FollowSocial Media is where it’s at. What a world. Connectivity. Ideas. Spirit. A few hours ago I sat empty, thinking, at the dock of my mind overlooking the Shark River jetty, near the beach of my youth, Belmar. So what the hell can I blog about? Then a message arrived for my eyes only from a new Facebook friend with a link to a powerful video about banking and oil. I took notes; felt I was back in Political Science 101. Rutgers Newark. Summer of 1965. Johnson announced Head Start and signed the Voting Rights Act (he wasn’t just about sending our young men to Vietnam). Ali knocked Liston out in first round (I missed it. Late for a change) Viet Cong offensive at US base in Da Nang. Four Tops. “I Can’t Help Myself.” Regrets are many. Never went to Newport Folk Festival in 1965(Dylan used electric for first time) or The March on Washington two years earlier. Regrets linger a long time just like the oil in the gulf and soon our Atlantic. I’m on a roll now.
No eating red meat in the title of the blog. I escaped the summer of 1965 and all the summers of the war. Mostly I was in school getting two degrees at Rutgers and interning as a Pharmacist. Then came a marriage, Watergate (a few years ago I got a chance to actually hug (at Columbia University) Ben Bradlee, editor of the Washington Post. He gave OK to Woodward and Bernstein to pursue) and my divorce. Being suddenly single in a world of change and evolution was hard. A new brother-in-law, perhaps trying to endear, gave me a phone number of a girl. Six months into 1975, I still never called out of fear of the unknown. Political pressure and keeping the family together. Finally I called, reluctantly. Also read about new theories on dating, plastered on magazine covers and on how-to books in store windows artfully displaying the epidemic of divorce. A common theme in those self-help books was finding commonality.
The date. Friday night. A significant positive; the girl lives in an estate. I had to walk 1/4 mile from the street to the door bell. A prayer for divine intervention. The door opens. A blond, blue-eyed six-foot tall girl invites me to enter a cavernous hallway. Mesmerized. My being 6′ 5 1/2 ” she was divine.
“What are our plans for tonight?” My deep breath. “I thought we’d go into New York City (we’re in Short Hills) for a movie and dinner.” A radiant smile appeared. “A movie is good. But I can only eat at two restaurants!” Confused, I ask, “Why?” She responds, “I’m a vegan. Only two places that are pure vegan.” Two seconds elapse. “I can’t believe that. I’m a vegan too!” Her face lit up; the power of commonality. “How long have you been a vegan?” I answered honestly, “Not long.” I had become a vegan. She was a two date girl. I stayed with the vegan status. Something clicked. I liked telling people I don’t eat meat. I changed a bit over the years to just no red meat. The reason why I stayed; health (perhaps). But I’ve invested all these years into honestly telling people I don’t eat red meat; too much of an investment to change now. I almost feel like Scrooge (Alastair Sim) telling the ghost of Christmas yet to come, “I’m too old to change.”
Speaking of investments. The gulf oil disaster, apocalypse. What a crazy world we live in. Big banks and money rule. Western civilization; remote control everything, plastic throw-away coffee stirrers and corn chips geometrically designed to get to the bottom of the dip jar. Last night, sinking deeper into a real depression over the gulf, I realized we’ve killed that body of water and changed permanently the way of life for millions. Then the movie “Planet of the Apes” popped up. The last scene, Charlton Heston pounding the sandy clean beach with fist; the revelation, blood curdling, “We’ve finally really did it. You maniacs.”
So here’s what I learned in school today. Oil is beneath the skin. There’s gold in our vaults (‘I Remember Mama’ and ‘Goldfinger’). We do fractional reserve banking. Issue a lot of paper. No one (I never did) ever asks for the gold. Keep a fraction of deposits in reserve. Lend rest out with interest. $100 turns into $10,000. Oil is transacted in dollars. I know this is a bit simplistic and over my head. But what if Iraq, Iran and North Korea want to switch from dollars to euros for trading oil? Did an old CIA director concoct WMD and give reason to go into Iraq before they convert to euros? Now we have military bases near all the oil fields in Iraq. The United States is completely dependent on trading oil in US $ in order to keep Fractional Reserve Currency afloat (since the 1980’s.) VP Cheney (Halliburton Cheney) deregulates oil industry so BP doesn’t have to spend extra money on some acoustic switch which could’ve prevented the apocalypse in the gulf. You know what Ollie and Stannie (from ‘March of the Wooden Soldiers’) I don’t give a damn what the hell you do with banking, switches, WMD and off shore rigs. Just make sure 1000% and don’t ever kill our oceans, gulf, Pelicans, tortoises, shrimps, oysters and livelihood and way of life for so many of my fellow Americans and Earth residents. How tempted I’ve been to use the “F” word.
For what it’s worth on my novel website, http://vichywater.net I’m doing a dramatic sale of my novel giving 40% of the book profits to Oceana(involved in Ocean conservation) It’s just time to step up to the plate.