WORDS MATTER

New journalism;

Cowering behind a quote

Truth is a sideshow.

I was a journalism major in college.

As such, I was expected to work on

the college daily newspaper and was

graded on what I produced; graded

by a stickler for accuracy and truth,

Professor James L. Julian. My first

bylined article for the "Daily Aztec"

was an article about the crew team.

I received an "F". In the article I

quoted a crew team member who

said, "Workouts are a bitch." When

I inquired of Dr. Julian what prompted

the grade, he brought up the quote.

"A bitch is a female dog," he said.

I crossed the line and compromised

accuracy and truth for a good quote.

Journalism today suffers from an

accuracy/truth deficit. Newsworthiness

is based on what someone said rather

than the accuracy of the statement. Glen

Beck can say, "Obama is a Nazi," and

his inaccurate and vitriol-loaded quote

becomes the "newsworthy" story and

the truth of what he said doesn't matter.

One of my favorite writers, Hendrick

Hertzberg, recently touched on this

non-news news that is the touchstone

of the Fox News network in his latest

op-ed article (Nov.28) for The New Yorker.

His dismantling of the trilobite Glenn Beck

and his attempts to excoriate and demonize the

liberal philanthropist and financier

George Soros, is a beautiful and enviable

piece of work. Here is a blog where you

can experience the flawless craft of Hendrick

Hertzberg:

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/hendrikhertzberg/

As for Dr. James L. Julian, thank you for standing up to

what was right and true and being a beacon of integrity.

The image is from www.glenn-beck-sucks.com

BOOTSTRAP CRAP

Bootstrap pull-up myth

Economic alchemy

Fosters heartlessness

What is the whole bootstrap thing

that seems to play such a prominent

role in America's heritage? The origin

of this phrase is obscure at best; James

Joyce, the English author, may have first

coined the phrase. It refers, of course,

to boots and their laces and the

imagined physical gyrations necessary

to accomplish the imagined feat of lifting

oneself off the ground by pulling on said

bootstraps, symbolic of personal achievement

against all odds. These days of heavy tea

partying, intolerance, greed and self service

ethics the bootstrap thing has morphed into

bullying, badgering and belittling those who

are less fortunate. "Give me your tired, your

poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe

free, the wretched refuse of your teeming

shore, send these, the homeless, tempest-

tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden

door..." The golden door is tarnished and

the voice of the Statue of Liberty, a distant one.

The cartoon is brilliant and an example of the

genius of Paul Conrad, who died in September.

T'AI CHI

I am an ibis,

Slow, deliberate, stealthy,

Aloft without wings.

I recently took up the martial

art of T'ai Chi for all sorts of

reasons. It appealed to me

primarily because of the slow,

choreographed movements, the

stretching and balancing and

the emphasis on all things "core".

What I discovered is that T'ai

Chi is a blower of minds. At least

my mind. It is rather like attempting

to pat your head while rubbing your

tummy and balancing on one foot; call

it an asymmetrical workout where

disparate body parts undulate and

weave around each other in an ultimate

dance of unity. Tai Chi's literal translation

is "Supreme Ultimate Fist", and is

considered an internal Chinese martial

art practiced both for its applicability in

defense training and its health benefits.

The slow, deliberate and graceful movements

take their cue from the natural world with

bird mimicry paramount. I am now a kindred

spirit with the Ibis, one of my favorite birds.

If only I could fly.

HILLCREST

Bloom of neon dusk

Borders village revelry

The days grow shorter

I got a late start home the other

night; took the shuttle at dusk

and witnessed an amazing sunset

as I strolled through Hillcrest down

University Avenue, the main artery.

My community is eclectic with a

heavy dose of high end organic pizza

joints with the requisite hand-crafted beer, Greek, Thai, Pho, Italian,

Afghani eateries within a block,

gelato bars, gay bars, wine bars,

used bookstores, funky recycled clothing boutiques, tattoo parlours,

candle shop, coffee shops, head shops and

some empty storefronts, now depositories for

garbage. Things were bustling, it was happy

hour, early-bird special at the local deli on

the corner of University and Sixth Avenue.

The doorways are not yet filled with our

village nomads, the tired and torn citizens

that lurk in the shadows waiting for the

evening's revelry to end, before they

turn up their collars and pull their blankets

close and snug. I love this village but

can't help but feel part of a bi-polar life

as I stroll and see the have's, the have

not's, the never will have's. The gleam of

prosperity takes on a patina of poverty

and I wonder what in the world went

wrong in our self-proclaimed America's

Finest City. I duck into Whole Foods and

shrug off that uneasy feeling.

MEDITATION ON SKYLINES

Skyline of my mind

Fills in the darkness of void.

Emptiness brings peace.

I have dabbled in the mind art

of meditation. Took a 4-week

course where I learned how to

meditate while walking, while

eating and even gave it a go

while driving and spin cycling.

Tried a little chanting, mantra

style and became very mindful

of my breathing. I got to the

point where I had the tools to

smooth my ruffled feathers

by closing my eyes, becoming

cognizant of my breathing

and allowing my body to slow down.

The odd thing that would happen

is my closed eyes would become

accustomed to the darkness

inside my head and I would

"see" a line of lightness faintly

emerging, which took on the

look of a skyline. This seemed

to happen with every attempt

at closed eye meditation;

skylines. And when I see a

skyline what always comes to

mind is Matteo Pericoli's,

"Skyline of the World". The idea

behind meditating is to empty

one's mind of life's daily detritus,

of which skylines are not. But

they are a slight distraction.

So, I now do my meditating with

eyes open and the world around

me just blurs away, like white

noise, white sight. But, back to

the "Skyline of the World".

It was commissioned by

American Airlines to dress up

their terminal at JFK and

undertaken by the Italian

architect and artist, of the

above name. It is a 397-foot

long mural that depicts a skyline

comprising recognizable landmark

buildings alongside lesser known

buildings from more than 70 cities

throughout the world. I'd like to

see it in person and meditate on it

with my eyes both wide open and

wide shut. To see Matteo's

art work check out his web:

http://matteopericoli.com

BEACH MUSINGS

Path of sunset gold

Beckons long legged waders

Hunting for treasure.

Took a walk along the shore in

Del Mar recently and happened

to hit it at sunset on an unusual

evening where there was an actual

sun to witness an actual setting.

Overcast skies have been embracing

the coast all summer long, but on

this particular evening the clouds

parted. Golden tones everywhere.

I walked on a golden shore leaving

golden footprints, surfers' silhouettes

etched in, you name it, gold. And the

birds, the ones with the skinny legs

and long beaks that walk slowly,

regally, teasing out something

delectable; this evening they were

spotlighted, awash in gold. I was

transfixed by a golden moment.

ART????????

Throw the rule book out

Kissing palm trees turns wrong right,

Conceptual art.

I visited LACMA recently with daughter in

tow, or perhaps more accurately described

she visited LACMA with mom in tow to catch

the waning days of the John Baldessari exhibit,

entitled Pure Beauty. Unlike Phoebe, I had

never heard of this artist, who lived and worked

for many years just down the road a piece in

National City and now has stepped it up to digs

in Santa Monica. He is considered a conceptual

artist which, best I can tell, means he turns art

on its head, questioning its very essence and in

doing so creates art that turns heads. At least it

turned mine. Baldessari has been at it for a

long time (he's nearly 80),pushing the envelope,

looking for relevance,seeking a new way of

speaking to us about us. In 1970, finding

the medium of painting no longer relevant to

him as an artist, he burned all of his works of

art completed between May 1953 and March 1966.

Rising from those ashes came "The Cremation Project",

which turned the act of his destruction into a new work.

Thoughtful, manipulative, deliberate, daring, crazy, a

stroll through this rather extensive and beautifully

laid out exhibit made my brain ache. In a good way.

I AM A MUSLIM

Ground to dust and ash

Yankee bedrock's open wound

Exposes abscess.

It looks as though the litmus test

for determining one's Muslimness

is whether or not one believes that

it is perfectly OK for a mosque to

be built within two blocks of Ground

Zero.  I do.  Therefore, I must be a

Muslim.  Obama does, hence he is

also a Muslim; one in five Americans

believe that is so.

 And just what is wrong

with being a Muslim, other than 

the wrongheadedness of believing

in any  religion? Well, that's easy. The

logic goes something like this: Al- Qaeda=

911 terrorists=Muslims=destroyers of

America=blacks=Obama=socialist=Kenyan,

really. If ground zero is to stand for anything

it should be that of reaffirming our American

principles of freedom of expression within

a community of tolerance. This mosque

 non-issue is just an attempt at fear-mongering 

to set and control a political agenda that 

includes bringing down Obama. So, I will

temporarily put aside my atheisticness

and  declare myself a Muslim.

STREET ART

Bad boy of the streets

Cloaked in darkness, scrawls message;

OBEY artistry.

I like Shepard Fairey's work. Yes, he

started out as a skater, bad boy, street

artist; pumping out stickers of Andre the

Giant, scrawling out unwelcome and

uninvited messages and images throughout

our urban landscapes; the mark of a gen "X,"

determined, gritty, defiant. At some point

he found himself a necktie, cinched it up

and made a sweeping turn toward main-

stream; the Hope poster of the Obama

campaign put him in the spotlight and

didn't hurt Obama either. He has a style

that attracts me but I'm not sure how I

would classify it. Much of his imagery

reminds me of old Soviet propaganda

posters, which I have always loved. He has

repeatedly been accused of "stealing" others'

work and is in the midst of a lawsuit for

using an AP image of Obama and stylizing

it for the famous poster. He claims it is

fair use. Despite all of this, I like him.

He recently showed up in Hill-

crest to slap a mural on the side of the

local Urban Outfitters; he has a line of

clothing that is sold there.

Hmm, even street artists need to scrape

together a living.

BUEN CAMINO

Wrote this following a particularly

challenging day of uphill climbing

with my vintage Raleigh mountain

bike sin shocks and shlepping way

more material goods in my panniers

than necessary. The up's never seemed

to be followed by an equal and well

deserved down. Guess the physics of

hill topography is unpredictable. The

travel on the Camino was somewhat

indescribable. It was both a challenging

piece of mountain biking and a memorable

journey through astonishingly beautiful

countryside. I am now an official "Peregrino"

having received my document in Santiago,Sp.

along with thousands of others. All walks of life

trudged along on this 800km path that took

us through river valleys, meadows,

steep mountains, rocky hillsides, pine forests,

charming cobblestoned villages, bustling cities.

As we passed weary but determined travelers

from all over the world we would all share a nod

and a collective "Buen Camino". This area of

Spain, known as Galicia, is compelling and

powerful offering hints of Celtic wizardry, copious

amounts of rioja (red table wine), cerveza San

Miguel and Estrella Galicia in every bar and cafe,

cathedrals, castles and the constant chanting

of Viva Espana as the World Cup came home to Spain.

A pilgrim, of sorts

Freewheeling the St. James Way

Longs for hills' refrains.

CAMINO

Hope that Spain's rain

Does stay mainly in the plain

For weary pilgrims.

The El Camino de Santiago (The Way of St.

James) is the pilgrimage to the Cathedral of

Santiago de Compostela in Galicia in north-

western Spain, where tradition has it that the

remains of the apostle Saint James are buried.

I'm no real pilgrim and have no interest in St.

James (although I'm sure he was a nice man

if he even existed) or his remains, bless his

soul, but the 500 mile route along dirt paths,

cobblestones, winding through small Spanish

towns and ducking in to cathedrals to go back

through centuries, drinking plenty of Sangria

and Cerveza all while balancing overstuffed

panniers on the 23-year old Raleigh mountain

bike, does appeal to me. So, off I go for

three weeks. If I make it I will become an

officially credentialed pilgrim and perhaps

return to my homeland much more

righteous. Nos vemos

DUNCAN, THE HORSE

Wide-eyed thoroughbred

Looks past shutterbug antics

Carrot charisma.

Yes, that's me in the eye's

reflection. Took a drive out

Jamul way with my friend

Jan, the painter and benefactor

of Duncan, the horse. He and

his horse buddies have a great

life at this remote horse ranch.

Fresh air, great scenery, plenty

of hay, nice digs and lots of open

space to roam. It was a nice

and relaxing change from all

things oily. I like watching

horses and feeding them carrots.

The trick is to lay your palm out

flat with the carrot across it and

the horse with gently snag it avoiding

taking off a few fingers with their

giant teeth. They are herbivores, so

am I. We are kindred spirits.

FUCK

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK

Do something! Give generously. Change

your habits.   http://www.ibrrc.org/

Rewind and reload,

All things vintage define hip.

Genuine cliche.

I'm unclear what "vintage" really

means but it sure is being bandied

about recently. How old is something

before it is officially "vintage"? Can

any, tacky piece of crap morph into

a genuine example of vintageness simply

because of its age? Kind of like

antiques? Perhaps we need a Vintage

Roadshow, where Vintage specialists

can assess our treasures from days gone

by but not too far gone. It's comforting

to know that my 23 year old Raleigh

mountain bike, named the Seneca, once

known for its tacky color and cheap

demeanor has now taken on the pateen

of "Vintage". I de-mothballed it and

am now riding it proudly knowing that

not only is it a cutting edge representative

of "Vintage" but the person pedaling it,

namely me, is also "Vintage". Great to

know that wrinkles and white spots on

arms are super cool and hip. They are

certainly genuine.

ROSE

The lovely hybrid
Is bewildered by nature’s
Lack of discipline.

While lovely and fragrant and symbolic

of everlasting love and romance,

especially when delivered a dozen at a

time, the rose is really the hybrid in

the garden. It has been tinkered with, fussed

with, tempered and tamed, pampered with

pesticides until it bends to our will; giving

us the perfect, blue-ribbon blush. Wildness

clings on as we continue to ravage and

trample and dissect and subdue and plunder.

We are the machine in the garden.

Check out one of my favorite poems that

picks up on this theme.

http://www.writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88v/wilbur-toad.html

BICYCLE COMMUTING

Arched, tense, vigilant

Human flywheel seeks refuge,

Corridor of sage.

Bicycling to work is fun but

slightly treacherous. You

must keep your wits about

you and look at every car

as the enemy and every

driver as a lackadaisical,

zero attention span, texting

and drinking coffee and

watching the latest hulu

version of Grey's Anatomy

on an iphonewhile putting on

mascara idiot. But, when I hit the

dedicated corridor for

bikes only, the one that

runs along the railroad

tracks and smells like sage

and is garnished with

copious amounts of daisies

and bunnies, ahhh, that's

when I can relax and really

enjoy the purr of the wheel

and the tunes of the songbirds.

We need more dedicated

bicycle paths. Perhaps then

there would be fewer cars

using less oil......No, I can't

think about that awful oil

eruption right now.

OIL SPILL

The birds are dying.

Sweet creatures suffocating

An oily demise.

The picture isn't pretty. There

is no way of dancing around this

abomination. We have fucked up

and we are fucked. We sit on the

sidelines cheering for our favorite

NBA teams, on the edge of our seats,

popping beers, throwing down

Doritos, shopping at the malls,

as an ecological disaster spews

out millions of gallons of oil

and spreads its evil viscous blanket over

beautiful beds of sea life and sweet

flocks of birds. We are all complicit,

every time we turn the ignition and

suck down more oil without demanding

safeguards, alternatives; not tomorrow

but today. It's not really big oil's fault,

although they are complete assholes;

Beyond Petroleum (BP), my ass. Let's

face it, if we weren't sucking it down

they wouldn't be sucking it out. The fault is

ours for being so pathetically apathetic.

We must get off our butts and get going.

We are flushing our beautiful world

down the toilet. I wish this rant made

me feel better but it doesn't. I am

shaking with rage and crying with despair.

I don't know how to apologize to the

wild things. I am so sorry. You deserve

better from us. What to do?

At the very least contact both senators,

your congressperson and Pres. Obama

and tell them no more offshore drilling

and make alternative energy mandatory,

hybrids mandatory, help us off our

addiction.

Then make a concerted effort to walk rather

than take the car at least a couple of

trips a week. Change your habits, ever

so slightly. Do something, anything; but

don't look at the destruction on the tube

and simply change the channel with a sigh.

THE DUMP

Sweet sips now acrid

Mountains of urban decay

The message is "less".

Took a trip to the recycling center

at the Miramar Landfill. Got run

off as I was taking shots of mountains

of our discarded what nots that were

once must haves. Streams of aluminum

cans, compressed bundles of paper,

endless reams, toilets, big screen TV's,

refrigerators, every form of plastic,

once treasures that have lost all value

as our every purchase becomes obsolete.

Yes, the amount of recycling may be

impressive, but more impressive still

is the amount of unnecessary consumption.

Endless. Our system counts on it. Throw

out the cell phone that's perfectly fine and

pick up an iphone, heave your PC out the

back of the truck bed for a shiny new one

that converses with you, chuck the

obscenely gargantuan 52" TV for an

equally obscene flat screen that has

high definition. I'm not suggesting we

all become Luddites but, come on, is

this really necessary? Perhaps the

answer is each neighborhood must

have its own landfill that serves a couple

blocks of housing. Perhaps we'd think

twice about the cavalier heaving when

we have to look out at our mess.

CANCELLED

Eyjafjallajokull 

Spews ash on tundra and ice

Heathrow cools its jets.

Wow, dare I even try to pronounce

the Icelandic volcano? 

GOT STRESS

Body electric

Sparks internal circuitry

Adrenaline pumps

What if...maybe I'll be....

The head starts pounding,

the heart beats more rapidly,

the chest tightens, maybe I'm

having a....the chest tightens

more, the mouth gets dry,

there's a lump in the throat,

a pervasive dizziness, the skin

feels tingly and hot, clammy,

the stomach hurts, the back

aches, really aches, there's a

buzzing in the fingers, shaking,

the body is shaking, there really

is something wrong. Really?

 Got stress?

p.s. The cool head drawing is

called "The Cosmic Mind" and

is from the 1400's(saw it in

a recent exhibit at the Getty

called Migrations of the Mind)

 and The Scream speaks for

itself and Edvard Munch.

 

NEON

Noble gas sculpture

Illuminates

messaging.

Orange haloes

beckon.

I was looking through Phoebe's

pictures of Las Vegas neon and

started thinking about what a

unique art form neon signage

represents. Neon is known as

a noble gas (odorless, colorless,

not highly reactive) whose name

comes from Greek, meaning "new

one". Its chemical element symbol

is "Ne" and it glows a reddish-

orange when used in discharge

tubes. Neon discharge tubes used

for advertising signs were first

introduced in the U.S. in 1923 and

were revolutionary in their appeal

and draw. While the look of "neon"

draws in a wide array of colors (i.e.

the entire Las Vegas strip) which

come from other noble gases or

fluorescent lights, true neon gives

off its telltale bright orange-red hue.

I included a picture of Phoebe's from

"The strip". Hope you don't mind

sweetie.

HOMELESSNESS

The broken people

Hold crude signs on street corners

Waiting for small change.

They haunt me wherever I go.

On street corners, in doorways,

at stop lights, in the coffee shop,

young, old, battered women,

beaten men, howling to the wind,

muttering, mentally ill, drunk, dirty,

high, low, pushing shopping carts ,

sleeping in doorways, holding signs,

holding cups, holding hope, hopeless,

wild, calm, passive, depressed, belligerent,

obsessive, sweet, swollen, torn, barefoot,

toothless, bent, spent, broken.

http://www.alphaproject.org/

SECRETS

We all have secrets

Shadow selves, shameful but drawn

Like moths to a flame.

Stopped by Jett Gallery recently and

walked into a photo exhibit entitled,

"equal=secret identities"

While a little harsh to absorb, the idea

behind the horrifying photos was that

we all have secret identities, personal

secrets, fetishes that we keep locked

away but are, nonetheless, drawn to.

Once exposed we are never viewed the

same by others. The artist used bondage

as a metaphor for secret identities.

Seemingly normal, regular Joe's; teachers,

lawyers, business people who participate

in this slightly(and not so slightly) deviant

hobby on the sly.I am reminded of the secret

life that Tiger Woods has participated in. Once

exposed his adoring public repels from

his once pristine profile. Maybe that's

the point. While the exhibit made me feel

slightly sick, having never been exposed

to the world of bondage apparatus, still

I've been thinking about it for the past

week; the things we do to cope, to

explore, to heighten our awareness.

The photographer is Josue Castro. Well

worth a stroll.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY NANCY

Nancy Pelosi

Skewers obstructionism

Gritty, determined

Nancy Pelosi turns 70 on Friday. She is completely

awesome and in my opinion revived the health care

bill and was the impetus behind getting the job done.

She cajoled, prodded and used tough love to turn

what once looked impossible into a reality.  On 

Friday I will lift my glass to her.  Many people at

age 70 are out on the golf course, bouncing their

grandkids on their knees, playing bridge with

friends....you get the idea.  But Nancy Pelosi is out

there making things happen for others.  Big things.

Thanks Nancy and Happy Birthday.