Sunday, August 24, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Was it you?

You think I forgot

The iron bed

and those yellow sheets

The whiskey bottle on the night table

The quiet music coming from

The next room. Your clothing

on the floor, A fragrance of

only you.

Whispers coming from the leaves

Of the oak tree at the window

And your whispers, too, in my ear,

Did I bite or was it you?

That, at last, I have forgot.

MEK

Aug 2008

Sunday, August 17, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Dear Scott:

Thanks for giving me all these examples of what a billion is. And also thanks for reminding me about all the taxes I might pay if I had any money , liked to go fishing, or were in certain businesses.

But when you tell me that that things were better 100 years ago, and that mothers stayed home and watched the children, I ask you--was that in a beach front apartment at Southpoint or the Hermitage? Are you saying that our grandparents and parents had an easier life than we have?

Did they live on the beach and go out for dinner 4 or 5 times a week? Did your grandparents even have a telephone on which to press 1 for English? Did they take vacations, go to Europe, go on cruises? Did they collect social security checks and did they have medical insurance or Medicare?

One hundred years ago was 1908. The 16th Amendment authorizing the income tax was passed in 1913. Before that we had an income tax during the Civil War and during the Spanish American War.

One hundred years ago we still had the 60 or even 72 hour week, there was no Workmans' Compensation, Child Labor Laws were far in the future, people lived in tenements without plumbing. Many of our grandparents and great-grandparents worked in sweatshops six days a week and seven days during the season--that meant both mother and father. Piece work was taken home where all the family worked on it including five year olds. None of them had tax problems.

If you worked on the railroad and in most other industries, and had an accident you were merely dropped from the payroll. There was no sick pay and no paid holidays. No one even heard of vacations. Children died from bad milk, tuberculosis was rampant, the streets reeked with garbage, and most people were crammed four, five and six in two rooms. The toilets (outhouses) were still in the backyards of the Lower East Side. But there were no tax problems.

It's hard to believe but many Jewish women turned to prostitution. Yes, don't say no. They didn't pay taxes either.

Newspapers were published in dozens of immigrant languages because most immigrants didn't speak English. Not only didn't they speak English, but also they paid no taxes.

Do you really think that things were better when all the taxes that were enumerated didn't exist?

Here's what my grandfather had to say about taxes when I complained to him about all the deductions on my paycheck:

"Michael, in Russia there were no taxes. We paid nothing. But every spring the mud was up to our knees--and that was INSIDE the house. ...Here there's no mud--so pay your taxes and stop your whining."


Mike

Friday, August 15, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Joe G: Don't piss in my face and tell me it's raining.

Joe G: I don't mind when you shove an umbrella up my ass--but when you open it and twirl it around--
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com


Change yourself--not the world.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Worry is a substitute for action.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com


Dear X,

Because I value your judgement so much I read the libertarian piece more carefully a little while ago. As I am a strict opponent of argument ad hominum I shall not dig too deeply into the rightist hatred of Roosevelt and isolationist hatred of Churchill and the Brits. Just remember who Ludwig Mises and Ayn Rand were.

As I said in my first note some good arguments were made. I have been moved. I see that the arguments against dropping the bomb should have been taken more seriously than I thought. Especially when the statements of military men who were on the scene at the time are taken into account.

Their statements, however, were all based on their sense of the dubious morality of roasting women and children rather than on military necessity. In fact, a careful reading elicits, in me, a suspicion that the writer of the review, was not only anti-Truman-Roosevelt, but also was against our entry into the war.

Apparently some philosophers or theologians believed that our insistence on unconditional surrender was at fault. It was felt that the Japanese did not want to lose their Emperor to a war criminal trial and so they were reluctant to give up a war already lost. The morality balance, therefore shifted from their shoulders to ours, because our terms were unclear to the Japanese.

When Raico, the author, writes "the Japanese," he appears to mean the Japanese public. But the only Japanese in a position to make a surrender decision were Tojo and the very war criminals who would have been tried. Their influence on the Emperor, who might have been tried as well, was overwhelming.

Although it has nothing to do with the Bomb, Raico also drags into his piece our entry into the war against the Germans, complaining that it was 'said that "had we not gotten in then the Hitler would have conquered the world." (a sad undervaluation of the Red Army.)'

Odd, when one remembers that it was American munitions and American food delivered on the Murmansk Run that kept that Red Army on its feet. Raico also attacks Churchill, and quotes JFC Fuller, a British military historian, who if memory serves, was cashiered from His Majesty's Army over a dispute regarding tank warfare after WWI.

Libertarian Raico can't help but quote the laudable conservatives who opposed the bombings. (Usually after the Missouri Battleship Peace was signed.)

He quotes Felix Morley, a founder of Human Events (please don't tell me that you are reading that too.) Father James Gillis of Catholic World and David Lawrence another pre WW 2 conservative are also quoted for their attacks on American atrocities. (If they protested then, on the spot so to speak, why wouldn't we protest in retrospect?)

Coincidently, last night on Air America, I heard the same arguments from Thom Hartmann. A man who deals in half-truths and is very close to Rush Limbo when it comes to lies and deception. Why can't we have Truth coming from the left-progressive instead of propaganda imitative of the right? Goebbels is too much with us, right and left.

Anyway, why is Hiroshima coming up now? It's not an anniversary, as far as I know. What's the tie in?

The Atomic Bomb, as it was quaintly known during the race with Germany to build it, was not thought to be an immoral weapon during its conception and development. We firebombed Germany and caused massive causalities with little demur from the public at the time. We wanted a bomb that would destroy the enemy (originally Germany) and would end the war.

When it became apparent that the war with Germany would soon end the target shifted to Japan. It seemed impossible to negotiate with them-although Roosevelt had some doubts about the use of the bomb against actual people, they were not expressed forcefully, and he did suggest a demonstration with Japanese observers, it seems that his idea was slight and was overlooked. By September 1944 an Air Force group was already being trained to drop the bomb.

A problem that FDR did not have to deal with was the political effect of a two billion dollar secret project that diverted money from other, possibly more effective war projects. Had FDR been alive and strong he might have been willing to deal with the politics--but poor HST, knew nothing of the project except what Stimpson and Marshall told him. He was at their mercy. The Bomb would have to be set off -- on people.

The problem for us, as citizens sixty years after the Bomb, is that we cannot share the hatred and fear that the Japanese Army engendered in us then. We do not know how we would have felt then--except to compare our thoughts today on the Iraqi citizens.

We know that the US is divided into a camp that thinks as little of them as most of American felt about the "yellow, squinty-eyed Japs" in 1945. There was little or no division then. Japanese atrocities against the Chinese in Naking and against our captured troops were well known. Today the gap between the two is very wide, and I would guess that only 10-15% of Americans bear any hatred at all towards the Iraqi civilian. This wasn't the case in 1945.

In any event--I have been moved, and I recognize the argument on the other side.

To bed!

NY tomorrow. I expect difficult days. I'll let you know.

mike

I got most, but not all, of my information from one if the articles quoted by Raices. "Foreign Affairs, Barton J. Bernstein, July/Aug 2000.
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com


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BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

To know the meaning of enough.

It is important to know the meaning of enough.

Friday, August 01, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

REGARDING THE FILM, "EVENING"

I think it was last year--maybe a few months ago, that you told me to see "Shadows." As I try to take most of your advice, although not as in a timely a manner as you might expect, I did see it.
I saw it tonight with great appreciation for its painterly quality and for its final wrap-up-scene-and-summing up-theme which was that there are really no mistakes, that we each do what we must, that all is for the good, and that what seems to matter doesn't really matter.
As you will remember it takes place in the home on the Newport shore in which we all should have been brought up and in which we all should have lived out our lives, but the writer of the film points out that it wouldn't have made any difference; that the noble thing was to marry the wrong person for that was the right thing to do, and have children who are brought into the world to make the same mistakes (which don't matter in the end) that we did.
When you are very young and hotly in love it is better to choose a star for your lover than to write a note in philosophy class asking. "what's for lunch" --anticipating a coming lesson on Nietzsche (or was it my Grandfather? well, it was one of them) who said, "Food first, then Philosophy." -- No, it was my Grandfather, and he said it every year during the endless Passover productions that my Aunt Sylvia would put on. He also liked to shout out, while banging his fist on the table, "Too much food, not enough Vodka!" Poor Aunt Sylvia.
It was this Grandfather who taught me the only dictim I know, "Hate the bosses, love the Workers" and who had Patti, and my cousins hold onto our belt buckles while pledging to "Never cross a picket line,"
Another lesson from the movie: If you have two children then one can live the wrong life, the one you would have liked to have led, while the other can live the right life, the one you chose, but which was really the wrong life for you.
Whoops, was it "Shadows" or was it "Evening" that you recommended? But then did it matter?
mek

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

"These are illusions of popular history which a successful religion must promote: Evil men never prosper; only the brave deserve the fair; honesty is the best policy; actions speak louder than words; virtue always triumphs; a good deed is its own reward; any bad human can be reformed; religious talismans protect one from demon possession; only females understand the ancient mysteries; the rich are doomed to unhappiness"*.

"If you believe certain words, you believe their hidden arguments. When you believe something is right or wrong, true of false, you believe the assumptions in the words which express the arguments. Such assumptions are often full of holes, but remain most precious to the convinced"*.


* quotes from Frank Herbert's Dune series.

Saturday, June 21, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Existentialism

Someone died, said Camus' grandmother, "Well, he'll fart no more."

But that was it. It was not a matter of ignorance. She had seen many die around her, two of her children, her husband, all her nephews in the war. But that was just it: she was as familiar with Death as she was of work or poverty. She did not think about it as much as she lived it.
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

There's nothing so bad that years down the road you won't be able to laugh at it.


mek

Monday, June 16, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Where am I now?

O, the money I didn't make,
The girls I didn't take,
The land I didn't buy,
The women I failed to try...
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

"Memory is the place where things happen for the second time."
.........................Paul Auster

The Testosterone Years

The Whiskey Times

Monday, June 09, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Other important matters: recently a book on boxing was written in England. Joyce Carol Oates reviewed it in the New York Review and she mentioned something similar. You may not be aware of this but Oates is an expert on boxing and a fan. I heard her several years ago, with supralapsarian Mike Tyson (also an authority on the history of boxing) and the Amazin' Mazur, a sports announcer with an encyclopedic memory. She fit right in. And Tyson was pretty good too!

This is Oates writing:

"The symbolism of boxing does not allow for ambiguity: it is as middleweight Albert Camus put it, 'utterly Manichean.' The rites of boxing 'simplify' everything. Good and evil, the winner and the loser. "

Later she writes,: Here's "a quote attributed to Sonny Liston: ' It's always the same story--the good guy verses the bad guy.' "

What strikes me here is not so much that Camus and Liston arrive at the same conclusion, but rather that Liston's expression is so perfect, so succinct. The simple use of the five cent word instead of the two dollar word.
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Don't flatter yourself that friendship authorizes you to say disagreeable things to your intimates. The nearer you come into relation with a person, the more necessary do tact and courtesy become. Except in cases of necessity, which are rare, leave your friend to learn unpleasant things from his enemies; they are ready enough to tell them.
Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809 - 1894), The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table, 1858

Sunday, June 08, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

What's more important, Quality or Quantity? Answer: Quality -- but only if you have enough of it.

..........
Soviet - Russian military dictum.

Saturday, May 31, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Some friends have lost their childhoods, like a bottle in the sea. Mine is with me always.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Where do I go when I need to think?

To the old oak tree half way into the woods, on the trail that's hard to find. I sit under it, in the almost dark, its branches are huge and weighted down with leaves, only a little sunlight finds its way down there, below the spreading branches, and it is cool, and the air filed with a mossy, earthy smell.
0


flag

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Without you I would have been somebody else.
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

We tend to think that our real lives begin tomorrow. We disregard today. We save ourselves up for something.

This is only a way of letting life pass us by.

mek

Monday, May 26, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Love has a bitter taste. Oscar Wilde, Salome

Some people rock the boat, others row the boat. Unknown

The public business must be carried on by someone; if wise men decline it then others will take it. John Adams

No distinction can be made between the erotic and the esthetic. Picasso
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Pictures must not be too expressive. Ralph Waldo Emerson

Three things needed for success in painting: To see beauty when young and accustom ones self to it, to work hard, and to obtain good advice. Gialorenzo Bernini

Have no fear of perfection. You'll never reach it. Salvatore Dali

The rule in the art world is that you cater to the masses or you kowtow to the elite. You can;t do both. Ben Hecht
.

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Life is not a vending machine where one puts in virtue and takes out happiness. auth. unknown

Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. Picasso

I go to work as other men rush to see their mistresses. Eugene Delacroix

Who am I beyond the skin I'm in? Kara Walker

Life is nothing but a competition to be the criminal instead of the victim. Bertrand Russell.

My loathings are simple: stupidity, oppression, crime, cruelty, and soft music. Vladimir Nabokov

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

You may already know these things, but you may not have thought about them
recently.

I knew Spencer's mother; Gross' mother and father, I have a fading memory of his
grandfather ; Randelman's mother and father; and even the couple , Sally &
Irwin, who worked for his parents; Malkin's mother, father and sister, I did not
ever meet Danny's parents; I knew Manny and Grace Schultz better than most;-even
Patti knew them; I knew both of Schupf's parents, although I never met his
sisters; I never met Aaronson's parents.

I think that one of the reasons that we have stuck together is that we are a
little smarter than most--though, I understand that doesn't apply as much to SS,
Bob, and Gross because you are in professions to which intelligent people
occasionally gravitate,.

I knew each of Gross' wives, I met Bob's first wife, I don't remember Nancy
Cypress but I am sure that I met her; of course I know Mary, I know Kathy, but
don't remember either of SS's other wives but I do recall meeting one their husbands, a librarian with a cane named Ben Ch--and I liked him very much. Who was
the redhead?

You have all met Maria in both of her incarnations, I think you have all met my
sons; I have met all of Gross' children, and grandchildren--that's four
generations!-
- but none of Bob's; nor his grandchildren; I might have met or
seen Craig and Nicole, Hal's son & daughter, but only at a funeral; I met Max
once but I am not really clear on him. Anthony is a total mystery to me, as he
is a pataphysicist.

I think that if each of us made a graph or chart showing these amazing
connections we could

Sunday, May 04, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

A, for unknown, unexpressed reasons, has an irrational and violent disdain for B. When I discovered that B lived in the same building and on the very floor that A lived, he, A, insisted that we not invite him (B) to any of our dinners, nor even for the cocktails, shrimp and vegetable pate we often shared at the A apartment, separated only by a thin partition from poor, lonely B's room. Not even a glass of water!
In addition, B knows a piece of goods when he sees it and wears sport jackets in the mode of the ones George Saunders wore when he played Arthur in Rebecca.
I do not begrudge A his personal likes or dislikes, and as you know B occupies the highest shelf in my mental storeroom of friendship, regard and respect. A's hostmanship is well-known, and appreciated by all who have come into his wide and spreading umbra. But, his attitude towards B bewilders me.
I inform you of these facts only because I know of your deep sense of discretion.
B, too, asked for the recipe.

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Frenzies, possessions, mania, melancholy, nerves, tics, passionate loves and hates, melancholy, nerves, delusions, aberrant acts, dramatic tics, visual and auditory hallucinations, fears, phobias, and fantasies, disturbances of sleep, disassociations, communion with spirits and imaginary friends, addictions, self-harm, self-starvation an depression.

Saturday, April 26, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

“Common sense is seeing things as they are; and doing things as they ought to be.”
Harriet Beecher Stowe

The American people have a capacity for great things. We must once again set ourselves on a course to achieve them—based on those values that have sustained America throughout the centuries:

  • Justice. In a just America, money should not determine the limits of any American’s future, or deny any American the medical advancements that can save and sustain life. Health insurance, prescription drugs and higher education can be accessible and affordable for everyone.
  • Fairness. Our tax burden today falls most heavily on hard work, while wealth is taxed less. We subsidize corporations that are polluting our environment or sending jobs overseas. But we can restore fairness to our tax code—rewarding hard work, ensuring that wealth pays its fair share, and penalizing waste.

    Fairness also demands that we address the disparity between the incomes of women and the incomes of men. Closing the wage gap will benefit all Americans.
  • Progress. Today, technologies exist that can form the foundation of our economy for the next century. We should invest aggressively in them, just as when our nation invested in railroads, rural electrification, and in public highways.

    We can create a new energy economy, relying on sources that will never run out, including solar power, wind power, ethanol and biomass. Doing so will reduce our dependence on foreign oil and create new jobs for decades to come.
  • Moral Leadership in the World. Harry S. Truman said, “The only expansion we are interested in is the expansion of human freedom and the wider enjoyment of the good things of the earth in all countries. The only prize we covet is the respect and good will of our fellow members of the family of nations. The only realm in which we aspire to eminence exists in the minds of men, where authority is exercised through the qualities of sincerity, compassion and right conduct.” That is the American role in the world that we can restore.
  • Self-Government. We can reform our republic—restoring a democracy in which every person has a voice and our government works for the benefit of all the people.
  • Community. We have an obligation to one another as Americans and as human beings. America will be stronger when we recognize that we are dependent on each other, responsible for each other, and connected to each other.
Howard Dean 2003
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Goethe wrote:

"Things which matter most must never be at the mercy of things that matter least."
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

We all face ethical choices and pressures daily: give the money back to the cashier who gave too much change or keep it? Cheat on an exam or take it honestly? Fudge an expense report or tax return or file it truthfully? Keep our word or break a promise? "Every time you make a choice," wrote C.S. Lewis, "you are turning the central part of you, the part that chooses, into something a little different than it was before."

The foundation of our character is laid brick by brick, decision by decision, in how we choose to live our lives.
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

The longer I live the more I realize the impact of attitude on life...Attitude, to me, is more important, than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures, than successes, than what other people say or think or do. I it is more important than appearance, gifted-ness or skill. It will make or break a person, a marriage, a company, a church, or a home. We cannot change our past...we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way.We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude...I am now convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it.

Charles Swindoll
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

All human sin seems so much worse in its consequences than in its intentions.

Reinhold Niebuhr

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com


From a poet named Harold Norse: a few lines out of a longer poem:

The Photograph.

"...Herein the fantoccini stare, the waxen childlooks out forever
at the man who looks back
knowing he never will outlast the child..." and

"This little square of time, this rectanglewhose right angles measure not space but time..."

and here is part of another, very appropriate today considering our governors gone wild:

"Let the dogs hump in the streets
I'd do the same if they'd let me
those guardians of public morals
who fear the horrors of pleasure
more than the horrors of war."

He wrote that in 1971.

Oh, yes, "Fantoccini" , mechanically worked puppets, a marionette show. (Oxford Shorter)
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com


From a poet named Harold Norse: a few lines out of a longer poem:

The Photograph.

"...Herein the fantoccini stare, the waxen childlooks out forever at the man who looks backknowing he never will outlast the child..." and

"This little square of time, this rectanglewhose right angles measure not space but time..."

and here is part of another, very appropriate today considering our governors gone wild:

"Let the dogs hump in the streets
I'd do the same if they'd let me
those guardians of public morals
who fear the horrors of pleasure
more than the horrors of war."

He wrote that in 1971.

Oh, yes, "Fantoccini" let's look it up: mechanically worked puppets, a marionette show. (Oxford Shorter)

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Never Underestimate the Tyranny of Sex!

Client10

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

I believe in apology and almost always accept one when it is offered.

In my book, anything from slights, intentional or not, even theft and battery or infidelity is subject to apology and forgiveness.

Mankind is only human and we would be less so if we could not forgive others for being ordinary members of the human race.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Harlem? When?

In the fifties it was exciting, there were still plenty of jazz places--I remember Smalls Paradise, Jimmies, Diamonds, and I forgot the names of a dozen more. I was a white teen-ager lost in the music and found it very safe and very friendly. One of the bartenders at Smalls recognized me and I became a fixture...the only problem was my Mother & Dad who were jealous and wanted to go with me. I took them once--but they cramped my style. But music? Nothing like it since. There's nothing like live jazz in a small club or bar. Nothing! I heard Nat King Cole sit with a trio in a dingy bar on 118th st, I saw Louis Armstrong several times also sitting in (and he could play very mellow when he wanted to, Dinah Washington made even a teen-ager cry and I learned more about life from listening to her than I did in the next ten years. I saw Errol Garner at an outdoor concert one afternoon, Nina Simone visited a few places but she didn't ever sit in while I was there--she is one of my favorite singers anyway--The Hawk -Coleman Hawkins was always somewhere--wow, what days...

Besides jazz there was gospel--and once in a while a friend and I would put on our suits and go to church just to hear the music. Bring back those days.

But after the riots Harlem became a little touchy. I had to stay on 125th St and there was only the Apollo and I really never felt comfortable there- plus the seats were very tight.

Now, it's boring, gentrifying faster than you can say Jackie Robinson.

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

From the Cavafy Notebook 1905

A young poet visited me," he wrote. "He was very poor, lived by his literary work, and it seemed to me that he was grieved to see the good house I was living in, my servant who brought him a nicely served tea, my clothes made by a good tailor. He said: what a horrible thing it is to have to struggle for a livelihood, to hunt subscribers your periodical, and purchasers for your book.
I didn't want to leave him in his delusion, so I said a few words, more or less as follows. His position is difficult and disagreeable-- but how much my little luxuries cost me. In order to obtain them I departed from my natural course and became a government servant (how absurd!) and I spend and lose all those precious hours a day-- to which must be added the hours of weariness and sluggishness that follow-- what a loss, and what a betrayal! While this poor fellow doesn't waste a single hour; he's always faithful to his duty as a child of Art.
How often during my work a fine idea comes to me, a rare image, and sudden ready-formed lines, and I'm obliged to leave them, because work can't be put off. Then when I go home and recover a bit, I try to remember them, but they're gone. And it's quite right. It's as if Art said to me: 'I'm not a servant, for you to turn me out when I come, and to come when you want. I'm the greatest lady in the world. And if you deny me-- miserable traitor-- for your wretched "nice house," and your wretched good clothes and your wretched social position, be content with that (but how can you?) and for the moments when I come and it happens that you're ready to receive me, come outside your door to wait for me, as you ought to every day.'
Cavafy....June 1905."

Thursday, January 03, 2008

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com


Well, thanks for looking at it. When it gets out of Beta I think it might good for us, because by that time we may be way past the Z in Alzheimer's and we might need the site as a daily reference marker to our being and proof that at one time we actually existed.

I would prefer, however, that time might work backward and that I could hold conversations with my great-grandfather and his son, my Grandpa, who died when I was a callow youth of sixteen and I didn't know the important questions that I would want answers to, some sixty years later.
I've been hoping for a meeting with my father at 50, and grandfather at 50, and great-grandfather at 50, and me at 50 ever since I was fifty but I don't think that is in the cards for me. I would have liked to be able to sit at the table with each of us the same age at the same time, knowing what we knew at that age and then being able to tell each other, although I would have been more interested in what they had to say about their lives and history and what it was like for them in Russia and then in Brooklyn and the Lower East Side and how my Great-grandfather felt when he realized that his son, my grandfather, was a rabble rousing non-believer socialist bum, and then that my father was a person with little interest in politics or religion but a guy who ran with rum-rummers and ran track in high school, and who later became a Beau Brummel in the nineteen-twenties, with a big car and drinking, and the horses, and somehow still running a drug store and recipes for making 'gin' and 'scotch', and 'rye', using as a base the alcohol that druggists could purchase "for medicinal purposes only," and then there were the gallons and gallons of Lydia Pinkams, a tonic for women's "ailments," also mostly alcohol, but then you probably know all about that too.
What must my grandfather and his father thought of Bernie then, who liked to say that in his high school class the kids either became gangsters or judges, there were few other choices.
And then there was my great-grandfather, Abraham, now buried in the Landsman Plot at Mt. Hebron, with twenty-five other Katz'. What must he have made of all these goings on? He was a religious man, who prayed at he eastern wall of the synagogue every day and who was one of the seven founders of the Hebrew Free Loan Society--how could he have an atheist, or, at best, an agnostic for a son, one who spoke at street corners, and went to meetings instead of schul.
O what went on in HIS head, poor Abraham, everything lost, everything going down hill, and Bernie marries a Shiksa, can you believe it? With a son no less. It was probably better in Svir, near Vilna where he could keep his family in their religion and there were no apostates, only the Polish Noble whose estate he managed while the nobleman drank, and raced horses, and screwed Jewish maidens, -- just like Bernie...

Life has stolen away youth.

Saturday, December 22, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

And why did you leave out Bob Hood, or Don Ringinham, a pharmacist who worked for me and now is the owner of three drug stores, or Marva May K--r, another pharmacist who also managed one of my stores for me and now owns her own store, and will be retiring soon to live in Panama and New York. And at BST there were plenty of guys who made more of themselves than the corner idlers Cosby mentions.

And then there was Charlie E----N, a Jewish pharmacist, probably the best I ever had, fast and smart, who worked for me before opening his own store and is now in jail for Medicaid fraud. And what about Bob S---N, a Serbian pharmacist who kept pistols in his locker? . Or Barry S---o, another Jewish pharmacist who stole drugs from the store and resold them on the street.

I don't think race means anything. I suspect the culture and the family. Or lack thereof. And do you know who agreed with me? W.E.B.DuBois, that's who.You see, we knew all this stuff long ago. But we never act on it.

When in the seventh grade my son, Max, was asked to write a paper on Existentialism, and so he called on The Great Robert Earl Hood, and asked him for advice. Bob, who had studied in Switzerland with Karl Barth, told Max to tell his teacher that, "We settled all that stuff in the fifties."

That's how I feel about Cosby and his recent discovery that black children aren't paying attention in school, and are wearing their hats backwards. -- We knew all that stuff in the sixties.

The question is what can be done about it. I am quite pessimistic that any outside force can have any effect on what is happening. Outside forces include, the schools, the government, carrot-offering liberals, and even stick-wielding conservatives.



Once as Bob and I walked on Ninth Avenue, near General Seminary, where he taught philosophy I said to Bob:

"Bob, you are one of the most intelligent people I have ever known, do you really believe in God?" "

Yes," he answered, "with all my heart and soul, I believe that Jesus Christ is my ___ and savior, and that one day I will sit at his feet in heaven."

Bob Hood left a cushy job teaching at the graduate level at General Seminary in NYC, a job that included a fabulous salary and a three bedroom apartment in Manhattan, in order to found the African American Studies Department at Hofstra on Long Island, where he lived in an unheated room, up a narrow, winding, stone stairway in the tower of the Cathedral of the Incarnation. He gave up what would have rolled up into a large pension and took his chances with a project that might not have worked out.

He sold his beloved collection of English 18th Century furniture and a collection of English silver and contributed the proceeds to the African-American Study Center, when funding did not come as quickly as he had expected. Cosidering his age at the time, I would guess that the collection was accumulated over a twenty year period.

He was a radical activist who was a representative of Desmond Tutu. He believed in non-violence in the tradition of Dietrich Bonhoffer and Martin Luther King.

Although he thought himself to be a liberation theologian, without violence, and argued that his people had suffered oppression at the hands of racist whites, Bob was able to divine the difference between innocuous, harmless whites like me, and bigot whites. Bob saw the world from the bottom up, through the eyes and feelings of the poor and oppressed.

Yes, he had a flaw, a flaw of which you may be aware, which was that, although he loved women, he did not think them suitable to the wearing of the cloth. He believed that God had another purpose for women.

But we each live with our contradictions, even me and probably every reader.

One of Bob's favorite Biblical Passages was the Magnificat, related in Luke; Bob had memorized it and when he recited it his voice, deep, baronial, would rise every time he came to the lines, "...He has taken princes from their thrones/and exalted the lowly."

He believed and certainly his world view was from the bottom.

Friday, December 07, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com


Good and evil is always mixed up together--the essential question is, does good get the last word?

Monday, November 26, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

The Virtues:

Auctoritas: "Spiritual Authority" The sense of one's social standing, built up through experience, Pietas, and Industria.

Comitas: "Humor" Ease of manner, courtesy, openness, and friendliness.

Clementia: "Mercy" Mildness and gentleness.

Dignitas: "Dignity" A sense of self-worth, personal pride.

Firmitas: "Tenacity" Strength of mind, the ability to stick to one's purpose.

Frugalitas: "Frugalness" Economy and simplicity of style, without being miserly.

Gravitas: "Gravity" A sense of the importance of the matter at hand, responsibility and earnestness.

Honestas: "Respectibility" The image that one presents as a respectable member of society.

Humanitas: "Humanity" Refinement, civilization, learning, and being cultured.

Industria: "Industriousness" Hard work.

Pietas: "Dutifulness" More than religious piety; a respect for the natural order socially, politically, and religiously. Includes the ideas of patriotism and devotion to others.

Prudentia: "Prudence" Foresight, wisdom, and personal discretion.

Salubritas: "Wholesomeness" Health and cleanliness.

Severitas: "Sternness" Gravity, self-control.

Veritas: "Truthfulness" Honesty in dealing with others.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
From Robert Stone's essay on "The Father of All Things,"Tom Bissell, NY Review, 11-22-07:

"The waters returned and covered the chariots and the chariot drivers, the whole army of Pharaoh that had followed them into the sea; not one of them remained." Exodus. Nobody completely returns from a war, especially a lost one.

"A person who has lived through a great war is different from a person who never lived through any war. They are two different species of human beings. They will never find a common language, because you cannot really describe the war, you cannot share it, you cannot tell someone: Here take a little of my war." Ryszard Kapuscinski

"It was Heraclitus who told us that no man steps into the same river twice because it is never the same river and never the same man."

"He also wrote that that a 'beast moves in response only to blows and, hauntingly, that the kingly power is like the power of a child.' Perhaps he meant that struggle is at once inevitable and ultimately ineffectual, a pessimism that we have all be admonished to resist."

"the largest house can be entered by its smallest door."

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

"There comes a time when time passing becomes time remaining."

I had no idea what I said. Here's St Eve's first reply.


This is a complicated statement and requires some thought to unravel. The passage of time is a perception that depends upon cause and effect occurrence in the physical world and the apprehension of those causes followed by their associated effects. The batter hits the pitched ball. Then there is the memory of those relations and their order of occurrence. Sight of the ball and sound of the bat hitting the ball this becomes the sensed passage of time. So when the time remaining to our lives becomes the sensed moment of times' passage; it is the last moment-end time. Now some might accuse me of being philosophically narrow and bending the meaning to my own ends but if you think about what time perception is really all about then my conclusion seems unavoidable. If this is not clear I will gladly restate it.
Ss


Gross asked for a restatement. So here's St Eve's second reply or re-statement.


Inherent within the above statement, there is a structure to time. There is past, present and future time.

Time coming is its emergence out of the future to become the present moment. No matter how brief that moment is, it lapses and becomes the next moment. As it passes it becomes past time. Historical time and future time are infinites with present time sandwiched in between. Time passing from future to present to past is the accepted linear configuration in western society.

In the second part of the statement, “time remaining” has to be assumed to be a personal subset of future moments that constitutes the finite period of the person’s life that they have left to live.

So when that packet of future time, the remainder of one’s life’s moments becomes passing time, and entering the past then one's life is over the next instant. When the time remaining to one's life passes it is all over.

To restate the notions related to the perception of time embedded in the above statement is less . This perception is complex and comes from our senses which record in memory happenings sequentially with antecedent and subsequent events. They may be cause and effect but as Katz has pointed out may just be sequential.

The order of occurrence and their recording on RNA and reading that order may be how we know that events are past time and we are able to place them in their temporal order by their physical placement in the RNA molecule.

There are many exceptions to time perception which are intriguing.
Time passing fast, passing slowly: time standing still, athletes in “the zone “with altered time perception and increased performance abilities.

When my understanding improves with research I will pass it on.
ss
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

I've been feeling sorry for myself for several years. I've thought that I didn't measure up to the successes of many of my friends. If you've been reading this blog you've noticed that I often write about my failure, my inability to help my children in the way that I see some of my friends doing, the fact that I can't travel in the "manner to which I am accustomed."

This whining must stop. It's really childlike, it's the cry of a spoiled child, or an old man who never grew up.

I look around myself every day, and see how well I am am living for God's sake. I live in a three bedroom beuatifully decorated apartment overlooking the ocean.

My children aren't starving. Yes, they're in a tougher place than I ever was, but so are many other people in their forties. It isn't as easy for my kids as it was for me. Did I make mistakes? Yes, you bet, in every way. But that's past, and I should be over it, and accept my life for the way it has turned out. I ended up with a great wife, I can still read, and the sun still rises and sets everyday. I see every sunrise. And that ain't so bad...

The paths we take don't always lead to our destination -- but this is where I am and where I belong.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

The screed is NOT the opinion of the writer. What follows is my reaction to it.

Tomatoes and Cheap Labor CHEAP TOMATOES?

This should make everyone think, be you Democrat, Republican or Independent From a California school teacher - - - As you listen to the news about the student protests over illegal immigration, there are some things that you should be aware of:I am in charge of the English-as-a-second-language department at a large southern California high school which is designated a Title 1 school, meaning that its students average lower socioeconomic and income levels.

Most of the schools you are hearing about, South Gate High, Bell Gardens , Huntington Park , etc., where these students are protesting, are also Title 1 schools. Title 1 schools are on the free breakfast and free lunch program. When I say free breakfast, I'm not talking a glass of milk and roll -- but a full breakfast and cereal bar with fruits and juices that would make a Marriott proud. The waste of this food is monumental, with trays and trays of it being dumped in the trash uneaten. (OUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK)

I estimate that well over 50% of these students are obese or at least moderately overweight. About 75% or more DO have cell phones. The school also provides day care centers for the unwed teenage pregnant girls (some as young as 13) so they can attend class without the inconvenience of having to arrange for babysitters or having family watch their kids. (OUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK) I was ordered to spend $700,000 on my department or risk losing funding for the upcoming year even though there was little need for anything; my budget was already substantial. I ended up buying new computers for the computer learning center, half of which, one month later, have been carved with graffiti by the appreciative students who obviously feel humbled and grateful to have a free education in America . (OUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK)

I have had to intervene several times for young and substitute teachers whose classes consist of many illegal immigrant students here in the country less then 3 months who raised so much hell with the female teachers, calling them 'Putas' whores and throwing things that the teachers were in tears.

Free medical, free education, free food, day care etc., etc, etc. Is it any wonder they feel entitled to not only be in this country but to demand rights, privileges and entitlements? To those who want to point out how much these illegal immigrants contribute to our society because they LIKE their gardener and housekeeper and they like to pay less for tomatoes: spend some time in the real world of illegal immigration and see the TRUE costs. Higher insurance, medical facilities closing, higher medical costs, more crime, lower standards of education in our schools, overcrowding, new diseases etc., etc, etc.

For me, I'll pay more for tomatoes. We need to wake up. The guest worker program will be a disaster because we won't have the guts to enforce it. Does anyone in their right mind really think they will voluntarily leave and return? It does, however, have everything to do with culture: A third-world culture that does not value education, that accepts children getting pregnant and dropping out of school by 15 and that refuses to assimilate, and an American culture that has become so weak and worried about 'political correctness' that we don't have the will to do anything about it.

If this makes your blood boil, as it did mine, forward this to everyone you know. CHEAP LABOR? Isn't that what the whole immigration issue is about?Business doesn't want to pay a decent wage. Consumers don't want expensive produce. Government will tell you Americans don't want the jobs.But the bottom line is cheap labor. The phrase 'cheap labor' is a myth, a farce, and a lie. There is no such thing as 'cheap labor.' Take, for example, an illegal alien with a wife and five children. He takes a job for $5.00 or 6.00/hour. At that wage, with six dependents, he pays no income tax, yet at the end of the year, if he files an Income Tax Return, he gets an 'earned income credit' of up to $3,200 free. He qualifies for Section 8 housing and subsidized rent. He qualifies for food stamps.He qualifies for free (no deductible, no co-pay) health care. His children get free breakfasts and lunches at school.He requires bilingual teachers and books. He qualifies for relief from high energy bills.If they are or become, aged, blind or disabled, they qualify for SSI. Once qualified for SSI they can qualify for Medicare. All of this is at (our) taxpayer's expense. He doesn't worry about car insurance, life insurance, or homeowners insurance.Taxpayers provide Spanish language signs, bulletins and printed material.He and his family receive the equivalent of $20.00 to $30.00/hour in benefits. Working Americans are lucky to have $5.00 or $6.00/hour left after paying their bills and his. The American taxpayers also pay for increased crime, graffiti and trash clean-up. Cheap labor?

YEAH RIGHT! Wake up people! THESE ARE THE QUESTIONS WE SHOULD BE ADDRESSING TO THE PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE S FOR EITHER PARTY. 'AND WHEN THEY LIE TO US AND DON'T DO AS THEY SAY, WE SHOULD REPLACE THEM AT ONCE!' THIS HAS GOT TO BE PASSED ALONG TO AS MANY AS POSSIBLE OR WE WILL ALL GO DOWN THE DRAIN BECAUSE A FEW DON'T CARE.

Here's my reply to my poor innocent sister.

Dear Sister:

Here is a poisonous, propagandistic screed probably written by Heinrich Himmler, reincarnated, sent to me by my dear and loving sister, an innocent who passes on more than she knows, and whom I am sure hasn't given much thought to the subject before passing it on. I recognize some of the names on the address list, they are all multi-millionaires, most of whom continued to build the empires started by their parents or grandparents.

They are rich and hard-working, and although each of them could stop working, they seem to have forgotten where they come from, and they forget what was once the rich Jewish tradition (and American, for that matter) of compassion and fighting for the underdog.

Somehow, although America welcome immigrants, we distrust them, fear them, it is the fear of the stranger, xenophobia over all.

America is of two minds when it comes to immigrantion-- on the one hand we open our arms in welcome, but on the other we distrust the strangers who come here in search of a better life, a roof over their heads, some food to put on the table. And when they look different or speak differently than we do, why then the fear turns into witch hunts, like "the yellow peril" of the late nineteenth century, the "red scare" and the Palmer raids after WWI, the internment of Japanese Americans during WW 2, McCarthyism of the fifties, and right at the conception of America, the actual witch hunts of Salem.

Here's your homework, get a DVD called Sacco & Vincetti, you can get it through Netflix or your library. And see if there is a DVD of the Maxwell Anderson play that was made into a film, called Winterset.

And finally, I shall remind my dear sister that our grandfather was caught up in the Palmer raids, and might have been shipped back to Russia with the rest of the unmannered-filthy-Jew-immigrant-anarchist-radicals

Saturday, November 10, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Hal is fighting back with his usual bravery. He stands up when you might think he would lie down and take a "well deserved rest," as he used to say. I watched as a physical therapist wrapped some elastic bandages the length of his leg, right from the verge of his groin to his ankles.

She needed to make them tight, so that they would apply pressure to his leg, something to do with his lymph nodes, something she explained to me, but which, unlike Hal, I just turned off, so I can't report to you the exact details of Hal's problem. Perhaps he can.

But as she wrapped them tightly around his leg, I can report, factually, that there was no complaint from our friend. He took it. It was what had to be done, and in Hal's world that means that you do it, and you don't whine, or complain as certain people, this writer, for instance, would. I saw a small part of his scar, an ugly reddened tear that started on one side of his thigh, entered his groin which was covered by a black cloth (thus I didn't get to actually see the oft mentioned massive family jewels) and reappeared on the other side, something like a red gravel road coming out of a black tunnel.

Hal lives in a beautiful home, Mary has done her best; anyone who enjoys artfully designed settings would appreciate how Hal and Mary live -- and Mary! Wow! she has lost a lot of weight, looks very smart, and, well, she could be a trophy wife... She looks great. Hal should be very proud of her-- Mary created a small studio in a second, separate building that had been a garage, she has an outdoor living room at the front of the house, a huge indoor living room, a dining room, a guest room and of course a master bedroom. Hal explained to me that the style is 1930's Hollywood overlayed by a contemporary touch. Mary says she used a lot of her old things, but I would say that she mixed them so well, that unless she pointed the old pieces to me I didn't know which they were. It is a grand setting.

mek
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

On the illness of two lifelong pals:

This should be really tough; but it isn't. I'm no callous youth, understand please that even as a child I knew, I expected, that Mr. Death would come for me and my friends sooner or later. As we grew older, we each made our bets and beds, now we prepare to count our winnings, balance our losses, and lie in our graves. Some closer to the mud than others, I guess.

I can still hear the dirt raining down my grandfather's coffin, and my Dad's, It's a common sound no matter who we are.. Last year we read Everyman, and that was a peek further down the road than most of us had seen before. Now we drink the Grapes of Roth.

My father didn't want to go, my mother did. She had a sense of humor about it, he didn't.

They both went in their time, but it wasn't the time of their choice. Mother insisted on being taken as soon as Dad was gone, but Dad was hanging on like a boxer on the ropes--he wouldn't go down. He rallied, slowed, and rallied again during an everlasting period of a year. Dad, as I knew him, was a quiet man, easy going in most things, but not this. He was always strong, and in his final illness even stronger. There was a rope holding him up, and some iron force in him fought back, he pushed Mr. Death away, tore the mask from Death, looked at it, stared it in the eye sockets, and Dad simply chose not to go.

He wasn't ready.

But defeat came and after it my mother was immediately ready; and she was upset that God, or Mr. Death had passed her by so many times. There was one time when I looked out her hospital window and saw a figure wearing a cape and a slouch hat astride a black horse trotting down Federal highway.

Mother tried to look down and see it, but her macular degeneration had gone too far; she asked me to open the window and let him know she was here -- and impatient -- ready. She brushed her hair and asked the attendant to put her make up on. She would be presentable on her dark journey. But Death didn't take her that day. He made her wait another two years and she was bitter, angry at God, for forgetting her and taking her lover and leaving her behind. She had no purpose now, she had seen her husband through his times, but now, she thought, she should leave this life, and go on to the next --or to nothing-- as the case might be.

She was ready.


mek

Sunday, September 23, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Time has moved to fast for me to look back, as I have spent my life doing. Ruminating at my many missteps, many mistakes, wrong paths taken leads nowhere. We learn from experience, we keep what we can, but the reality is that there's no way back. The road always lies ahead.
We live towards the future, no one can go back. No matter how much we might like to, once past, no path can be re-tread. "You Can't Go Home Again."

I can't unsay those words, I can't become a nuero-biologist, (if I ever could have), I can't have two more children. I won't ever have that cottage in the mountains. I can go only forward. There's no reverse gear.

I'm not the same boy who loved to run alone in the woods. Not the boy who road his bicycle for hours, not the boy who stood transfixed at the front window of the subway car, looking into the long dark ahead, marked only by a few distant blue lights.

I'm through most of the long dark now, and it hasn't been as exciting as that small eight year old boy thought it would be. It's been only a long tunnel, with several stations along the way. One or two had bright lights.

The boy is still with me. Still dreaming, my eyes wet, my throat tightened...

Sunday, September 09, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

From Blog: Scotland of the Soul:

When it gets dark I tow your heart away

Today I am completely incensed at the government's lack of response to the hurricanes. It's true that I've been in their corner so far, but this was the absolute last straw!

Rita hit the coast and all heck broke loose. There was massive devastation all over town, the ultimate distress and human suffering. I was outside for nine hours, and I saw tree limbs - IN. THE. ROAD! There are puddles of standing water in the poor section of town, and it's unconscionable. We need troops, man. We need, like, 5 buses! And some Heinekens! And
If we can't get those busses, there's going to be panic in the streets! It'll be mayhem and disaster. People will have to eat corpses to survive... well, at least the people that don't have police escorts to loot the Piggly-Wiggly.

I also have it on good authority that the Bush Administration sent agents into that part of town with a garden hose to drench that neighborhood with even more water! It's obviously because George Bush doesn't care about black people, and wants them all to die... or have damp socks, which could lead to athlete's foot!
Oh no, that's not all either. When the Red Cross tried to deliver galoshes and aquasox to these poor people, Homeland Security stopped them from doing it. Even the evil tyrants from Wal-Mart tried to send help, but they too were turned away. That's right! George Bush personally flew down here and stood next to my house in the middle of my street and stopped the delivery trucks in their tracks.

I know what you're saying, "How could this be? Could tragedy really sneak up on us so quickly in the America we grew up in?" Yes, friends. Yes it can. But the real tragedy is that this has been a long time coming. This tragedy has been building for days now.
Earlier today, I spoke with another affected resident, and he told me what will likely turn out to be one of literally dozens of tragic tales of loss and humidity. According to Mr. Aaron, his mother was trapped on her porch because of the scattered showers, and every day she called him and said "Are you coming son? Is somebody coming?" And he told her "Yeah, Mom, somebody's coming to get you." Somebody's coming to get you on Wednesday. Somebody's coming to get you on Thursday. Somebody's coming to get you on Friday." And she finally had to walk out to her car alone on Friday night. She walked out alone on Friday night, and got raindrops on her coat! It was suede, dammit! SUEDE!

Shocking, yes. It's clear that the new FEMA director is just as bad as the old one. They just want black folks to get wet, while all the white folks stay nice and dry under the umbrellas they got by oppressing you and me. I call for a national boycott of FEMA until such time as Acting Director Paulison partners with the Rainbow/PUSH Coalition to solve this systemic racist problem. I call on him to act immediately by sending 15... 20... no, 50 million dollars to Rainbow/PUSH (or my personal bank account, if that's more convenient) in small unmarked bills, so that we can quickly get back on the road to recovery.

God bless you all... except the people in Hymietown,
Jesse Jackson

----

Saturday, September 01, 2007

Monday, August 20, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com


Last night I dreamed that M. was rehearsing a bawdy ditty about lawyers on a small stage. I was the only person in the tiny theater. M. was dancing stark naked, and I was embarrassed so I averted my eyes taking only a peek, through my fingers whenever I imagined she wasn't looking. I wondered why she had chosen this particular song to sing for the wedding, and felt sad for her that she had to sing it naked.

I also dreamed that I was drinking at the bar of a very expensive, luxuriously appointed, steakhouse when Mr. (Richman) arrived with a group of businessmen. Apparently they were there to discuss a "deal," Richman greeted me routinely, and rudely, quickly took the group into a private room without introducing me to anyone. I was wearing the pin stripe I shall wear Saturday night. Upset, I grasped the hand of one of the group and gave him my powerful, strongest handshake as he walked away from me into the private room. Later, Mr. Richman asked me, why I had manhandled his partner. I asked Richman where he had learned that word.

In my waking hours early this morning, as I drank my coffee, at about 5:15 AM., I read this line from a fascinating diary-journal of an editor at Conde-Nast called Leo Lerman. Lerman was a man who knew everyone in New York for about fifty years, so his journals catch everyone from a member of Sara Bernhardts' troop, to Leonard Bernstein, and Ingmar Bergman.

His mother had early on recognized her son's proclivities and was not unhappy about them as she understood that he would never marry. "So he's a momma's boy," she said, "and I'm his mother."

I like that.

This book is not meant for you to bother with. It's for people like me, who read what used to be called gossip columns and who wish that they could have been at every party, vernissage, debut, and opening whether theater or art, that was reported.

But Lerman had a remarkable life and each of his entries, though brief, are witty and insightful. His parties, apparently, were legendary and after running his own on jug wines and rat cheese he was offered the bankroll of Conde-Nast and his parties became larger and larger and his list became triple A and held only people of accomplishment. Anyway, the book is not for serious people and not for you.

Lerman and his family fit right into our discussion of "Who is a Jew," as he was another Bar Mitzvah boy who never set foot into a schul after the fountain-pen celebration.

You can forward and or edit this if you like. I'd like to send it to St Eve, but am holding it because of the first paragraph. Use your judgment.

m.

Saturday, August 11, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

August 2, 2007

It has been as though a veil has dropped over my head. Everything is a shade darker, and I find myself sighing every once in while. I keep looking back at my mistakes, the same mistakes I made forty years ago—not buying certain real estate, not investing in the stock market on a more regular basis, remaining at KDS all those boring years, not finding a business partner with whom to work, not following up on many ideas that ran through my mind at various times…

Now I regret not having the money to have two homes, to take vacations, to travel. Money is too short even for going to NYC, and I am stuck here, in Florida in this luxurious apartment—but surrounded by people so different from me, that even when I am with them at the office or on the beach I am lonely, unsatisfied, unhappy, discontent. There is no laughter here—except with M—and if it weren’t for her I’d be a bum on the road, or dead. I’m lucky to be here, with here, but it isn’t really enough.

Why has money become so important here, at the end of my life?

August 3, 2007

I learned last summer that I could live over a store in Cold Spring, in a tight one bedroom apartment with M and be happier than here. It was the guys I met at the Foundry, a coffee shop on Main Street. I could be with them, chat, felt accepted, felt on their level and they were on mine. Again, this summer, M and I spent a short time in a small house in Westhampton. It was fine. Of course, there is no money for a small house in NY. If we sold this apartment we might end up with $600K or so, but that wouldn’t bring much in NY, and then there are the higher living expenses there. Taxes would probably be lower, especially if we were to buy an apartment in NYC. But then, the temptations of NY living would easily outrun my wallet. And then, M needs something, anything, here in Florida, so here would be two sets of expenses. We can’t do it.

M says I should have more male friends here. Yes, I should…and I know that I exaggerate when I say that no one in Florida has any brains, or that I have no interests in common with anyone. It’s an exaggeration, but still it describes the problem.

August 11, 2007

In the days before Jaws I was something of an ocean swimmer, but since 1975, I swim accompanied by an undertow of anxiety , an unspoken, and until now, unacknowledged fear of swimming alone, especially far out where I used to swim as a child and later as a young man.

In those days I never would have thought of encountering a Big White, but now, always in the back of my mind, one swims close by waiting for its chance. The fear never leaves me even when I summon, somehow, the courage to swim by myself past the line of buoys that mark an invisible dividing line between swimmer and boater about a hundred yards out.

Any nearby splash, or even a bit of foam ten yards away, puts me on Shark Alert, and I struggle to remain calm, knowing that a panic stricken swimmer will excite the huge, unseen predator’s natural instinct—its instinct to cull the weakest of our species from the briny deep domain and to have lunch at my arm’s expense.

I like my arm
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

For the neverborn children
.
.
"Hush, hush little children
No cradle shall hold you,
In no clothes can we fold you,
Dead that the living cannot mourn,
Untimely, lost and never born."
.
From The Dybbuk, Polish-Yiddish Film, 1937.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

To a few friends regarding The Bourne Ultimatum

Bourne Ultimatum
MOOD: Irritated

The Woman brought me to see this WoT. (Waste of Time) I guess it's sort of a very noisy, travelog, Kung Fu hybrid Superman movie with hi-tech paraphernalia.

Where does Bourne get the money to fly around the world? Who does his laundry? Where did he keep that passport that had been one of twenty issued to him when he was first inducted into the Company? How did he access it so fast? When he was in Tangier why couldn't the cameraman keep the camera still? Buy him a stedi-cam. And the cuts were so short that I thought that they kept running out of film. Oh, those bean counters -- let them bring some film next time. Why would he call the Evil Task Master to tell him that he was in his office rifling his safe? Okay, I can accept that he could make a ten story leap into the water and survive, (ten stories is only 100 feet) but how did he jump across the FDR Drive? Why doesn't the American Olympic Committee recruit him? Who is going to cure him of the skin diseases he will contract while swimming in the East River?

If you go to see this in spite of this warning, bring your ear protectors.



From St Eve regarding The Bourne Ultimatum

Stronghart: what I think is that your response was antiamerican.

First of all everyone loves matt damon and everyone sympathizes with someone who has had his mind altered by albert finney dr villian who forgot the hippocratic oath and is bad bad bad.
And jasonbourne besidesforgetting everything had his shatzie murdered by thecia and thats not the culinary institute of america.Where is your heart man. And besides he is everymanfighting to get his brains back from the evil doers.Stronghartwhere is your rockmunis?{questionable spelling}.Thismovie isBRokeback Mountain for straight guys.Stronghartwake up andsmell thegefilte fish. you too Malkin dont you know aRT whenyou see it and he is in such great CONDITION and really has GAME. More enthusiasmfor jumping though windows and into the east river andkillingthe muslim hit man. Don't you want us to win inIIraq.and randelmanit just not just about money its about the soul ofthis great nation. Gross see this movie and dont be afraid to like it.Boldly embrassthe medium and the message and the messenger if youknow what I mean. Cinema is like tootsie popsdifferent flavours and different ways to get to thesweet center. and take along merle to get the womensviewpoint but remember its a guy movie and your a guy.I wonder what schuffy thought of the movie.And dontforgetmost theaters are air conditioned.ss

oh and I have a tea shirt that says "born to be bourne"on the front and I run through the aisles of the supermarketmisdirecting everyones cartand telling them that the CIA is watching in a lowthreatening voice. ss

Monday, August 06, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

To a Friend Getting Ready for Cancer Surgery:

Hal:Gross' remarks bring to mind the question of what to wear in the event that a last, final gathering of your friends is necessary after the operation..

I wouldn't want to come dressed in a manner that might offend; and yet I have no idea what is worn in Beverly Hills Adjacent these days -- or any days, for that matter, as my experience in such neighborhoods has been severely limited. I was thinking of a hound's tooth sport jacket, Would that be okay? Let me know.

But, allow me to digress, if you will: Martinis. I have been giving them a lot of thought since arriving in Florida, since, as you know, in summer those in the real know, drink only white, and Florida has no spring, fall or winter detectable to Northern sensitivities. It's always summer.

So I have been drinking martinis exclusively. It was only through your careful and generous instruction that I have come to consider myself to be an expert at Martini construction, but you remain the Master in my mind, as well as Chief of Protocol.

I have moved away from Vodka to Gin. Hendricks, to be specific. Its powerful juniper fragrance is the first of its pleasures, for even as the bottle is opened the martini experience begins. The juniper fragrance is like an appetizer leading to the forthcoming martini.

I use a previously frozen glass shaker filled with ice cubes. I usually pour two and half ounces of Hendricks and add a small amount of vermouth, only the driest, of course, but, to quote you, I am not afraid of vermouth, so I probably use more than most people would approve.

The glass jar is shaken furiously, so that small slivers of ice form. There are people who believe that shaking the shaker is vulgar--but why would it be called a "shaker" if not because it is made to be shaken. Anyway, I crave those ice slivers. I pour the very cold martini into a frozen martini glass. A single plain olive is added, sometimes two, if I am hungry.

Yes, I know of today's fad for "dirty" martinis....talk about "vulgar." I am astounded when I see that Gross and St Eve have both fallen for that fad. You may have noticed me slowly moving a seat or two away from them when they order it dirty. You must also have noticed the look of disapproval on the bartender's face when he takes their order. (By the way, do you know that the bartender at Henry's has taken to calling himself "Randy" in homage to you, the Master?)
I know that you have used spicy or pimento filled olives, but I believe that they, somehow, take away from the true martini experience. And what else is there, but Truth? And I prefer the martini to be a martini, not lunch.

Hoping to hear from you--before it's too late.

m

Sunday, July 29, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Be a person who can make and create--not just a person who shop and buy.


Your childhood may not have been perfect but it is over.
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Critical Thinking on the Curmudgeon Line.

Actually, I have been this way all my life—it’s not really a curmudgeon writing--

I would like to stop being so critical of things—everything from the dress a woman is wearing, to the way that someone has parked his car. I become incensed when a woman fails to curb her dog and doesn’t pick up after it, or when she allows her little dog to spend the afternoon and night tied up in her yard yapping. What business is it of mine? —Especially when I live far enough away that I don’t hear the dog. It is the woman’s lack of concern for her neighbors that bothers me.

I am irritated at waitresses who don’t check the table often enough—but also at a waitress who constantly intrudes—“everything okay?” Gad, does that bother me.

Or a child—mine or yours—who tries to dominate at table, demanding this or that food, or not paying attention to the adult conversation, and interrupting at will.

Of course there’s always adults who need to display their wealth—or worse, their imitation of it with their Louis Vuitton handbags (counterfeit or not) and sunglasses marked by a huge Chanel logo, informing anyone who looks that the wearer has money to burn. What a waste—and that bothers me too.

I am irritated by Hummers, and those who brag about their Hummers, using gazillions of gallons of gas. I want to leave nasty notes on their windows. And half the time the owners of these monster cars can’t park them properly, often their tires are over the line separating one parking slot from the next. But these types are so inconsiderate that they just don’t care and they leave their massive Hummers or 4x4s in a space and half without a second thought.

Then, of course, there are those who park in spaces reserved for the handicapped. Some have counterfeit handicapped parking cards; others have real ones that they have conned from their doctors. Look, if we can’t stop doctors from giving out prescriptions for unnecessary drugs when people demand them after seeing ads on television, how can we stop doctors from issuing handicapped permits just because they are unnecessary? Why are doctors afraid to say, "NO"! Who is that fat guy walking away from his car after hanging a handicapped permit on its mirror? He looks like he could press five-hundred pounds. And that skinny bleached blond with the poodle getting out of her Mercedes? Does she really need a permit? Talk about road rage? I have parking lot rage—in every parking lot.

I don’t like loud takers—though those who speak too softly also irritate me. I can’t stand people who talk too much; or those who fail to listen to MY stories, especially those who are easily distracted in the middle of one of my stories, and interrupts to ask, “where are we going to eat tonight?” while I am describing the miraculous recovery of my eye-glasses after losing them in the Atlantic Ocean in 1999.

How rude can we get? Well, there are those who carry on cell phone conversations while in a restaurant—and what about those who fail to heed the theater’s plea to turn of their cell phones-and then actually answer it in movie theaters? Would my “cell phone rage” defense be successful were I to murder one of these people?

Another class of people who get my goat are those who speak using pronouns without previously making clear of whom they are speaking. “So he said to him…”

Monday, June 25, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

From Gross to Hal & the Group re Hal's coming surgery:

I'm sure the Chief of Protocol will understand if we submit our requests for the Shiva now, while there's time. I never got a chance to tell Hal how partial I was to that green spread he used to serve as an hors d'oeuvre, with olives. Of course, the martinis will have to be prepared in advance and frozen; no one but Hal can get them just right. I know we can't expect Sally and Irwin, but do you think he still has the goldware? Any requests?

From Buster to Hal & the Group:

Hal:

Gross' remarks bring to mind the question of what to wear at your funeral. I wouldn't want to come dressed in a manner that might offend; and yet I have no idea what is worn in Beverly Hills Adjacent these days -- or any days, for that matter, as my experience in such neighborhoods has been severely limited. I was thinking of a hound's tooth sport jacket, Would that be okay? Let me know.


But, more to the point: Martinis. I have been giving them a lot of thought since arriving in Florida, since, as you know, in summer those in the real know, drink only white, and Florida has no spring, fall or winter detectable to Northern sensitivities. It's always summer.

So I have been drinking martinis exclusively.

It was only through your careful and generous instruction that I have come to consider myself to be an expert at Martini construction, but you remain the Master in my mind, as well as Chief of Protocol.

I have moved away from Vodka to Gin. Hendricks, to be specific. Its powerful juniper fragrance is the first of its pleasures, for even as the bottle is opened the martini experience blooms. The juniper fragrance is like an appetizer leading to the forthcoming martini.

I use a previously frozen glass shaker filled with ice cubes. I pour two and half ounces of Hendricks and add a small amount of vermouth, only the driest, of course, but, to quote something you asserted long ago, "I am not afraid of vermouth," so I probably use more than most people would approve.

The glass jar is shaken furiously, so that small slivers of ice form. There are people who believe that shaking the shaker is vulgar--but why would it be called a "shaker" if not because it is made to be shaken. Anyway, I crave those ice slivers.

I pour the very cold martini into a frozen martini glass. Very slight slivers of ice reflect the light of the setting sun on my porch. A single plain olive is added, sometimes two, if I am hungry.

Yes, I know of today's fad for "dirty" martinis....talk about "vulgar." I am astounded when I see that Gross and St Eve have both fallen for that fad. You may have noticed me slowly moving a seat or two away from them when they order it dirty. You must have noticed the look of disapproval on the bartender's face when he takes their order. (By the way, do you know that the bartender at Henry's has taken to calling himself "Randy" in homage to you, the Master?)

I know that you have used spicy or pimento filled olives, but I believe that they, somehow, take away from the true martini experience. And what else is there, but Truth?

I prefer the martini to be a martini, not lunch.

Hoping to hear from you--before it's too late.

mek

Saturday, June 09, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

Let it go in regard to all other virtues.

Make decisions to better your own situation.

Do not rub in the fact of your mate's inferior friends-- there's no gain in that. Your mate's friends are important to him or her and pointing out their second rate social habits only hurts your mate. Is that what you are trying to achieve?

You have choices--it is up to you to make them, or at least, shut up about them. Choices give you the power to change. Your predicament is not the result of predetermined destiny, but the result of your own previous choices. You must accept the fact that you are the creator of your own destiny and at the same time the creator of your own situation. You have the power to extricate yourself. Your choices have placed you where you are--your choices can get you out.

Your mate must feel devalued every time you criticise her friends.

STOP!

Sunday, May 27, 2007

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

NPG: Please send me:

The name of the dentist, first name "Willie" who traveled a great deal after retirement. Friends of mother and Dad. They had a son named "Arthur." They lived in Forest Hills, between 110th and 112th St, near us.

After retirement they came to Florida. He wore a beret. Heavy. His wife a dyed redhead. Thin. When playing with Arthur I rode my bike out of their driveway into a passing car. His mother, the redhead (dyed or not) painted and gave mother several paintings. I brought them to "Arthur" who lived in Ft. Lee after mother died.

He never acknowledged my effort nor did he thank me.

What was their last name?

Here's a dream from a few nights ago:

I dreamt about Maria & I having a talking grizzly bear as a friend at our home in Great Neck. Some gypsies saw him a few blocks away when he went for a walk. They asked him where he lived and followed him to Willow Lane.

When Maria & I returned the gypsies were playing violins and tambourines on our lawn while waiting for us. They wanted to buy our friend. Maria immediately said, " $450!"

But I said, "Are you crazy? He's our friend, we're not selling him."

The gypsies upped their offer, but when they saw that I was adamant about not selling him, they came into our backyard and we all had a party, me cooking, the gypsies playing violins and the bear, whose name turned out to be "Arthur," playing a trumpet.

Soon Gross and Pessin joined the band, Pessin on the clarinet, Gross on a flute. Both wore yamacas. Maria and Awilda danced with huge hoop earrings in their ears. Flashing eyes. Big smiles. Teeth.

Arthur eyeing Awilda & Maria while they danced. Lots of décolletage.

m

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Melanie McQuire, RN, is convicted of murdering her husband, and butchering his corpse in order to fit the pieces into three matching suitcases that she carried to Cheasapeake Bay where she dumped them. She weighs one-hundred and twelve pounds.
Melanie admitted having an affair with her employer, a doctor at a fertility clinic. The affair begin during the ninth month of her pregnancy. She purchased a gun only two days before her husband was declared missing. No blood or DNA was discovered at her home after the detectives searched for it on three separate occasions, going so far as to unscrew lightbulbs, and to disaasemble plumbing fixtures where blood may have been disposed.
Melanie's husband was a gambler and was well known in Atlantic City where he was comped on arrival. The defense tried to lay the blame on a mob collector who went too far. According to casino managers he had been doing well at their tables during the year before his murder. There was no reason, the prosecution asserted, for him to be murdered by the mob.


melanie mcquire
prior to conviction. Posted by Picasa