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July 26, 2011

Bermuda Cruise Vacation. I Still Hate Sodium (Salt). Future Think (Living to 150 Always on My Mind) Amy Winehouse (27). July 26, 2011

Filed under: November 2009 — Tags: , , , , — earthood @ 3:17 pm
Bermuda

The Celebrity 'Summit'

I love July. On the fifteenth, I saw Paul McCartney live at Yankee Stadium. On the seventeenth, I left on a cruise for Bermuda. Here I am back from cruising in what I’d like to call the Bermuda Oblong (not a fan of the other geometry, ‘triangle’). And somewhere, well into the Atlantic Ocean, which wasn’t overly pacific (calm), I realized my ship was headed towards that geometric triangle nemesis and I thought about tricking fate and all that jazz, so I coined the term, ‘Bermuda Oblong’ which had the instant effect of making me feel better (safer). Anatomy at Rutgers taught me about the medulla oblongata and under naked, smog less skies, I thought about my cerebral correlation between Bermuda and the medulla oblongata which contains cardiac, respiratory, and vomiting centers and deals with involuntary functions such as breathing, heart rate and blood pressure. Watch how I develop this. (How the mind works at sea)

Bermuda

(Christopher Columbus. I thought about him on the eleventh deck)

I can’t tell you how many times walking to a deserted part of the ship, I thought about Christopher Columbus and the ‘Pinto’ and the rest of his fleet and all they endured on the voyage to the land that would one day be in a debt crisis. Columbus’s ships were like a dingy for the ocean liner I was on. And the 1000 feet of cruise ship wasn’t enough for me. I wanted endless ship as we neared the triangle (oblong). That first night, by myself, I thought I saw a white whale (the real ‘Moby Dick’) I love Gregory Peck; one of my favorite actors.

Bermuda

Gregory Peck. 'Captain Ahab'

Why did Gregory take the Captain Ahab role? Why did Robert Shaw take the Sam Quint role in ‘Jaws?’ It made sense as the ship rocked. Both were great roles with undefeatable adversaries and brilliant writers and directors. I love Gregory Peck’s acting so much I almost wanted him to beat the white whale even though I’m a whale watcher and lover. Love chemistry and meclizine chewable tablets/chew just one per day. I was ‘Superman;’ fearless and impervious to sea sickness since I pre-medicated. Ah, but the medulla oblongata controls vomiting. Everything was coming together; clear as the starry, starry night. So if I got sick, the Bermuda triangle (oblong) would be at fault. And the oblongata also controls blood pressure which is influenced by another nemesis of mine; salt, sodium, sneaky additions to food processing to make it taste good and seduce you. Why was salt on my mind; because if anything happened, I’d be afloat in a life boat, in a life jacket surrounded by a sea of salt.

Bermuda

Only about 6% of our daily sodium comes from salt added at the table. Another 5% comes from salt added during cooking. Most of the rest — up to an estimated 77% — comes from processed or restaurant foods. You can help counter the negative effects of a high-salt diet with physical activity. Studies show that the more physically active you are, the less your blood pressure rises in response to a high-salt diet. A little bit later, I’ll talk about physical activity on the ship. Too much salt can have detrimental effects on the heart, kidneys, and blood vessels. Limit sodium intake to 1500mg/day. American men consume between 3,100 mg and 4,700 mg of sodium per day; women consume between 2,300 mg and 3,100 mg. (duh, men eat more.) Salt and other forms of sodium are used to bind and stabilize ingredients and as preservatives, flavor enhancers, and color enhancers.

BermudaDamn, salt is all around us, like the movie ‘The Blob’ with a young Steve McQueen. And if we had to adjust to a low salt diet, it could take 8 to 12 weeks to do so. Its quicker/easier coming off other things like ten martinis a day; shaken not stirred. And I wondered about sea salt. It’s the same damn sodium content; so the fast food, sweet little girl, ‘Wendy’ who’s been hawking sea salt in her French fries; its still poison for our bodies. Ah, the things you think about in the middle of a salty ocean in the middle of the night.

Back to ship stuff: I left the house last Sunday and 37 minutes later, Bayonne, N.J. ship terminal; no airport, no scanning or touching body in security checks and therefore no taking off sneakers (I bought clean white socks anyway), no river bridges or tunnels; just a peaceful NJ Turnpike without many cars on a Sunday morning heading north or to Bayonne, originally inhabited by Native-Americans. Before going to staterooms, guests were directed to the lunch buffet on deck ten; endless food; wondrously portentous of things to come. After lunch buffet, we saw the women’s soccer finals in the ship theatre; a hundred people yelling “USA. USA.”

Bermuda Buffet means the wedding scene in ‘Goodbye Columbus’ to me; the power of movies (media). Ever since, I’ve been a recluse at a buffet, opting to wait until everyone’s plate is full and then trying the invisibility gig with my plate only partially placated. ‘Goodbye Columbus’ was written by Phillip Roth, who went to my Newark high school, a decade apart. As legend tells, perhaps some of that story may’ve happened to Phillip in real life; and a similar story, ‘Goodbye Niagara Falls’, happened to me (mentioned in last week’s blog.) I love the personal spice of embitter; seems to make for poignant writing later in life.

First day at sea (two day voyage to Bermuda and three days in port) I hit the crowded gymnasium which had four exercise bikes for the 2000 sailing guests. I had to wait 40 minutes to bike and read about the futuristic next hundred years. I love what I read during my first 20 minutes on the bike. The birthday card with a computer chip that sings to you has more computer power than all the Allied forces in 1945. And then we throw the card away. I had to jump off the bike and let it recycle to zero; because it was crowded, we were only allowed twenty minutes. I need ninety minutes. Yes, I’m an exercise cheat and me being 6′ 6,” I’m hugely obvious. Maybe that’s why I was left alone. Eventually, we’ll have access to the internet in our glasses or contact lenses. A few blogs ago I told about an online eyeglass company that sells a complete frame and lens for $6.95!  And one day we’ll have a driverless car and advanced GPS will do most of the work. We travelled with good friends. My friend Kenneth is a ‘Bondologist’; means he knows James Bond trivia so the contest he (we) won sitting at the Martini Bar, drinking club soda, got us to the bridge of the ship to meet the Captain amidst more security than an airport. The GPS the ship uses is accurate to 45 feet in the middle of a vast ocean. Oh, they filled up a million gallons of fuel before leaving port.

Back to the future while biking: Mind reading is coming. Today we have fMRI (functional magnetic resonance imaging). fMRI can locate the presence of oxygen contained within hemoglobin in the blood and can even detect the motion of thoughts in the living brain to minute resolutions. I can just imagine our lawmakers down in Washington who can’t even peaceably solve the debt issue (I don’t like the word-‘crisis’), trying to come up with laws dealing with mind reading. Ah, if you could read my mind now. An interesting spiritual thought. If we’ll be able to read thoughts, what about………?  Enough future.

Our dinners on the Celebrity ‘Summit’ ship were at 8:30 and we sat next to the Captain’s table which means our sometimes ‘loosey goosey’ Jersey shore manners were left in the stateroom with round view of the white capped ocean, partially obscured by condensation droplets on the window. I remember the movie ‘Diner’ where a minor largesse character fascinates the gang of young boys by ordering everything on one side of the menu. Yours truly did that each night to the ‘Appetizers.’ Why not, I was on vacation. A whole menu of appetizers yielded a ‘big salad’ from ‘Seinfeld.’

I hit the gym every day and sarcastically noted it was easier, with no waiting, to get on the exercise bike non-stop each day. I wondered why. Curiously, on the last day in port, having done all the touring days before, I embarked on a three hour work out and more future read. At the witching second hour, the massive gym was down to three guests; me and a pair of Pennsylvania psychologists. We huddled, whispered, “telomeres” and “you know why we’re only here” and then they left, leaving me to solitary thoughts and i-pod music from the sixties.

Blog confession time: By the fifth day of excessive eating, three daily meals, 5 PM Sushi, and un-frozen pizza at midnight, something strange was happening. I’m an old movie romantic and suddenly at breakfast that morning, I couldn’t look at food anymore and grabbed a banana, scratched under my arms, and spinned wildly around mentally; all because I had just thought about the movie ‘A Clockwork Orange’ and could I be experiencing what Alex (Malcolm McDowell) did; a form of aversion therapy. I dig the author, Anthony Burgess and wonder how and why the etiology of the story. Was he misdiagnosed with six months to live and what we read/see is the product of staying awake for those last months of only writing? I don’t know.

Bermuda I rubbed my eyes; were they being held open by images of chocolate croissants and egg-white omelets (funny how all good breakfast treats are French). I wanted no more food indulgences. Thank goodness for exercise and ocean air. I was cured back to voluminous food mastication by dinner; the left side of the menu belonged to me.   Subliminal: Somalia

On most days after working out, I used the indoor pool for thalassotherapy, an unproven medical use of saltwater for therapy. The pool was hot and salty with powerful soothing whirlpool jets; close your eyes, look to the heavens through glass, hear echoes of distant mythological voices and confirm a vacating effect. Damn, there was no one around to feed me grapes from the buffet.

Now to Bermuda: On day one, with three day unlimited bus/ferry pass, we went to Horseshoe Bay Beach because. With three cruise ships around, by high noon I was back at the Jersey shore, without my jetty, sitting under an umbrella, stuck in a rented chair that wouldn’t let go and sounds of silence deleted by the thousands of beach tourists. Give me liberty or give me a deserted beach next time.

Bermuda

(bermuda coastline and pastel homes)

 

Bermuda

downtown Hamilton, Bermuda

Clouds formed and precipitated a gold rush to the buses, ill prepared. But Bermuda was magical. I sat by the bus window, my face pressed close to glass, my nose taking in large amounts of un-regulated emissions, looking out at sheer simple perfection and idyllic beauty. I love the quaintness and how every blade of grass, leaf and flower were accounted for. Pastel (even deep purple) homes were impeccably kept. No wonder why Michael Bloomberg, Michael Douglas and Ross Perot have homes here. I thought about the song ‘Everywhere’ by Fleetwood Mac. I love Bermuda; sheer earth-bound perfection. No moped in my Bermuda sojourn; if I broke my jaw playing tennis in Baltimore, can you imagine what I’d do on a moped

.

Bermuda

( a painting in a St. George's art store which moved me)

 

Bermuda

lady gertting dunked in St George's. I offered her a glass of water. No further comment.

On day two, we ferried to St. George’s, as quaint as Webster could define. I walked into St. Peter’s church where they have been worshipping since 1612.  I spent a few quiet moments just as if I were at my jetty. At high noon we saw a dunking of a woman for being a ‘nag’ and strolled into an art store where I took a picture of a painting which still moves me. I wanted to know what was in the room behind the propped window.

From there: ‘Crystal Cave’ by bus, past a banyan tree and then deep into mother earth. Finally, a bus to Hamilton, Bermuda; a big little shopping quaint city; then a ferry back to the dock at the bay, all the while thinking how often I’d like to come back to this magical island. Two days later we were back driving through Bayonne, on the way home from near nirvana, satiated, rested and in need of massive amounts of catching up on news. Bermuda farewell until.

Bermuda

Inside Crystal Cave

Bermuda
Inside St. Peter’s Church. from 1612

Norway news was on CNN on the ship’s television and glued myself instead of a late afternoon nap. Then Amy Winehouse. So I was saddened coming off the ship. At home, first function was You Tube and listening to her sing, “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow.” Why everything? It’s almost a “Blowing in the Wind” question. Why so many gone at 27? Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Curt Cobain and now Amy Winehouse.

Amy Winehouse video:

watch?v=NDXgKIpJyIk&feature=share

Somewhere in the confluences of self-introspection, I can’t help but ask, “Where was I?” I can’t explain, but it’s always there; some kind of guilt. I don’t know. Is there a wormhole waiting for me, where I might make a difference? A parallel world? A place Maria (Natalie Wood) sang about at the end of ‘West Side Story.’  I think without knowing what it means. Now it’s exercise bike time. Note, I didn’t say ‘exorcise.’ An hour after coming home to a cool house (and it’s been over 100 degrees for 24 straight days in Texas. Poor cousin Stuart. And they say no global warming.), I ran to the front door, put on an old pair of shoes and ceremoniously clicked heels together, almost yelling, “There’s no place like home.” And there isn’t. My wife yelled from upstairs, “What did you say?” I was too tired so I said, “Never mind.”

Bermuda

(I got up at 6 am to catch the passing under the Verrazano bridge)

 

CONTACT INFORMATION:

website: http://vichywater.net

Facebook: Cal Schwartz

Twitter: Earthood

E-mail: earthood@gmail.com

 

 

Vichy Water Book Trailer:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qj2ko9gcC_M

LINKS:

link to magical Jersey shore.   Also check out the ‘Jersey Shore Icon Contest.

http://www.visitthejerseyshore.com/

July 16, 2011

Paul McCartney. Curt Flood. Television: My ‘Curb’ of Un-enthusiasm and My First and only ‘Dear John’ Letter. Living to 150 years and beyond. July 17, 2011

Filed under: November 2009 — Tags: , , , — earthood @ 9:38 pm

A bumpy anticipated night; cerebral road forks and subways of my mind; maybe this blog will make sense. I said last night at Grand Central Station, “I love the smell of New York subways, deep in the underbelly of the city; a musty aroma after a warm mid summer night’s dream.”

Curt Flood

pix of midtown mime on way to McCartney concert at Yankee Stadium

Curt Flood

pix of son and me. asking ourselves, are we really going to see McCartney. Answer is YES

If they made cologne encapsulating that smell, I’d buy. Kramer on Seinfeld wanted to bottle the smell of ‘beach;’ same idea. The headlights of an approaching train and I thought Harry Potter was about to scoot me away. J.K. Rowling wrote early ‘Harry Potter’ on the back of fast food napkins, so the legend grows. Yesterday was a mid summer night’s dream; went with wife, son and special sister-in-law to see Paul McCartney at Yankee Stadium.

Curt Flood

How can I express the feeling of being there, filling all my senses, (yes even ‘Up in Smoke’ olfactory) marveling at this nearly 70 year old wondrous icon singing for nearly three hours without even a plastic bottle of water to the lips. ‘All My Loving’ of the man, his music, my youthful complacency never having seen the Beatles or Paul live or having gone to Woodstock. I languished in my discontented youth without purposeful direction. Why do I love my youthful complacency; because it taught me all the right moves for living now.

Curt Flood

setting up concert stage

Curt Flood

McCarney on stage. First song.

Paul’s music was a cyclonic explosion of a myriad of memories. Day tripping all over planet Tralfamadore; I was at a college frat party with a first girlfriend (a senior in high school), holding her hand, or ‘She Loves You’ while I was in the dorm preparing a cheat sheet for Botany or wondering about becoming a ‘Paperback Writer.’ I really did become a writer. Yankee Stadium rocked full. ‘Give Peace a Chance’ cerebrally echoed heading back to the subway; a fight broke-out nearby, while exiting because a guy accidentally bumped another guy’s wife.  Ten thousand in that stadium hallway; somebody was getting bumped. I yelled-out the song’s name but it didn’t curb hostility and there wasn’t enough room to shrug my shoulders.

Curt Flood

concert pyrotechnics.

Two nights ago I watched an HBO documentary on the life of baseball great Curt Flood. I should mention to you all that a long time ago in a galaxy far away, I watched my share of network television until CBS messed around with the show ‘Dallas.’ Being hooked on the show, wanting to be just like JR, I even bought a cowboy hat and strolled sidewalks of Jersey, proudly and ducking under most doorways because of my prohibitive 6′ 6″ height without the hat.

Curt Flood

jr ewing in my hat

The next ‘Dallas’ season had a strange story line followed by the following season telling viewers, that the previous year was just a dream. I’d call that a mind-rape, abuse and a waste of time. For me that was the dramatic, happy ending of all network television forever. No corporate executive sitting on a soft sofa is going to waste my time ever again on insipid programming. So I took to a life of news, biography, science, talk, college sports and documentaries and of course old movies.

Curt Flood

Curt Flood

Back to Curt Flood; once again I clench my fists of frustration that growing up, I did not pay enough attention to him and what he was valiantly fighting for. On January 16, 1970, Curt Flood shocked America and baseball by filing suit against Major League Baseball and its reserve clause. Baseball had faced legal challenges in the past, but never had a player of Flood’s caliber/class attempt to attack the game’s sacred reserve clause which effectively bound a player with contract to a team for life. The St. Louis Cardinals outfielder had three All-Star appearances, seven Gold Gloves, and a pair of World Series championships while he earned $100,000 a year, yet accused baseball of violating the 13th amendment, barring slavery and involuntary servitude. Most of the public and media initially reacted to Flood’s action in utter disbelief, branding the outfielder an ingrate, a destroyer, even a blasphemer. He gave his life and the rest of a high paid career to his principles. Only near the end of that precious life, did he get standing ovations by peers for his courage and what he accomplished(game changed and free agency) which he so needed; sometimes he cried at ovations. So I add Curt Flood to an ever growing list from my youth, of people I should’ve known. A lesson for millenials (mid-youth): Don’t let life pass you by. But it usually does. Sure, too bad youth is wasted on the young.

Back to television; I forgot, sometimes there are miscellaneous shows I’ll watch but mostly cable because bad words can be used. Bad words are life blood in the sharpened race, tinged with playground reality and fireside chat with speakers on. So I watch ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm’ occasionally. Of course no show is going to own me anymore.

Curt Flood On the recent season premier of ‘Curb’ there was a segment when a young girl gets her period for the first time in Larry David’s foyer. He ran upstairs for his soon to be ex-wife’s box of tampons and tries to instruct the girl through the closed door how to use it. He didn’t do well because what guy really knows. Why do I bring this up?  Borrowing a Phillip Roth, ‘Goodbye Columbus’ story line; back in college in 1968, I had a rich doctor’s daughter girlfriend. Her parents liked me and lavished trappings of the good life on the poor son of an old fashioned shoe-salesman. Girlfriend and her mother were obsessively close. When her family took a month long cruise to the Greek Islands, they left Calvin with the family Lincoln Continental to use; it promptly died a mile from the ship terminal; a harbinger of things yet to be perhaps. When the family returned, doctor and wife sat me down, since I pinned their daughter by a romantic lake at the Jersey shore, and informed me that they will only let their daughter marry a doctor. I was two years away from being a pharmacist and was not changing careers. Seems like a forerunner of the Kyoto Protocol (curbing greenhouse gases); nobody budged.  But I was smart enough to realize long term relationships do need a modicum of sexual compatibility and since we were both virgins, we’d have to address the issue.

By the fall, she was practice teaching near Niagara Falls and we planned the most clandestine secret assignation. I’d come to visit, no parents would ever know, we’d consummate in a cheap motel.  I’d become a man and decide whether med school was in the wicked witch of the north’s crystal ball. Twenty minutes before leaving, her mother called and asked me to bring some sweaters; it was getting cool up there. I was devastated and still am; trust was all gone; my own bed and breakfast room waited that her mother booked for me. Alas, we got a motel room and we were just about ready for the deed, when she went to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, a sheepish voice came through the door, “I got my period. Do you know how to use tampons?” I still don’t. Another ten minutes, she emerged wearing no less than seven pair of underpants. On the long lonely winding drive back to Jersey, I heard ‘The Beatles’ sing “Hey Jude” for the first time and heard Paul sing it last night and goose-bumped.

“Hey Jude, don’t make it bad
take a sad song and make it better
Remember to let her into your heart
Then you can start to make it better

Hey Jude, don’t be afraid
You were made to go out and get her
The minute you let her under your skin
Then you begin to make it better”

I knew what had to be done. I didn’t agree with all the lyrics but the melody killed. Truth told, I never forgot; maybe if I had the impetus, I’d lie down and talk to someone to see if I was scarred. Here’s what I wrote her:

8-25-68

“It seems I could only look back-look back on past yet recent memories. How ecstatic and carefree I feel now. It’s strange but now I see little children laughing and dancing gaily around and around a MAYpole-but so slowly they danced as if in slow motion. The sun was so very bright that I had to squint. Oh, but they are gone now.

Then I saw a great vast body of water-an ocean with its towering waves thrashing the sandy desolate beaches. The water was such a clear dark blue-its perfect union with the sky at the distant horizon was only upset when little ships sailed on by.  But suddenly the sun vanished behind a great surge of dark gray ominous clouds; a storm came but then it passed.

Finally I saw a little girl with bright green eyes. She was running, dancing, and singing. She was so happy. Far away from the little girl, I also saw a little boy with searching brown eyes. He was running, jumping and climbing and he was so happy too. Then the two children were ushered home where they ate a nourishing and carefully planned meal. They had such a good time again after being dismissed from lunch. Later they prepared for sleep and dreamt of promising and pleasant things.

The children are running now and TIME is running so fast as if to overtake them. One day they bumped into one another while they were still running. The boy picked the girl up, looked deeply and apprehensively then affectionately into the pools of her green eyes and held her hand tightly for only a brief moment. She ran off again and so did he. This time they were running away from one another, on a straight, rigid, freshly paved road. Their backs were turned and they didn’t see each other crying. As long as the road remains straight, they won’t hurt each other again for they can’t bump into one another.

Maybe they will stop crying. Maybe they will get tired of running.

Oh, but it is so foggy now. It might snow or did they buy pop-corn or a box of candy. They will both be late for lunch; that would be terrible.”

Cal

I never saw or heard from her again after my Dear John letter. ‘Hey Jude’ helped change me. Life is full circle. Last night more ‘Hey Jude’. A few months ago, Facebook helped me find her. So I saw her again that night and then I went into the kitchen, hugged my wife and thanked her for being part of my synchronistic life.

As you know reading my blogs, I’ve been concerned with living to 150 years old; kind of a quest, Jason and the Argonauts and tinged with enough reality and caring that I am now joining an organization that is advocacy and research for unlimited life, which is becoming more plausible with every Moore’s Law year, as human knowledge doubles. For a recent newborn I told the parents, their child will more than likely live to 150 but with quality and extended time on tennis courts.

Curt Flood

Part of the tools to help us all get there is spreading the word that this is a realistic goal. “Knowledge is Good.” From, ‘Animal House.’  Lions and Tigers. Oh my.

Here’s a link to the website; start exploring, expanding, digesting and growing younger and going to rock concerts and lengthening your telomeres. There is something in the hills.

http://www.imminst.org/

An easy way to sign off on today’s “Beatles” oriented blog; share a few words from ‘Imagine.’

“Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can

No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world”

John LennonCurt Flood

Imagine ‘them’ just quietly solving the debt ceiling and doing the right thing for the economy and good and welfare of all upright standing beings.

CONTAC T INFORMATION

website: http://vichywater.net

Facebook: Cal Schwartz

Twitter: Earthood

Curt Flood Email: earthood@gmail.com

LINKS:

link to magical Jersey shore.   Also check out the ‘Jersey Shore Icon Contest.

http://www.visitthejerseyshore.com/

and for special deals on Jersey shore rentals: (it’s never too late)

http://shorevacations.wordpress.com/

Vichy Water Book Trailer:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qj2ko9gcC_M

July 12, 2011

Fat is Cannabis Addictive? Synchronistic Headache. More Asbury Park and Jersey Shore Jetty (habit or hobbit?) Bashful. Sedona. Playing Chicken with a Newark Bus. July 12, 2011

Filed under: November 2009 — Tags: , , , , — earthood @ 1:42 pm

At 3:08 AM, Monday I finished watching ESPN’s replay coverage of USA Women’s Soccer(World Cup) vs Brazil.  I knew the outcome but a high school buddy told me at a Sunday night oldies concert and fireworks display, that it was a must see.  This great band, ‘Bronx Wanderers’ was doing a ‘Jersey Boys’ medley; we got up to dance with no shame, perhaps because we were among the youngest of the lawn chair seated audience. When we gyrated close to each other, he yelled into my congested ear, that I should see the soccer match replay.

you tube game tying goal. a must see

Asbury Park

Abby Wambach after scoring game tying goal

When Abby Wambach headed that shot in, it was the same rush of excited disbelief as when Boston’s Bill Buckner let the ball roll through his legs during Game 6 of the 1986 World Series or when Al Michaels, with eleven seconds left in the 1980 Olympic Hockey game,  USA vs Russia, proclaimed, “Do you believe in miracles?” Good stuff on a strange weekend. Saturday morning, I drifted out of body. If I explained in any depth now, I’d worry about losing readership. Maybe it’s like Sam Harris’s analogy about the hair dryer. Someone talks/prays to God through a hair dryer as if a microphone; it’s enough for a one-way trip to a ward at Bellevue. The same person prays out loud without the hairdryer and all is perfect mainstream acceptable.

Saturday night my wife and I were back in Asbury Park for dinner, a board walk, music, and a diet ice cream kiosk in Long Branch. Strange ice cream. Not many calories. You keep eating endlessly; it’s cold, sort of sweet but your tongue taste buds are not satisfied. Something is missing. I knew there was a paucity of fat; the stuff  tastes good and is actually addicting. Really is.

Asbury Park

addictive fat french fries

Fats in foods like potato chips and French fries make them nearly irresistible because they trigger natural marijuana-like chemicals in the body called, endocannabinoids, researchers at the University of California, Irvine have found. So dig this (my son probably thinks I sound like a dreaded hipster now). The researchers discovered that when rats tasted something fatty, cells in their upper gut started producing endocannabinoids, while sugars and proteins did not have this effect. McDonalds (Big Mac people) must’ve known about this compound for a long time. The adventure starts on the tongue, where fats in food generate a signal that travels to your brain first and then to your intestines. There, the signal stimulates the production of endocannabinoids, which initiates a surge in cellular signaling that prompts you to totally pig out — probably by initiating the release of digestive chemicals linked to hunger and not being full that compel us to eat more. And that leads to obesity, diabetes and cancer. Last weeks blog, I mentioned that 347 million people world-wide have diabetes now and more on the way. Funny thing; I don’t care anymore about legalizing marijuana. It’s not personal Sonny. Actually it is.

Asbury Park

saturday night asbury park boardwalk

Back to a strange weekend: I finished a 1/2 cup of chocolate pudding flavored soft ice cream and was not satiated, so I threw the rest away. I want fat in my ice cream. Then (11 PM) something possessed me to drive around the block to an old account’s optical store in a small strip mall. For 25 years, I sold them eye glasses. The store was gone, replaced by a shiny white tiled, neon bright pizza place. Sure, it’s been three years since I saw them, but I was devastated; where and why have they gone. Later that night, Google told me they moved and I was relieved. Nobody likes change.

Asbury Park Back in the days of the wild-west and Grafton’s Merchantile Sundries and Saloon (a hangout in the movie ‘Shane;’ a western but one of the best movies ever and I can’t get my son to watch it. ‘Animal House,’ sure, 100 times) I once took a four day course in how to deal with ‘change.’ The following morning, my wife and I were back in our refurbished Conestoga wagon, on our way to a beach at the Jersey shore, up the road a spell from Asbury Park. After the wood bench, that I directed our team of horses from, gave me a splinter through my chaps, we hitched up and made it to the beach, depositing a $14.00 beach fee with a cigar-smoking rugged sheriff type character. Two hours of Ipod music later, I was on my jetty for a meditative session.

Asbury Park

my mindful jetty sunday. no clouds on the horizon either.

It was a perfect ten day; blue sky, vitamin D absorption, heat, and gentle ocean. (I decided not to wear a bathing suit). I walked along the ocean, dodging cockles, empty mussel shells (some muscles too) and balls (beach). The walk took me south past places of beach privatization; just before that, the world went dark then nova bright. Thousands of people were huddled underneath umbrellas and sprawled on blankets and light weight chairs when suddenly, I saw the couple whose store I looked for the night before, strolling on the beach. My life is haunted with strange synchronicity; we hugged and reminisced. I recanted the night before. I had a new Facebook friend and more importantly, a curious buzzing headache which lasted all day.

Asbury Park

idyllic beach unbrella scene

My mind was firing which is what I’m going to do in this blog; to give substance why I feel like I’m seeing and writing through a hair dryer. Please don’t tell on me. I hate second floor rooms with faded wall paper. Now I dislike Rupert Murdoch just as much. Can any of us imagine what he had his British tabloid do to violate human privacy and decency; for one, to hack the phone of a dead thirteen year old girl. This scandal will grow like a metastasis.  I’m not surprised. Some companies do kill; their products and policies kill. Actuaries advise how to keep killing to make money like delaying a recall of dangerous products(cars, RX drugs). Humans are the cheapest renewable resource.

When was the last time someone called me bashful? Maybe it was Aunt Lillian. She was always comparing me to her son; arch rivals in a changing world and he looked like a young Lex Luthor. A small plane is flying overhead, pulling a banner, advertising ‘Reidel,’ a wine glass company. Is there such a demand? A man with a biceps tattoo, a few feet away on a blanket, lit a cigarette and gave one to his underage daughter (with a tattoo on her stomach). Cardiac cockles warmed to see true American family togetherness. I saw a commercial where just one lung cell, damaged from smoking, can start the cancer ball rolling. A phone call came from a Russian nurse (who looked like a blonde tennis player), watching my Uncle Joe (nearly four years ago). He had just passed and I needed to get there and sign papers. I knew Joe for sixty years and the image I’m stuck with was his diapered fetal position and cool skin to a parting touch.

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The Da Nang River. and I do hear "A Whiter Shade of Pale"

Asbury Park 

I know where mental firing comes from. A funny silly comedy movie with surprising nudity was ‘Blame It On Rio,’ starring favorites Joe Bologna and Michael Caine. I blame my hair dryer mind on ‘Sedona, Arizona,’ not Rio. Twelve times over the years, I’ve been in Sedona; my first time, around seventeen years ago, with the family, driving up from Scottsdale, on a break from a national sales meeting. After two hours of driving, red mountains jumped out of nowhere and the world went breath silent. A red pile of dirt on the road side just past the Sedona 4500 feet elevation sign caused my rented white Cadillac to stop. In that pile of dirt, I rubbed red soil all over my tan arms. If there was magic in them hills, I wanted some. I got what I wanted (for life); permanent affectation. The best thing about being twelve and working for Meyer Kravitz, the grocer, was washing out the empty cole slaw tray. Small fingers picked out soggy cabbage remnants from opaque rivulets of watery mayonnaise and sugary vinegar. A loud EPA helicopter passed overhead. The earth moved. I saw the Da Nang River and heard ‘Whiter Shade of Pale;’ the power in those blades and in thinking under an umbrella. I don’t like sun on my body.

 

Walking up Columbus Avenue in Manhattan, past a Paris like side-walk cafe, I thought I saw Ann Coulter and Rachel Maddow having dinner together, wearing sunglasses but I still knew them. A side effect to Sedona intoxication is déjà-vu and hair dryer moments, perhaps too frequent. Wallpaper and flowers do sooth a soul. A man with a heavy southern accent phoned, offering to impregnate a young stabled girl for a fee. One day I woke up and knew I’d spend a Christmas Eve in Montana but in a snow storm. An hour went by and I stood motionless near the summit of a red vortex mountain off of Sedona’s Airport Road.

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on a sedona mountain vortex. the sun was on my face.

Later my son and I took a Pink Jeep tour and when we got back to our car and did ignition, the clock read 4:44. I can’t forget that. Stephen Hawking said recently there is no spirit or God. And this morning, I read that preliminary research indicates that 8-10 glasses of water a day could significantly ease your back and joint pain for up to 80% of sufferers. I’m going to finish my novel one day disputing, refuting Mr. Hawking; maybe before that, physically levitating myself. A large obese teen, a few blankets over, un-wrapped a sub sandwich; long and soggy, it almost gave way from the middle. He caught it in time, spoiling my amusement. Minutes later, it all disappeared into a distended intestine. One Sedona trip, I drove passed Oak Creek Canyon and saw Native Americans on a mountain top, selling jewelry and silver artifacts. I stared at faces of endurance, warmth and compassion more than I did at what they sold. Native music of Incan Pan Pipes and Native American Flute has been part of me a long time.(Coyote Oldman’s ‘Tear of the Moon’) Why the attraction, I wonder. It’s a pulling and an inexplicable need to be there. A few months ago, my friend Ruth, a psychic, told me I was a Native American and I happily accepted.

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Asbury Park

Chief Seattle

video. you tube Tear of the Moon excerpt

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father and son. belmar. truman president. jetty in background

On my refrigerator is a picture of my father and me (I was four) on the beach just a few miles away from my multi-colored umbrella. He was hugging me. In a shadow of my mind, I called the picture, ‘The Last Hug;’ it was black and white, obviously, just like the movie ‘The Last Picture Show.’ When I need oblivion fix and to feel desolate abandon, like sagebrush blowing down the main street, I watch that movie. It took me a long time to visit Texas. Last summer I visited my Uncle Joe’s best friend, cousin Stuart in Dallas.

Asbury ParkWhat would I say to an old college girlfriend Ronnie, after nearly forty-two years, if I found her? Facebook helped me find her sister but she wasn’t her sister’s Facebook friend and she smoked a lot of ‘Newport’ cigarettes. A party fishing boat was chugging by just off shore. When I turned thirteen, my mother gave permission for me to spend the day with Uncle Herman (he wasn’t a real uncle) on a fishing boat. She warned me about sea sickness and my inexperienced legs (whatever that was). An hour into the sail, I realized how wise mother was. How can you throw-up for two straight hours? Can I be such a naive independent voter? President Clinton left office with a huge budget surplus. Eight Bush years later we were buried in debt. Politics is paradox, paradigm and parasailing off a Caribbean island when the tether breaks and you drift to Cuba. Would they believe me?

Einstein said the world was a dangerous place to live not because of people who are evil but because people don’t do anything about it. When I’m near this ocean in summer, I think about the March on Washington on August 28, 1963. Why didn’t I go? I was old enough (18).  Dr. Prinz from Newark gave a speech just before Dr. King and said the most tragic thing about mankind is silence.

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Pix to the right: Civil Rights Leaders before March on Washington  August 28, 1963 with President  Kennedy.

Summer of 1966, I was in Jersey City studying German on the second floor of a building off Journal Square rented by Rutgers; best college grades ever; straight A’s and I can’t remember what happened to that paisley shirt I wore all the time. My professor asked me if I wanted to study in Germany next semester. Politely, I declined. Another airplane was flying overhead pulling a banner. Bob Dylan is soon coming back to Asbury Park. Two years ago my son and I made it through the fifth song. Coca-Cola’s goal is for all bottles to be ‘PlantBottles’ by 2020. Bottles that I see now in the sand will still be here in six hundred years.

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Chapel of the Holy Cross, Sedona

A small parking lot was filled as I walked up to the Chapel of the Holy Cross in Sedona. Looking out at Cathedral Rock and Bell Rock through the window of my mind was wondrously ethereal. What a place to get married. Somewhere I heard that Senator Barry Goldwater helped get the chapel built. And I owe the Senator something. During his Presidential campaign, a bunch of us New Yorkers (implied easterners) didn’t let him get a quiet word in during his campaign speech in the Field House. Time Magazine said his Toledo appearance may’ve been the most disruptive of the campaign. Kids were worried if he got his hands on a bomb as Vietnam was becoming a war. A composite picture of some of those kids is right in front of me. The Republican administration of the college changed admitting policies the following year so no more New Yorkers. Warm diet peach tea quenched my dry mouth. Sun is setting. Tractors were beginning rounds to wipe out foot prints in the sand; time to pack up your sorrows. My head was still spinning with synchronistic thoughts and fragmentary ideas of birthing this blog. I think the most important thing I wanted to remember was the last time somebody said I was bashful. And I did. And I keep hoping that I captured and conveyed. Maybe somebody can piece things together. The name of the fishing boat I was on when I got sick was the ‘Marie S.’ My umbrella didn’t help; arms and face all red (a women’s lawyer?). What an expression; “I’d die of embarrassment.” Maybe I would, if Ronnie found this blog. I wonder what’s going to happen to the debt ceiling on August 2, 2011. Once I pedaled my bike towards a Newark bus, but chickened out a half block away.

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The Newark bus I almost played chicken with

 

CONTACT INFORMATION

website:  http://vichywater.net

Facebook: Cal Schwartz

Twitter: Earthood

Email: earthood@gmail.com

Vichy Water, a novel. Book Trailer link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qj2ko9gcC_M

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LINKS:

link to magical Jersey shore.   Also check out the ‘Jersey Shore Icon Contest.

http://www.visitthejerseyshore.com/

and for special deals on Jersey shore rentals: (it’s never too late)

http://shorevacations.wordpress.com/

April 23, 2011

Be careful if you’re over 30. ‘Logan’s Run'(the movie) I still hate the NCAA. Earth Day 1970. Places you better visit soon. Alzheimer’s update. April 23, 2011

Filed under: November 2009 — Tags: , , , , — earthood @ 12:22 am

A picture of a geometric me, near an old swimming hole, maybe in Alabama, with strange smoke stacks just behind, (I’ve never been to Alabama. ‘Easy Rider’ kept me away) just surfaced like one of those post traumatic stress eye floaters, which I keep following now, as it slowly lifts and drops across my field of vision. Barefoot, wearing an old Brooklyn Dodgers baseball cap, a weed of grass hanging from mouth, my feet kick at the opaque water until I’m satisfied that fish and potentially poisonous water snakes have vacated my territorial claims; I jump in, flinging the Dodger cap to a stranger on the shore before immersion.

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the way I feel at the swimming hole

 

The water feels good. “You’re a skinny minny,” the shore stranger calls out. And I wonder who wrote the ‘Book of Love’ and why Major League Baseball just stepped in to take over the Los Angeles Dodgers. Thrashing around a swimming hole, I’m not particularly in the mood to ponder another Soviet take over of one of our professional teams or anti-trust ramifications or courts (mc and otherwise).

Not to perseverate, but since I’m all wet, I might as well tell my readers, that I still hate the NCAA; a monopolistic body of strange invisible men, that rule over college athletes as if the kids are on a ‘plantation.’ I didn’t say this. A respected commentator, JW, said this on a recent cable sports show. See how impressionistic I am swimming around? When freshmen college basketball players come to the NCAA, they sign a contract giving the NCAA the right to use their images on clothing, games, posters and anything the NCAA chooses “forever and throughout the universe” without ever compensating the players, no matter how old they get.  Even the cool waters of an Auburn, Alabama swimming hole, doesn’t lower my internal thermometer; I’m still hotly enraged that the NCAA let a college basketball game (Rutgers versus St John’s in a Big East Tournament game. See April 1st and March 11th blogs) be ostensibly fixed, favoring St Johns, by three complicit referees and a league commissioner.

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basketball referees and a commissioner

The media is in bed with the NCAA, their meal ticket, so me thinks that’s why no one protested the obvious ‘fix’ very much. The NCAA system is so corrupt that one day it’ll get fixed by Congress or by the athletes themselves, who might finally decide to sit down at mid-court during the NCAA tournament and not play anymore. The ‘system’ doesn’t care about our athletes beginning with their college education and for example, continuing after the NFL, when so many ex-football players become ‘Broken Pros.’ Take a few minutes out and watch HBO and Bryant Gumbel’s ‘Real Sports’ segment about ‘Broken Pros.’

the last minute of Rutgers-St Johns game. A must watch

Bryant Gumbel Real Sports “Broken Pros” video

What are metaphors for?  A swimming hole has me almost drowning in a pond of cerebral input. Thrashing the murky water, I call out, “Help me, I’m melting.” I don’t want to get old. It’s a bad place to be with the likes of Congressman Paul Ryan wanting to pasteurize my generation and future ones by throwing us out to pasture without entitlements like Medicare and Social Security. Now hear this. A battleship just landed in the pond. A sailor threw me a preserver, imprinted with “S.S. Rational Independent Thinker.” No Virginia, there might be a Santa Claus and at this later stage of life’s cycle, I still don’t profess any political party affiliation.

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Congressman Paul Ryan

So if I’m picking on Paul Ryan, it’s because I like Ike and Kennedy and preservation causes and don’t like to see human potential abandoned to save budget dollars. So here it is folks. Me thinks there’s a water world of only young people under thirty surviving in a Paul Ryan-esque world.

So the congressman wants to fix Medicare. Does he know that some polls say up to 72% of Americans do not want to fix Medicare and he may be damning his party to a rocky road ice cream cone in 2012?(and that other Wisconsin elected dude who took away bargaining power). And I don’t think Mr. Trump will be running for anything. Jerry Seinfeld probably agrees with me after pulling out of attending Trump’s son’s charity fund raiser in Florida. So Ryan wants to give seniors a $15,000 Medicare voucher and once that’s gone, duh? On a recent ‘Bill Maher Real Time,’ Bill asked Michael Steele, former head of the Republican Party, what would happen to a human senior when Ryan’s Medicare program voucher money runs out, to which Mr. Steele said, “We don’t know.” Ah, to be a senior citizen in a new world order.

NCAAIn past blogs, I’ve discussed movies which scare me, like “On the Beach” or “They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?” Michael Sarrazin, one of the amazing stars just passed. That movie is eerily close to this Medicare blog segment. Hint. Now, the movie ‘Logan’s Run’ from 1976 is another scary crystal ball. Imagine a world when you turn thirty (21 in the novel), a palm crystal lights up, and it’s time to report to ‘Sleepshop’ where you are willingly executed. No one over thirty is alive. Nine years ago, I went to a niece’s 21st birthday party in Greenwich Village at Bowlmor Lanes. First ball thrown, I knocked down two pins, and then decided to grab my son and brother-in-law and explore the Village on foot. Wishing upon the first star I saw high above the rows of pricey brownstones, why couldn’t it be 1962, with sounds of early Bob Dylan echoing from nearby clubs. Six blocks from the sounds of pins hitting bowling balls, I observed to my sixteen year old son, there is no one walking around the Village that’s over thirty. My hand was glowing and stomach ached because I was in the world of Logan’s Run; because I was way over thirty and still alive. I took six shots and I was still alive. And I’m still alive now contemplating ‘Ryan’s Run,’ my new story of shortened life in the alabaster future.

There are over five million Alzheimer’s patients now with up to 20 million expected in several decades. Hey Ryan, that’s a lot of resources, funding and cut budget dollars to get ready for. Recently, they’ve simplified new guidelines that establish three distinct stages of Alzheimer’s disease. Pre-clinical dementia is more of a scientific description. There’s some biological or structural brain evidence that the Alzheimer’s process is under way, but the person’s not disabled and the family doesn’t notice any problem.  The second stage is mild cognitive impairment; someone has problems that don’t cause disability, but they’re evident enough that the patient and a family member really notice. Mild cognitive impairment progresses to dementia. The thrust here is to alert people that we need to diagnose the disease earlier. ‘Ryan’s Run’ is a futuristic (and contemporary) view that “Life is for the living, not the aging or infirmed” and “Let’s get them in for a few decades and then get them out; after all, we’re running out of money, water, energy and food.” Rummaging in my basement, I found a pair of old gloves, perfect for covering up my glowing palm, alerting Ryan’s gang that I’m too old to be a valuable contributor to society. More signs of the establishment not caring for human beings while I realized that nature here on earth has been making things right for 4 billion years and only 165,000 years for us sapiens:  It’s always money, ay Ryan? Here in Jersey, I recently read about a 61 year old man who is desperately worried about the care of his 35 year old autistic son when they are too old to take care of him or when they’re gone. The son is one of 4900 priority (because parents are older than 55) cases for housing and services in Jersey on an overall 8000 person waiting list (229 people got removed from the list this fiscal year). Of course the culprit is budget cuts. In addition to the people with developmental disabilities, there are 12,000 homeless people here in Jersey; 20,000 human beings in dire need in the Garden of Eden State.

Back in 1970, the first Earth Day, I was as old as my son is now and didn’t know what to do first; we had so many problems back then. In 1970, it was a great to be alive and involved; the environment, a war raging far away and its peace movement, civil rights unrest here in America. Interrupting my son this morning while he was playing a war themed video game, I regurgitated youthful memories of that Earth Day and realized that nothing has changed except exacerbation; a few wars now raging, terrorism, a rapidly deteriorating environment and civil rights issues still alive and well. With the institution of neighborhood schools growing, we have re-segregation all over. Nearly sixty-four percent of all new movies released have no speaking parts for women, only glimpses of their skin exposed. Environmentally, I won’t over do it now. The gulf oil spill was exactly a year ago: how we all forget. The media helps. Reading a newspaper (soon extinct?) the other day, there wasn’t one article about Japan and what’s happening now. I did read GM is making a car strictly for the China market and there are 19% more jobs (mostly techie) for college graduates.

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one of the first Earth Day posters 1970

 

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A brown gulf Pelican covered with BP's oil

Back to the gulf and good old BP. 49% of people last year supported offshore drilling. Now 69% want offshore drilling as gas will go to $6.00 a gallon by a mid summer nights dream. BP set aside $20 billion for gulf clean up. They’ve paid out $3.8 billion to date. Are strippers in New Orleans getting more payouts from BP than fishermen? And if you had a boat that was used in the cleanup and it got ruined by the oil, BP is not going to pay you. What really bothers is all the chemical dispersants they used; all that oil (200 million gallons) and jazz got broken up into infinite parts; it’s seeping into the cells of fish and animals affecting ability to reproduce. And 85% of oyster reefs were lost. And did I read that over 30 billion plastic bottles still get dumped into our landfills every year and it takes between 700 and 1000 years to decompose into nasty chemicals? Somewhere over the rainbow, a government will haul a company head into court and make him/her responsible for deaths incurred by negligence and send them to right to jail. Eleven people died when that rig exploded in the gulf.

For the last few years I’ve felt we’re in this race between technology and knowledge gifting us unlimited life extension versus the deterioration/habitability of earth’s environment. I heard futurist, astro-physicist, genius Dr. Michio Kaku say the same thing recently; that race is on. In the meantime as global climate changes, maybe some brave, caring souls ought to take in the sights before it’s too late. Here’s a list of places to see before. Wadden Sea in Denmark. Congo Basin in Congo; deforestation will take away half of the rain forest. Ganges Delta, India; parts of this delta will permanently flood.

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Mississippi delta

Big Sur, California; fires and subsequent flooding also threaten the region’s fragile access roads and infrastructure. Mergui Islands, Mynamar; within 30 years, scientists fear Asia will lose 30% of its coral reefs. Mississippi River Delta; more severe storms.

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NYC Battery

Yangtze River, China(this really scares me); China accounts for about a third of the world’s rice production. Roughly 500 million people depend on the river for fresh water. Due to the diminishing of the Tibetan glaciers, the flow of the once mighty Yangtze is dwindling. The Battery, New York City; according to the worse-case scenario, extreme events may occur every four years by 2080, with floods raising water levels by 11-14 feet and paralyzing the whole Manhattan infrastructure.

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Tuvalu, Pacific Ocean

Tuvalu, Pacific Ocean; a country of only 10 square miles and 12,000 people and coupled with the expected rise in global sea levels, the entire nation could ultimately become submerged.

This has become a stressful blog. I didn’t mean it. Yes, I did. The good news for me as I wrap this up, an exercise bike and 90 budgeted riding minutes is in my future. Why good news you ask? Exercise may prevent stress on telomeres, the protective caps on the ends of chromosomes that are a measure of cell age and cellular health. Elizabeth Blackburn, from the University of California/San Francisco (UCSF), and colleagues report, that while psychological stress leads to shorter telomeres, exercise may prevent this damage. So get yourself a bike or take a walk in the sun and eat some raisins. A while back I met a neat man in his nineties; vital, funny, cerebral, mobile and not hostile but warm, endearing and enriching lives. I’m glad Ryan doesn’t get his hands on our seniors today. The old man’s aide’s cell phone rang; her daughter, an executive from ‘Fiddler on the Roof’ country, called to say hello and so I thought, “What a small world after all.” The other night, I verbally went one on one with my NYU law school nephew on entitlements like Medicare. He didn’t care. He asked why I did; after all, I’m over 55 and not affected. And I said, “I came out of the sixties when we all grew up caring and it’s in my telomeres.” And he said, “what?” And I hugged him and jumped into my American car to head back to Jersey over the Verrazano Bridge with its $13.00 toll for passage over.

Contact info. website:   http://vichywater.net

Facebook:  Cal Schwartz

Twitter:  Earthood

E-mail:  earthood@gmail.com

Book Trailer:            http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qj2ko9gcC_M

April 8, 2011

Food Fight. Small NY City Spaces. Looking down on Earth from High. Abuse of Social networking; Should all the old acquaintance (NY’s eve song) Jersey Shore Summer Dreams. Sodium. ‘Sound of Music.’ Nuke plants. April 8, 2011

Filed under: November 2009 — Tags: , , , , — earthood @ 3:15 pm

Sometimes, being a weekly bloggist, I approach a self-imposed deadline by being clueless as to subject matter on the morning of the writing, like right now for example. Calmly, unperturbed with resolve and confidence, I open a yogurt, spoon a few mouthfuls and stare at my desktop wallpaper; the view from a ferry boat on a waterway deep in the heart of Alaska. Then suddenly last summer, the blog miraculously takes form and substance.  Confidence makes me feel as if I could personally make/sew a set of summer play clothes from the drapes of Roth for the seven precocious Von Trapp children. By the way, historically, there were ten Von Trapp children, not seven and Maria married the Captain eleven years before the Nazi takeover of Austria, not just before. The hopeless romantic that I am makes me believe Maria and the Captain fell in love.

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The real Maria recounts loving the children and liking the Captain and said, “…so in a way I really married the children.” When the ‘Sound of Music’ opened in 1965, I took a bevy of first dates to see the movie; it was long with an intermission and I got inspired when the family escaped by climbing the Alps at the end. When I took my dates home, after a California burger (I was still eating meat back then) all was still well angel with the world as they rushed in the house and slammed the door. Only now do I realize that perhaps going to see an underground or artsy movie would’ve been more impressive than Julie Andrew’s Maria. Well, now I know what to do with this blog.

One of those first dates was with a girl, Penelope. I was enamored but she was having an affair with a married pediatrician so we just hung out for two years as friends at a ‘Central Perk’ called the Claremont Diner. Finally I moved on after she stood me up to meet ‘him’ but always wondered about her. Lately, I’ve been using the tools of social networking and Google to satiate curiosity. I found that her sister is geographically close by, but strangely, Penelope was not on her sister’s Facebook friends list. Forty years is a long time.

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This scenario reminds me of the last scene in ‘Marjorie Morningstar’ with Natalie Wood and Gene Kelly. I wish I could dance like Noel Airman. I think I’ll just get on the bus and leave Noel Airman to fond memories and a Youtube New Year’s Eve song. Suggestion: if it rains on Sunday go to Blockbuster and rent ‘Marjorie Morningstar.’ Oh but, Blockbusters are all falling down.

For some reason, most of the aforementioned first dates lived down the Jersey shore during that turbulent summer of 1965.  And the Jersey Shore has nothing to do with the reality TV show and ‘Snooki’ who was paid to speak last week at Rutgers University (from student funds) and made national headlines because of the amount paid. I suppose being in the media capital fish bowl of the world thrusts Rutgers into the headlight beam for everything; I wish they’d illuminate North Dakota State University once in a while; after all, there’s an awful lot of oil in them there black hills. And North Dakota has the lowest unemployment and the fourth lowest foreclosure rate.

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pix of Belmar NJ with my jetty just beyond the pier

As far back as I can remember, (Eisenhower was President) the Jersey shore has been part of my life. I probably was conceived at the old Buena Vista Hotel in Belmar. When I was ten, my parents rented a bungalow in Belmar during August. Some of the best memories were of wide sandy beaches, amusement pinball palaces and boardwalks at Asbury Park and Bradley Beach. The jetty at Shark River was where I learned to dream about the world and my place in it; the jetty was part of my spiritual journey as evidenced in the novel I wrote.  A dream surfaces every year about this time; to find that perfect ten bedroom summer rental with a backyard hammock a block from the beach. I haven’t fulfilled it yet, so I keep dreaming. But there are always day trips with hideouts and secret parking places near the beach.

Last night I went back to school at Rutgers University’s Douglas Campus Center to hear Dr. Richard Besser, ABC News’ chief health and medical editor, talk about “Preparedness, Pandemic and Political Change.’  The lecture was part of Eagleton Institute’s ‘It’s all Politics’ series. Somehow, being in a room with several hundred real students of American Government forces cerebral and toe blood flow which means I was alert and responsive. Dr. Besser was a magnetic speaker, recanting professional experiences at the CDC and afterwards. Bravely, at the question and answer segment, I got up, nervously tripped a bit while walking to the microphone and asked a question about the epidemic in a few decades where 50% of all Americans(not sports related) will be either pre-diabetic or diabetic. Dr Besser agreed and said “it’s a scary thought.” Being with so many Rutgers students and feeling I’m back home again (Thomas Wolfe) I told the assembled that when I was a student at Rutgers back in the mid-sixties, studying Pharmacology, and knowing that all four grandparents had diabetes and four guns were pointed at my forehead, I decided that I’d never be in the mood to get diabetes. So I have lived my life these four decades to prevent it, through exercise, supplements, diet and a fierce determination. The kids applauded me when I attributed my knowledge to a Rutgers education.

Now segue to Food Fight, diet and things which pass through the oral cavity. On Wednesday I read about several New Jersey women suing Campbell soups for labeling cans of tomato soup “low sodium” when they actually have the same sodium content as regular tomato soup, 480mg/serving. And of course the “low sodium” is more expensive. Salt is needed for canned goods (go read labels) increased shelf life. That’s why you keep ‘cans’ of food in your basement bomb shelter; long shelf life because they’re loaded with sodium.

Jersey Shore One of my blog missions is to expose evil company pursuits of profit (and taste) over human lives. Remember Scrooge’s ‘decrease the surface population?’ I love when companies label candy (like licorice) as ‘no fat’ when it has enough sugar to wipe out your pancreas over time. Back to the salt mines. Most of us consume 3400mg of sodium a day (and 95% of it does NOT come from the home salt shaker) so therefore most comes from restaurants and supermarkets. We should be at 1500mg of sodium/day. Humans are a cheap renewable resource although some European countries birth rate is so low, in time they could disappear (scary isn’t it?) Let’s tip toe through restaurant company’s tulips. If you go to Ruby Tuesday and order Mediterranean Shrimp Pasta you do almost 4000mg of sodium (which is like 11 large orders of McDonalds fries) Next up: Applebee’s Weight Watchers Chipotle Lime Chicken is billed as a ‘Healthy Entree.’ It has 4990 mg of sodium (that’s the sodium equivalent of 31 servings of Ruffles potato chips) In the mood for Chinese food and P.F. Chang’s Double Pan-Fried Noodles with Pork? This will cost you 7990 mg of sodium (equivalent to 263 Triscuit crackers/ more than 4 boxes).Oh, Chang’s bowl of Hot and Sour soup will cost you 5000mg of sodium. Imagine having both in a row. Hypertensive heaven. You don’t send me flowers anymore.

Jersey Shore More food fights. I love fruits and veggies. I eat no red meat. I love crunchy celery. Research showed that a single celery stalk had 13 pesticides, while, on the whole, celery contained as many as 67 pesticides. It has no protective skin. Peaches are laced with 67 different chemicals, placing it second on the list of most contaminated fruits and vegetables. They have soft fuzzy skin, easily susceptible, causing them to be sprayed more frequently. Grapes have thin skins (like some people trying to shutdown our government), allowing for easy absorption of pesticides. And think twice before buying imported wine. The grapes that go into the wine could be coming from vineyards that use too many pesticides. Where do you go and run and hide? Find a cabin at the foot of Mt. McKinley and call it ‘La Hermitage.’

Changing pace a bit, remembering I love white water rafting through streams of consciousness which means I just go with whatever is in my high chair tray like sweet green peas rolling side to side after pounding the tray for more Maypo. Who ate the 1953 cereal? Who remembers it? I want to be your friend. At the end of ‘Ghostbusters,’ Winston Zeddmore says about New York City, “I love this town!” I love anecdotes and antidotes. I recently read about a young woman, Ms.Cohen, an author and professional organizer, who lives in a 90 square foot apartment near Lincoln Center and Central Park. Talk about marveling over spatial economy, utilization of every inch, frugal living and paying just $700/month to live in a part of town where rents average $3,600 per month. I love this city.

Jersey ShoreJersey Shore I also had no idea (none of us did) how much hot dog vendors pay for the license to have a push cart around Central Park. Some lucky vendors pay the city $176,925/year for the right to hawk snacks and sodas at the northwest corner of East 60th Street and Fifth Avenue. The Parks Department rented out the pricey park property to about 40 pushcart vendors in and around Central Park last year, though the number of carts changes as contracts renew and expire, a Parks Department spokesman said. Should I say if I come back, I want to be a vendor around Central Perk Park?

I love when generals are in helicopters looking down on the battlefield to get a perspective. If Roman generals only had a helicopter brought in from back to the future, they would’ve conquered so much more. My friend Ruth from out west, with special powers, saw me as a Roman warrior before I was a Native-American, fishing and hunting in the virginal woods near the Jersey shore. Right now I’m high up, looking down in my own version of a helicopter (I’d never ever go in one). Mexico just had an earthquake. So did Japan again yesterday (7.1) A piece of space junk almost crashed into three astronauts working on the International space station. I’m glad the Arab League asked ‘the world community’ for the first time to help out in Libya but I wish we knew more about the rebels. I do come from the time when Fidel Castro was a supported rebel. Is it Libya’s large oil reserves which prompt intervention? Of course I wonder how we can ‘legally’ be involved in Libya, Afghanistan and Iraq when the Constitution clearly states only Congress can wage war. Why isn’t more being done in the Ivory Coast now? I guess they have no oil reserves? Differences in political orientation are tied to differences in the structures of our brains, University College of London researchers have found. Individuals who call themselves liberal tend to have a larger anterior cortex, while those who call themselves conservative have a larger amygdala, the researchers say. This is consistent with reports showing a greater ability of liberals to cope with conflicting information and a greater ability of conservatives to recognize a threat. Funny thing, I don’t know what I am; maybe just an earthling caring about the earth more than tea, teacher’s tenure, topical anesthetics and tender meat. We don’t hear a heck of a lot about Japan these days. Toyota is going back to making cars for a two week period and then because of a shortage of parts, they’ll stop again. Traces of radiation are now in the milk and seaweed out on west coast. I’m attaching a map of all our nuclear plant locations. If you’re like me you’ve got a few nuke plants that are real close. However there are no nukes in good old North Dakota and only a few in earthquake prone California(smart).

Jersey Shore

Looking down at Earth from High. I’ve been in a funk these days of turmoil, disaster, revolt, change and governmental shutdown. Best way to describe; it’s a sunny day, not a cloud in the sky but everything is dull. I’ve been going to New York to meditate, riding the exercise bike voraciously, contemplating several busts of Homer, exploring recesses of the universal abscess and beseeching spirits to get me ‘there’ already. What’s it all about, Alfie? I’m High (up) in age and see things in a different light and color. All erratic molecules are coming back to the nucleus. I can see clearly now. Too bad you have to wait all those years to get High in age and understanding. Yesterday the Governor of New Jersey issued a proclamation making a five year old boy, the Governor for the day, thanks to a Youtube video. I think being this High(up in age) right now, maybe it’s time to find a cabin in North Dakota, leave the Garden State, kick off my shoes, dangle my toes in a cool pond, and think about the line from the movie ‘Network,’ “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore.” Or better, perhaps a line from ‘Meatballs, “It just doesn’t matter.”  I like the ‘Meatballs’ line better. I think most of us do.

Contact Info:  website:  http://vichywater.net

Facebook: Cal Schwartz

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Email:  earthood@gmail.com

Novel Book Trailer.   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qj2ko9gcC_M

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