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.