Winters Express 1/12/12

I’m Sick of Stressember.

I originally started writing this column about how I always get sick when my body and mind go into stress overload and how invariably it always seems to happen around the holidays. The first and worst time I remember this happening was when I was in my early 20’s and it was the week before Thanksgiving. I was all stressed out about my first real job, my first real relationship, and my first real apartment. At that time I was also smoking so what started out as a cold ended up being 2 weeks in the hospital with pneumonia. There’s nothing quite like turkey dinner on a plastic tray with a side of “jello” and a swig of codeine cough medicine.

So anyway that’s how I handle (or mishandle) stress, I let it build up until my immune system weakens and then wham, I’m sick for a week. Everyone copes with stress differently and that’s what I want to write about but first let’s talk about “Stressember”.

Stressember is the 30 days between Thanksgiving and Christmas and it all starts with the ominous sounding “Black Friday”. I don’t really get stressed about shopping because I don’t hardly do any for Christmas, for me it’s about the Birthdays. You see I’m surrounded by December babies, starting 2 weeks before Christmas I have birthdays for my Mother-in-law, my twin siblings, my deceased Father-in-law, and my wife Diane. And if that wasn’t enough my sister who was murdered has the same birthday as my wife, so Diane is always trying to keep it low key so as not to upset my Mother.

Part of the stress I feel also comes from the constant bombardment of holiday music and having to answer the holiday small talk questions from everyone you run into. “Are you ready for Christmas?”, “Got all your shopping done?”, “Are you going anywhere?”. The reality is I’m not a religious person so I don’t get into the spiritual aspect of the holidays, I’m not much of a consumerist so I don’t need or want to give any more stuff, I’m not that big on socializing so I don’t care about Christmas parties. I guess in short all I can say is “Bah Humbug”, but unlike Ebenezer Scrooge I don’t begrudge anyone that wants to get into the holiday spirit. If putting up lights and a tree, or fighting the crowds to buy that perfect gift, or even listening to the same songs over and over, if all that makes you happy then more power to you. Because ultimately that’s what the holidays are all about, just being happy for a little while and forgetting about all the troubles in the world.

OK, so the troubles of the world bring me back to my original column about stress.  My stress about the holidays, work, money, and mortgage, how does that compare to the stress of someone living with the constant gunfire of war and not knowing when or how it might end. That’s how a lot of people in the world live today, whether civilians or military in a war zone it has got to be a lot of stress. Donald K. Sanders often writes in the Express about his time in Vietnam and about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). While reading one of his emotional columns I thought to myself, hey I’ve got PTSD as well. Not the Post Traumatic kind but something different, I’ve got Pre-Traumatic Stress Disorder. In other words I’m always stressing about something terrible that hasn’t happened yet but just might. Oh I don’t know, how about I’m pretty sure I’m going to die and everyone I know and love is eventually going to die as well.

OK, before you get all stressed about me funning on PTSD, I know it’s real and I know it’s serious.  My point is that worrying and stressing about the future can sometimes be just as debilitating as stressing about something that’s already happened. I wonder about all those people living in war zones and how do they cope? How would I deal with it if I already get sick from just my non life threatening worries? What about our bigger worries? Man made: over population, global warming, nuclear bombs or the depletion of our natural resources. Natural: earthquakes, hurricanes and tsunamis. Bad people: terrorists, politicians, and Wall Street bankers. Disease:  bird flu, swine flu or the Andromeda Strain. Crazy stuff: asteroids hitting earth, aliens invading, or what about the rapture.

Maybe it’s because I’m older and not so naive. Or maybe it’s the constant bombardment of negativity from the mass media. Or maybe it’s just my pessimistic personality. Or maybe I’m just worrying for nothing (but that’s a whole other thing to worry about). All I know is that there is so much to worry about and so little time, no wonder I’m stressed.

To view the column in it's original form go to page 13 of the following link. Winters Express 12/22/2011

An altered state of mind

I’m sure some of you have noticed that drug use keeps popping up in many of my columns. I guess partially it’s because during my youth it was such a big part of my life and partially it’s because I feel nostalgic about them and my youth as well. Recently I was talking with a pillar of our community who in referring to my openness about my drug use said they could never publicly be as open and then proceeded to tell me how much they used to love Cocaine and how they met their future spouse while buying coke. I could definitely hear the nostalgia in their story. I think one of the reasons I have always been open about my drug use is that I never had children and never needed to set a good (if dishonest) example for them. Many of my generation have white washed their history for the sake of the children, the boss, or even the nation as in Bill Clinton’s “I didn’t inhale” story.

Before I go on with the unwashed story let me be very clear, I have not used any illegal or “prohibited” substances since one second before Midnight on August 29^th, 1985. That’s over 26 years ago and shows how important it was to me that I remember my last toke, not coincidently that was the night before my first wedding anniversary. Marijuana was my drug of choice, I started smoking when I was 15 and pretty much never stopped until I was 28. Through most of my 20’s as an employee and business manager I was a functioning Pot-aholic, I smoked everyday and even rationalized it by saying that no one knew me straight and I had to stay stoned so they couldn’t tell the difference.

I think its way too extreme to say that drugs ruined my life because I don’t have a bad life. What I can say with all honesty is that drugs changed my life and put me on a different path. As an adolescent I was curious about things, I liked to read even if it was mainly science fiction and comic books, I liked sports even if I was chubby and not very coordinated, and I had friends that I played and learned with. Once I started getting high, life just became about getting high. I lost interest in learning, my shyness was exacerbated, I became less physically active, and my social skills stagnated. Sure, my life went on and there were so many other social and family factors that also contributed to my development (or lack thereof) but in the end I didn’t fulfill my potential. I had the intelligence and the opportunity to go to college and become anything I wanted to be, I just didn’t know what I wanted to be other than high.

All that being said, it may surprise most of you but I think the Prohibition on recreational drug use should be lifted. That’s right; I think pot, coke, psychedelics, and just for arguments sake maybe even heroin should be legalized. Let’s wave the white flag and end the war on drugs once and for all because the reality is that we can’t win. Let’s face the fact, human beings like to alter their state of consciousness, they like a feel good buzz. The only problem is that some of us like it a lot more than most.

For perspective let’s start with a little history from Wikipedia. Alcohol (beer and wine) the grand daddy of mind altering substances: “The discovery of late Stone Age beer jugs has established the fact that purposely fermented beverages existed at least as early as 10,000 BC.” Marijuana: “Evidence of the inhalation of Cannabis smoke can be found in the 3^rd Millennium BC, as indicated by charred Cannabis seeds found in a ritual brazier at an ancient burial site in present day Romania.” My point is that humans have been using and in some cases abusing mind altering substances for thousands of years and I think the desire for the pleasure it gives us is somehow ingrained in our genetic makeup.

I don’t have enough space here to go through all the pros and cons of lifting the prohibition on recreational drug use but I would like to say that the economic and social cost of drug related crime (85% of all crime) is more than our country can afford. Those monies would be better spent on substance abuse counseling and improving the social, physical, and economic health of those most in need. Also just like with the current safety laws on alcohol use, I would say don’t drug and drive, wait to use until your old enough (stay out of your parents stash), and most of all know your limits.

So what about all the addicts or abusers like me? In my opinion it’s all about personal responsibility, if I need help you can suggest it or I’ll ask for it. Otherwise it’s my problem, let me deal with it.

To view the column in it's original form go to page 13 of the following link. Winters Express 12/1/2011

Remembering J. Michael Ryan - R.I.P.

     Michael is dead and I want to say I don’t care. So is this a sad commentary on his life or mine? Obviously I have feelings about his death but the reality is that for the last 20 years he might as well have been dead.

     Truth be told, 20 years ago I had thoughts of killing him myself. That was just after he fired me from the job I had held with his family’s business for over 11 years. I guess now with his passing I will never get the closure that I would have liked.

     I have often wondered if Michael ever felt any guilt, regret or remorse for what he did to me. From what I know of his life these last 20 years I doubt if he gave me much of a second thought, unlike me who has thought often about how I could have done things differently. Even to this day I still have dreams about working with him so I guess sub-consciously I’m still trying to work through it.

     To quote my friend who emailed me about Michael’s death, “It’s weird to have pity on someone who was blessed with such good fortune”. And that’s the great contradiction of Michael’s life. He was blessed with great promise and cursed with inner demons.

     As I’m writing this and thinking back to the Michael I knew in high school and worked with for many years, the tears are starting to flow and the emotion is welling up in my chest and I realize I am sad and I do care. Even if we hadn’t spoken in many years and had totally different lives we still had a shared history and there were a lot of good times in that history.

     Michael and I were part of a small close knit group of friends in high school. Mark was our natural leader but Michael was always trying to one up him. I was always just a follower so watching their rivalry was kind of fun.

     Michael got his one up when he started dating Mark’s ex-girl friend Lissa in high school and eventually married her, he asked me to give a toast as part of the ceremony (but like so many other things in his life the demons won out and they eventually divorced).

     As a follower I went along for the ride on many crazy adventures. With Michael I was there when he got caught trying to steal an amplifier from a repair shop, I was riding shot gun when he hit over 100 mph in his mother’s Electra 225 on a residential street, I was in the basket when he took us up to 10,000 feet in a hot air balloon, and I was there when he got access to 5000 hits of “clear light window pane LSD”. Now I’m not promoting it but there is a special and unique bond that is created when you take multiple psychedelic trips with friends.

     Michael was one of the smartest people I have ever known, he had an almost photographic memory so school work came easy. He never studied or wrote a paper until the last minute but always pulled it off and got good grades. After high school Michael was breezing through college trying to figure out what to do with his life. When we would talked about the future he said how he never wanted to work in the family business and was thinking about becoming a Veterinarian. He also thought that the world should be fairer with less greed, some kind of hybrid between capitalism and socialism.

  

     His life changed forever when half way through college his father unexpectedly died and Michael had to go into the family business. I guess the family could have sold the business but instead Michael sacrificed his dreams to keep his father’s alive. My life also changed because soon after I also went to work for them. Over the next 11 years Michaels and my relationship had its ups and then downs. We started off sharing a house and being good friends, we did a lot of fun things together, and our wives became best friends.

     Sadly, Michael always thought that he was indestructible, from the crazy risk taking in high school to the never ending substance abuse thru out his adulthood. It was the drug use that ultimately caused our friendship to end. I was able to conquer my addiction but Michael always ended up going back. When I tried to intervene by talking to his mother (who was still the business owner) Michael never forgave me and eventually fired me.

     Michael firing me was the most traumatic and then best thing that ever happened to me. If I hadn’t been fired I would have stayed unhappily working, afraid to leave. I would have never started my first restaurant, would never have moved cross country, wouldn’t have become “Steady Eddy”, in short if it wasn’t for Michael I wouldn’t be who, what, and where I am today. I guess if I’m really going to be honest I have missed Michael these last 20 years and now that he’s dead I will miss him even more because any spark of a hope for reconciliation is gone forever.

To view the column in it's original form go to page 12 of the following link. Winters Express 11/10/11

A Tribute to Tomas and all his Kind

             Tomas was a special guy and he just died. So why do I say he was special, after all he was just a cat. I guess first I need to qualify myself because I’m a cat person. In this world there are basically 3 kinds of people, Dog People, Cat People, and the “I don’t want to get attached and feel pain people”. As a kid we always had cats and instinctively I knew how to rub them the right way. I think cats are where the “rub me the wrong way” saying comes from because there is a right and a wrong way to rub a cat.

            Growing up I learned many of life’s lessons from my interactions with cats. I learned about life and death, love and loss, as well as responsibility and irresponsibility. Learning about life I saw cats having sex and kittens being born. At 9 years old my first up close experiences with death was finding one of our cats dead after a family vacation, I also learned about irresponsibility because my parents had left them to fend for themselves while we were gone.

            I learned about unconditional love because that’s what cats and kittens give you when they are in your lap purring as you gently stroke their fur. I also learned about loss when my parents got rid of “Blacky” the cat that had survived the family vacation and had made the move from Kansas to Michigan with us. They got rid of her because they found out that my sister and mother were allergic to cats. I’m still not sure what lesson I learned (I don’t think it was a good one) when within a year we got a new cat and they got allergy shots. During my teen years the losses mounted and it seemed like I was always the one balling my eyes out while doing burial duty in the back yard.

            All that loss along with seeing my parent’s reaction to the death of my sister and then their divorce made me decide to be that 3^rd kind of person. If I didn’t love I wouldn’t get hurt or feel emotional pain. That’s how I lived my life for a few years, no pets, no serious relationships and no pain. Eventually I realized that hurt free and happy aren’t the same thing.

            I started dating, then living with, then marrying Diane who came with 2 cats. Diane has the biggest heart of anyone I know so I wasn’t surprised to come home from work one day and find a beautiful White Sheppard in the yard. My first reaction was “We’re cat people, we can’t have a dog”, but then she said “but its blind”, what could I say but OK. We then became cat people with a dog. “Kudzu” the blind dog was the biggest emotional ride of my life, the frustration of dealing with her handicap and the shear joy of seeing her loving life opened my heart forever. Unfortunately she also had a physical problem that caused seizures and after only a year and a half we couldn’t control them and had to have her euthanized.

            A month later some friends found a flea infested Brittany Spaniel running along the road and “Dana” came into our lives to fill that empty hole in our hearts. We got her a companion “Emily” because dogs need a pack and cats don’t count. Our family pack lasted for almost 20 years but now we are just cat people again.

            So all this brings me back to Tomas. Over the 30 plus years that Diane and I have been together a multitude of cats, the 3 dogs, and even a few birds have come and gone. Every one of them with a unique and distinct personality, but Tomas was the most unique of all. He showed up in front of our house 5 years ago, full grown, talking this little cat talk, tail held high and happy as a cat can be. Basically he just moved in and said I love everyone, he would run out to greet anyone that was walking by. When we would come home, walking up the driveway he would run in front of us then drop and roll so that you would almost trip on him. He slept every night on the bed snuggled up as tight to Diane as he could, then in the morning would just lay there all stretched out while the other cats got all excited about breakfast. I guess all I can say is that he was the happiest cat I have ever know and it’s a huge loss that his life was cut short by someone driving too fast and not caring about all the living things around them.

To view the column in it's original form go to page 11 of the following link. Winters Express 9/8/11

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