The Forkes Report - Life

Are You Rockin’?

nospam@example.com (Tim Forkes) — Wed, 16 May 2012 08:01:00 -0600

Sometimes rose-colored glasses can’t change the sad news. Last June my lovely sister Lainey succumbed to cancer. As much as we expected it, the loss was great and still, 11 months later, my heart is heavy with the weight of her absence. Lainey and I would, randomly, text one another lyrics from the Grateful Dead songs in our ears and brains. It was often a great boost in what is often the dreary dullness of our day-to-day lives.

This morning (Tuesday) my brother Rick reminded me we are at that age when this starts happening to our friends and family. Rick and I were in the Milwaukee Music Scene at the same time for a while, from about 1984 -1992. We saw a few concerts together, and I saw a few of his shows. He was often in one of the greatest hits bands that play weddings and bar mitzvahs so the opportunities to listen were rare.

In those years though we met a lot of people, world famous and otherwise, some of whom he still sees to this day. I’ve since moved away, but Rick still rocks the keyboards in Milwaukee, now with a country band. To this day the people who made an impression on us were the local Milwaukee people we came to know in that music scene.

One of the people Rick and I would often talk about in the 20 years I’ve been away from Milwaukee was a guy by the name of Mark Shurilla. The first words out of his mouth when we first met in 1986 were, “Are you rockin’?”

That was pretty fuckin’ weird I thought. He didn’t even know me. Up to that moment, my impression of Shurilla (totally unfounded I soon learned) was that he was a bit of a crackpot and shameless self-promoter. The latter are actually okay in my book. Most times an entertainer can’t get anywhere without promotion and self-promotion is often times the only promo you get.

As it turns out Shurilla was a great motivator. Why he never took up motivational speaking is a mystery. He would have been quite unconventional, but the theme of his life was to enjoy it and have fun! And always be doing something.

Shurilla always had something going on, be it his band the Blackholes, or his Buddy Holly tribute band, The Greatest Hits or his crusade to bring back polka, which he did. Oh, and his Irish band, McTavish.That’s when I learned Shurilla wasn’t so much about self-promotion as promoting the scene, the music and the people around him.

He had been a contributor and leader of The Express music paper in Milwaukee, a small publication that had a small circulation, but a devoted following. Sometime in 1986-87 Shurilla and one of the founders of The Crazy Shepherd, Jim McCarter, got it in their heads to merge the two papers and become a weekly publication. Up until then both had been monthly. The Shepherd was making plans to go weekly anyway and adding the music scene to our regular news coverage looked like a good idea.

On the flipside, it might have looked like a good idea for The Express to add some news coverage as well. It was at the time when I first really met Mark Shurilla. “Are you rockin!”

“No! I’m a serious journalist!”

Shurilla and I helped kick off the merger with a two part story covering the simultaneous releases of Roger Water’s first solo LP after leaving Pink Floyd, Radio KAOS and Floyd’s first studio album without Roger Waters. Here’s the thing: because Shurilla was one of the big dogs in the new Shepherd Express offices, which were located on East Wright Street in the Riverwest section of Milwaukee, Shurilla pulled rank and said he was doing the piece promoting Roger Waters, clearly the better story to cover. Man!

Well, Floyd wasn’t so bad. David Gilmore and company did a nice album, but it was the first Floyd album that wasn’t conceptual, not in the connected way Waters made the earlier Floyd works. The concert was typical Pink Floyd. If you were a Floyd fan you hardly noticed Roger Waters was not in attendance.

But the better show was, without question, the Roger Waters concert, held in the Milwaukee Arena. The Floyd show had been at County Stadium of course. Waters engaged with the audience and looked to genuinely enjoy performing for his audience. To this day I know Shurilla covered the better act. But, it was collaboration and we had fun with it.

After that Shurilla would stop in the offices on occasion, but most of the time we would see each other at shows, most notably at Shank Hall, although one time we both attended the G.G., Allin show at the Odd Rock Café. Once Allin started throwing his shit at people (literally), I left, but Shurilla stayed. He loved telling people, for years afterward I’m told, the story of G.G. Allin at the Odd Rock. The horror on the faces of the assembled audience, people running out the door, then running back in, then back out. I just never came back in.

After G.G. Allin died, the only place you could have feces thrown at you was in prison or at the zoo in front of the monkey cage. Yeah 20 years later we can say that was pretty fuckin’ funny! My G.G. Allin story; the promoter, Jack Koshick, called me up and asked if I’d go down to Chicago and pick up Allin and bring him to the show. “The whole band?”
Koshick, “No, just G.G. Allin. The band is coming up in their van.”
Me, “Why doesn’t he ride up with his band?”
Koshick, “They won’t let him ride in his van with them.”
Me, “You want me to pick him up in my car and drive two hours with him when his band doesn’t even want to ride with him? No fuckin’ way!”

Yeah Shurilla, that was funny!

Here’s a little fun fact about Shurilla, few (if any other) people know: when I moved to California in June 1992 Shurilla told me about a friend of his who worked at one of the two San Diego newspapers before they merged. Shurilla said his friend told him there would be some work available at the San Diego bureau of the Los Angeles Times and I should check it out. As it turns out, the morning I was driving to meet the bureau chief I heard on the radio the L.A. Times was closing its San Diego bureau.

The point is: I was leaving Milwaukee and Shurilla was helping me find a job here. That’s the kind of guy Shurilla was. Shameless self-promoter? Maybe, but he had a genuine interest in everyone else’s success as well.

Another little fun fact: in 1991 Ray Manzarek, once the keyboardist for The Doors, was on tour with poet Michael McClure. They did a show at Shank Hall. Manzarek needed some keyboards so Shurilla called my brother Rick and voila! Ray Manzarek had two keyboards with amps and outboard gear.

Rick and Ray met at Shank and played with the keyboards, setting them up for the show. In the meantime Shurilla calls me and says they need a music-poetry act to open for McClure and Manzarek, so he asks if I know anyone. It just so happens Rick and I had done a poetry-music thing under the name of The Forkestra. So, I told Shurilla we had a band. We actually didn’t, at the moment, but what the hell.

Shurilla was enthusiastic about us doing it and got pumped up like he did when he got excited about something. So, I called Rick, he was good to go, and then called Jim Eannelli and Bill Stace to see if they were willing. Both were and voila! The Forkestra was actually a band and opening for Michael McClure and Ray Manzarek! Thanks to Mark Shurilla.

He was never at a loss to say good things about the local music scene, but he had a cutting wit as well. Mark Shurilla was very smart and knew how to promote not only his bands, but also a lot of shows around Milwaukee. There are a lot of bands that benefited from Shurilla’s help and promotional talents, not to mention his uplifting, positive spirit. The guy was truly a gem.

Sadly, we now speak of him in the past tense because Monday, May 14, 2012, Mark Shurilla passed away from complications related to his triple bypass surgery about 10 days earlier. This crazy diamond shined every day of his life. On his Facebook page there are pictures of him smiling, wearing his signature shades, as he lay in his hospital bed, before and after the surgery. His spirit was indomitable.

We will forever remember Mark Shurilla. In 2011 he sent a Phi Zappa Krappa poster my way. Ever since I would think of him (every day) when looking at Frank Zappa sitting on the crapper. Now I will look at it with sadness, but also genuine affection and gratitude. Mark Shurilla’s message, if you followed his actions, was “keep moving forward, don’t stop!”

What I’ll never forget is: “Hey Forkes! Are you rockin’!?”

Now I am.

In The End

nospam@example.com (Tim Forkes) — Sun, 29 Apr 2012 12:01:00 -0600

Here it is, two hours from my deadline and still nothing — bupkis. In fact, the most interesting thing about this screed (so far) is the word “bupkis.” Did you know the origin of it? Do you know what it means? It means you got nuthin’. Or what you have ain’t even worth nuthin’.

“C’mon Tim! What’s worse than ‘nothing’? Worth using a double negative?”

I’m glad another voice in my head asked! If you have “bupkis” that means what you have is, at best, nothing. The word is Yiddish, derived from Eastern Europe, most notably Russia. It’s a slanged-up shorting of the term “kozebupkes,” a compound word formed from “bob”, Russian for “little beans” and “koza,” the Russian word for goat. In other words, if you have “bupkis,” you have shit, goat shit to be exact.

Is goat shit nothing? No, it’s something. Having gotten into fights with neighboring farm boys back in the day and rolled in sheep shit, which is relatively similar to goat shit, I can tell you goat shit is something and it stinks.

So, having bupkis might be worse than not having no bupkis. Or not having no bupkis … okay, trying to justify a double negative is making me dizzy, but believe me when I say it makes sense in my head. Bupkis equals goat shit.

Anyway, aside from the above, I got bupkis. Talking politics has gotten tiresome. Our nation is so divided no one changes their point of view. We do listen to each other, but what results is a gathering of ammunition. If the Internets have done anything more than everything else, it has hyperventilated the political dialogue. Well, that might be second to Internet porn, but not by much.

We can read things on the Internets, Facebook in particular, that are so crazy, it boggles reality. But then we remember the infamous Karl Rove quote from Ron Susskind’s article in the New York Times Magazine, that explains how they (the Bush Administration) don’t live in reality, they invent new reality. There are those of us who “…believe that solutions emerge from judicious study of discernible reality,” as opposed to those people (Karl Rove, et al.) who rely on their faith for answers, specifically in the Bush world, the Christian faith and they create new realities based on that faith.

How do you argue with people whose collective being is based in what amounts to fantasy? Mix in that their hyperbolic belief that President Obama is the spawn of Satan, the harbinger of socialism, the man who is dismantling the American way of life — there’s no point to discussion. You can’t argue with crazy talk.

Well, that noon deadline has come and gone and still there is no topic, just two sorta topics, semi-topics, demi-topics. Now what? We could always talk about Hooters bikini contests, but I’ve only been to one this year and it wasn’t the most inspiring. My friend Claudia is competing for the West Coast Hooters Viewers Choice Award. You can Click This and vote for her, once a day until May 12.

But it’s a good bet some might not appreciate the finer points of the Hooters bikini pageant rules and traditions. What the fuck, I’ll save it for another day.

Probably the most significant event on the horizon is the colonoscopy scheduled for Monday (April 30). The worst part of the procedure isn’t that someone will be introducing a long tube into your rectum. It really sounds worse than it is. You get doped up on some fine drugs and soon find yourself waking up after the procedure no worse for the wear.

Besides, everyone you know over the age of 45 has had at least one already so it’s not like you’re alone in this indignity. The worse part is the preparation.

If you have hemorrhoids, you will get to know them more intimately. There’s this stuff you must drink, an industrial strength laxative and it will cause you to spurt out your intestinal waste like a fire hose. Repeatedly, for hours. And then I gotta wake up at 4 a.m. and do it all over again.

Thankfully, this time I can forego the enema.

The actual colonoscopy procedure only takes 45 minutes, in most cases. You’re in, you’re out and then you wake up get dressed and out of the hospital, as medical procedures go, it’s pretty routine. But it requires some serious preparation and that’s the back-breaker. Basically, having a colonoscopy requires you to be a starving monk for the 48 hours leading up to the probe.

The Saturday before my butt probe, yesterday as I write this, there was a party I attended and the centerpiece of this get together was the fine array of tasty food I ought not eat anyway. And of course I ate it. Now, on the day before the anal annexation, comes the starvation and eventually the projectile bowel evacuations. Which has been the case for the past three days anyway.

Don’t know why that is happening. Some kind of stomach bug maybe? Who knows, but it’s made life these past four days tiresome. You know how it goes: We’re required to be close to a toilet at all times. The beauty of this is, today as I starve for tomorrow’s intestinal intrusion I’ll be getting a bit of a break from the uninvited diarrhea. I hope.

Eh … colonoscopies. Now, after having written all this I should have gone with the exposé on Hooters bikini contests. Much better to discuss their fine, fine derrieres than my not so fine ass. Thirty hours from now my ass will be in a sling, literally. Actually, it will be on a specially built gurney.

My lovely friend Liz will be my ride to and from the V.A. A ride is required because afterward I will be fairly stoned on whatever it is they use to knock me out. The last time I underwent a similar procedure, an endoscopy, the drug took about eight hours to completely wear off. So, there will be a happy ending.

That will be my focus today in preparation for the deed: the happy ending. I wonder if Liz would like to stop at Hooters on the way home, you know, just to break the fast. Just a suggestion.

Danger At Every Corner

nospam@example.com (Tim Forkes) — Sun, 22 Apr 2012 12:01:00 -0600

The “Most Trusted Name in News” (CNN) asked the question: “Bicycle Injuries: Is the Right-of-Way Fight Getting Ugly?” For those of us who ride bicycles as a primary mode of transportation, the answer is no — it’s been ugly for a long time already.

The CNN report, which has a written counterpart online, concentrated on the bicycle accidents in New York City, but since the entire United States has been built with a culture and infrastructure designed around automobiles, this is a nation-wide issue. Sure, there are some localities in these United States that are more bike-friendly than others, but with an increasing number of bicyclists sharing the roads with motorists, the problems just escalate.

At the end of November 2009 I was pedaling to work one day, a distance of 3.5 miles, along the busy thoroughfare Mira Mesa Blvd. Generally I stick to the sidewalks on Mira Mesa; the motor vehicle traffic is heavy and fast, but on this day, due to construction on the sidewalk I was in the street.

The cars coming out of the Park’n’Ride were stopped waiting for traffic, but the first car, an Infiniti SUV, was inching ever closer to the street. As I got closer I could see the man was texting on his Blackberry. I was close enough to this man’s vehicle I could make out the Blackberry logo on his phone. He wasn’t paying attention to the traffic and he sure as hell didn’t see me coming, despite my yelling at him.

Obviously, his foot on the brake pedal would occasionally let the brake slip and his car would inch closer to the street. When I was with a few feet of that SUV it lurched forward and I instinctively yanked my way to the right to avoid the fast-moving traffic on my left, hit the curb at about 12 MPH, flew over the handle bars and landed on the other side of the sidewalk.

The man just looked at me and drove off once the traffic cleared. No one else bothered to stop either. My left wrist pulsing with pain and my legs and arms raging from the road burns, I put my Trek bicycle on the bike rack of the next available bus and took the mass transit as far as possible.

To its credit, the Trusty Trek suffered no severe problems, but trying to ride with my wrist in such severe pain was nearly impossible. Once at work the pain and swelling were so severe getting anything done was impossible. So a friend came and picked up me up and took me home and then the next morning to the hospital.

For the next three months my left arm was in casts and a splint and there went riding to and from work on the Trusty Trek. Never got the license plate number of the SUV so there was no legal action I could take. Months before that incident a pedestrian was mowed down by a motorist as he tried to cross the I-15 off ramp onto Mira Mesa Blvd and the pedestrian had the “Walk” light.

That was a fatal hit-and-run, but the driver got away with it. The one policeman left at the scene when I got there just shrugged his shoulders; he knew the drivers coming off that ramp rarely stopped if there was a red light, but there was nothing he could do about it. I told him about a woman who had chased me through a gas station lot after she was forced to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting me (and several pedestrians in the crosswalk) despite the fact that we had the “Walk” light. Apparently she thought she, in her SUV (it always seems to be these monster-size vehicles), had the right-of-way!

It had been my intention to ride into the as station and use the restroom and get a Diet Coke so into the gas station lot I went, not giving any more thought to the crazy woman in the SUV who gave me the finger when she had to stop to let me pass. Bu I looked up to my left and there was that same vehicle with the crazed woman yelling something I couldn’t hear, gunning her SUV in my direction! I quickly changed course and she followed.

To stymie her chase I pedaled between cars where I hoped the SUV couldn’t follow, a risky maneuver itself when you consider the chance someone might open a car door. Anyway, I ended up using the restroom in the Jack-in-the-Box restaurant instead.

These are the worst experiences of course, but there have been many other times when people weren’t paying attention to the entire traffic pattern and nearly hit me or other pedestrians. Motorists routinely block crosswalks when they are waiting for red lights or traffic to move. Anyone who depends on a bicycle or is a daily pedestrian knows this isn’t just a daily occurrence, it’s a constant occurrence at every crosswalk.

With few exceptions, motorists don’t really care about pedestrians or bicyclists.

About that same time there was a man who received a relatively light sentence after targeting bicyclists on his street in the affluent suburb of Rancho Santa Fe. The man said he was tired of seeing these big groups of bicycle enthusiasts riding on his street in Rancho Santa Fe so he decided to do something about it: mow’em all down with his car. He was surprised and angry the court didn’t take his side in the matter. In his mind bicyclists did not have a right to pedal their bikes on his street! And he said as much to the police after the incident and then again in court.

The man is no doubt out of jail by now and seething with even more hatred towards bicyclists. Despite the bike lanes there, I won’t be pedaling through Rancho Santa Fe any time soon.

Yes, bicyclists need to be mindful of the traffic and the laws and more importantly, be respectful of the other people using the roadway, which is why I primarily stick to the sidewalks, even if there’s a bike lane. I too look at these large groups of cyclists pedaling up and down the streets, sometimes three-to-four abreast, and wonder what the hell are they doing? There are other people trying to use that same roadway. Even two-abreast is a bad idea on the road.

But the onus is really on the motorists — they are in control of a one-ton (or larger) weapon. All too often they are distracted by smoking, lighting up cigarettes, eating, talking on phones — texting — you name it, for those of us who commute on bicycles we see it hundreds of times every day. I’ll never forget the look of horror on the face of a woman at that off ramp as she sat in the passenger seat of a car as I started to cross with the “Walk” light and the man driving the car had his complete attention on the westbound traffic, totally ignoring the pedestrian traffic—me—heading in the opposite direction. Not even the woman talking to him could get the driver to focus on all the traffic. And of course he had blocked the crosswalk so to get around him I had to pedal outside the lines, almost into on-coming traffic.

This isn’t a plea for motorists to be more watchful of bicyclists and pedestrians because I know it will go unheeded. Most people are too selfish and self-centered; and being as they are in an automobile they are also in a hurry and well, they need to get where they need to be — fast! Bicyclists and pedestrians are just more impediments to their commute.

All my friends drive motor vehicles of one type or another and all are guilty at one time or another of not paying complete attention to their driving. For the most part it isn’t a constant problem, but with some it nearly is. And if this is ever the subject of conversation nearly all of them will defend their “rights” as motorists and try to put at least some of the blame on pedestrians and bicyclists.

Most of the commuter bicyclists I encounter obey the traffic laws, cross intersections with the “Walk” lights and rarely pedal outside the bike lanes, despite the bike lanes being horribly mangled sections of pavement.

About the only traffic law some of us violate on a regular basis is riding on the sidewalk, but as I told a policeman one day, I wasn’t going to pedal my bike in traffic on Mira Mesa Blvd, I was riding on the sidewalk. He agreed the sidewalk was safer.

Creating more bike lanes isn’t the answer; putting bicycles on the same roadways with motor vehicles is inherently dangerous. To do it right we have to make roadways specifically for bicycles and pedestrians, mega sidewalks if you will. But that would take billions of dollars. There are two close by my place, one that runs along side the I-15 for about a mile and then another that runs nearly the entire length, 10 miles, of California Highway 56.

Cities could partition off bike lanes from the automobile traffic with those orange poles we now see in roads. That would provide some relief and the vast majority of drivers are diligent enough to respect that kind of barrier.

It wouldn’t do much for intersections, especially ones like the on and off ramps we bicyclists encounter every day, like the ones getting on and off the I-15 at Mira Mesa Blvd., but it’s a start. But this is just a rant, blowing off steam.

Earlier I wrote the onus is on the motorists, but in reality the responsibility lies with bicyclists and pedestrians. We always have to be diligent and watch out for motorists who are only looking out for themselves. No listening to the iPod while pedaling, no talking on the phone. If you’re going to commute by bicycle, you have to be alert 100% of the time. And that includes the traffic coming up behind you. If it’s possible, avoid the street and ride on the sidewalk.

A motorist can often avoid injury if in an accident on a city street, but all too often it just takes one accident for a bicyclist to wind up in the emergency room or the morgue.

Cleaning Day

nospam@example.com (Tim Forkes) — Thu, 29 Mar 2012 12:01:00 -0600

Lately it’s been positively excruciating mentally trying to fill this space on a regular schedule. So, I give up — for a little while anyway.

In my stead I offer a screed on cleaning, from my nephew Young Dan. He’s “Young Dan” because I already know a guy named Dan who is old, so, “Old Dan” and “Young Dan.” Anyway, Young Dan’s cautionary tale on the pitfalls and dangers of “battrees” and junk drawers. Oh c’mon! You know you have at least one drunk drawer! I have a junk bedroom!
(ehhh ... *sigh* ...)

Take it away Young Dan!
°°°° °°°° °°°°° °°°° °°°°
Today is unusual. Not that I was cleaning, you see, but what I was cleaning*. I was cleaning my junk drawer. Which is doubly bad because that’s in the kitchen. You see, it’s easier for me to work up the fortitude for cleaning if what is going to be cleaned is in my line of sight as a general thing. My living room stays cleaner than my bedroom. I don’t use my kitchen much. Sure, the area in front of the microwave is generally clear of stuff that would prevent me from opening the door, but other than that, not much happens in the kitchen by way of cleaning.

I’m sure you can imagine then how rare it is for me to clean out the junk drawer. I did find some cool stuff, like peel and stick hooks and a relatively fresh pack of gum, unopened. I also now realize that I’m set for awhile for AAA batteries. They are tiny, so they come in tiny packs, and I only ever needed them in pairs, and so I bought them in small packs and the packs would get buried in the junk in my drawer so each time a new pair was needed I would buy a whole new pack and now there are 33 batteries in that drawer. Oh, 35 if you count the two AA ones I found.**

On the other hand I did find amusement in reading some of the old sets of instructions for replaced, broken or simply missing electronics and other gadgets, especially certain warnings and general tips, like: “Non-rechargeable batteries are not to be recharged.” Really! How’d you deduce that then?

If you have rechargeable batteries then, “[They] are to be removed from the product before being charged (if removable).” Golly!

In case you’re wondering, “Battery insertion must be done by an adult.”

“Exhausted batteries are to be removed from the product.” Yes boss! (Makes sense, too. I know my work performance degrades when I’m exhausted)

This one does have a certain safety aspect to it. “The supply terminals are not to be short circuited.” But really? If they mean the terminals on the battery, well, that’s actually kind of hard to do by accident. Unless you habitually leave your batteries in the random bag of screws found in all junk drawers everywhere. In which case the cost of the new kitchen drawer should serve as a good lesson against such a habit.* If they mean the terminals in the battery compartment, then that’s silly. It would take someone modifying the product in such a way as to void any legal responsibility by the manufacturer of the product. Like, the guy who puts new shocks on his car, but screws it up, and then sues the car company because the car only and constantly turns left. The car company is under no obligation to idiots who break their personal belongings. And anyone capable enough to modify the product without screwing it up already knows not to create a short circuit anyway. So this one is totally useless.

You know, I would expect such a hefty list of warnings concerning batteries to be on the pack of batteries. I only listed the funniest ones, and they didn’t even make up half the list. But no. This list doesn’t occur on a pack of batteries. Maybe because all the ones I could find were small. No, these warnings were in the instructions for a clock! The thing didn’t even come with batteries! So why all the warning? I guess it’s for protection, but I reserve the right to get amusement from it!

Plus, given my profundity of batteries and my storage method (haphazardly thrown into a drawer) it’s probably a good thing I have such an extensive battery safety resource at my fingertips.
°°°° °°°° °°°°° °°°° °°°°
*Cleaning in general is unusual in that it’s rare, but it goes in patterns and cycles, so it’s not unusual in that it’s a strange occurrence.

**Did I mention that my remote died today? It takes four AA batteries.

***Or the cost of a new kitchen, if you stored the batteries and screws near any flammable materials. Like may happen in a junk drawer.

One Generation Got Old

nospam@example.com (Tim Forkes) — Fri, 02 Mar 2012 00:01:00 -0700

In like a Lion
Out like a Lamb
It’s March First and
I don’t give a Damn!
Well, that’s my poem for the month. It was raining at 4 a.m., just after I awoke Thursday Morning. After only three hours of sleep. We need the rain of course. It’s been a while since Southern California has seen this much rain in the rainy season. Just drove past, and over, Lake Hodges, up by Escondido this past Sunday. For years the lake didn’t make it to I-15. Now, the lake makes it under the freeway and several hundred yards beyond.

Lots of rain causes several short-term problems though, like flooding and mudslides. Our dirt isn’t like your dirt, if you’re outside the Southwest. Our dirt isn’t designed to take on lots of moisture and when it does, mudslides occur. What’s cool though is watching normally thin creeks rise to wide, rushing rivers. For a brief few days we are treated to small, but spectacular waterfalls and whirling rapids.

Then, like at Fashion Valley Mall, the small creeks have run over their banks and flood. Once, while taking the bus down to the trolley stop at Fashion Valley Mall, the bus rerouted to another trolley stop location because the mall parking lot was flooded. The trolley tracks are elevated about 60 feet so the trolley had no problem going east past the mall, but it didn’t even stop. There was no point. If someone had his or her car parked back there, it was somewhat under water.

Normally though, San Diego is just like you hear or read about: consistently the same weather more than 300 days a year. That means that at the most, when I leave the house in the morning all I’m wearing is a light jacket. And cargo shorts. Sometimes long pants if there’s some kind of business-type meeting to attend. And almost always a short-sleeved shirt underneath the jacket. Okay, now I’m rubbing it in!

But the nights can get really cold, below 50°f, sometimes down to freezing! This might interest some: because of the latest winter storm there was fresh powder at the ski resorts just an hour’s drive from here. That’s right. You could conceivably be surfing or snorkeling in the morning and be on the slopes by 2 p.m.

But why would anyone want to get into the cold and snow? Having moved from Wisconsin that just doesn’t compute, but there are Sandy Eggans who do. They’ve never had to shovel three feet of snow, in sub-zero temperatures and do that several times over a six month period when a temperature of 50°f feels like paradise came to visit for the day. Thanks, but I’ve had my share.

My friend Dave in Cincinnati thinks I’m a sissy. Well, that’s with a capital “S” Dave.
 Just out of curiosity I checked the weather in Cincy and DAMMIT! The weather is just about the same as it is here: 54°f and sunny. Don’t be a wisenheimer, Dave.
 That was Thursday Afternoon, Sandy Eggo time so by the time Dave reads this Friday it will be raining cats and dogs with thunder storms to boot! Bwa-ha-ha! Stay safe dude. I know them storms have been bringing twisters as of late.
•••• •••• ••••• •••• ••••
On Morning Joe Thursday Morning, they were playing songs by the Monkees in memoriam to Davy Jones who passed away Wednesday at the age of 66. Jones had a heart attack. He went to the doctor the day before, complaining of chest pains. How he wasn’t in the hospital that night is baffling.

The Monkees were the kind of hippies our parents hoped we would grow up to be: nice, somewhat irreverent, but not obnoxiously so, with normally good manners, bright smiles and positive attitudes. And none of that dope-smoking, anti-establishment nonsense we saw at college campuses around the country!

Sorry Mom … Dad … that dope-smoking nonsense was so much more fun! If it’s any consolation, the Monkees were into it too, they just didn’t advertise it like the Jefferson Airplane and the Grateful Dead.

Remember when In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida was released in 1968? Shee-it! I was 12 and just months away from smoking my first joint. That song, probably more than any other, pedaled me to hippie-dom! That and the Airplane’s album, Surrealistic Pillow.
 Probably more influential than Surrealistic Pillow was the Airplane’s Volunteers which came out about three years later, but had two tracks featured on the Woodstock album, “Volunteers” and “We Can Be Together.”
 “We are forces of chaos and anarchy. Everything they say we are we are. And we are very — Proud of ourselves. Up against the wall, up against the wall, motherfuckers! Tear down the Walls …” — from “We Can Be Together.”
 Heady shit for a kid just entering his teens.

Then of course there was Jimi Hendrix, the Beatles, Beach Boys — their psychedelic trend — Cream, Mountain, the Rolling Stones, Blue Cheer, the Grateful Dead (although I wouldn’t fully appreciate them for another five years) and Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention.
 The quintessential live album by Frank Zappa has to be “You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore, Vol. II.”

Anyway, that’s my take on Davy Jones and the Monkees. It’s now mid-day Thursday and the sun is out. Temps are in the mid-60’s so it’s time to get moving. Just got to listen to this one song before I go …

Leap!

nospam@example.com (Tim Forkes) — Wed, 29 Feb 2012 12:15:19 -0700

Today is Leap Day — February 29th. It only comes around once every four years, but everyone knows that. Most people anyway. Julius Caesar started it all those centuries ago. His astronomer did the calculations of how long the year was — 365.242 days — so to make the calendar mathematically correct, Ole Julius added an extra day at the end of February.

So every four years we do this thing of making February one day longer. But, by doing so we actually add three extra days every 400 years. So, only century years that are evenly divided by 400 are Leap Years. Hence, 1900 was not a Leap Year, but 2000 was. So, if you were alive 12 years ago today, you lived through a rare day indeed! Sort of like seeing Haley’s Comet, but even more rare.

That’s the history of Leap Year and Leap Day. Well, the short answer. The Romans created the calendar we use today and then, in 1582, Pope Gregory XIII, the de facto leader of Rome, further tweaked it to make it more Christian-oriented and so we have the Gregorian Calendar. It’s really the Roman Calendar.

The Maya Calendar is said to be more accurate, but it’s so convoluted with it’s different cycles, or counts, of different lengths, some that repeat, no wonder they sacrificed humans. It relieved the agitation and stress of trying to keep it all straight. I’d prefer to stay with the Gregorian Calendar, unless of course the world really does end on December 21, 2012. Actually, if that is true, then it won’t matter which calendar I use — we’re all still toast.

The big deal about Leap Year though is: people who are born on February 29. You only get an actual birthday every four years. So, if you were born 60 years ago, you’re celebrating your 15th birthday today!

Leap Year Babies get special deals at restaurants, like at Hooters. They got some deal for you folks. I didn’t really look at the details of the offer, I was focused on other details.

But, this being America, everyone can get in on the Leap Year fun! Disneyland and Disney World are staying open 24 today, so now you can go ride Space Mountain and Pirates of the Caribbean to you hearts content.
 Just an aside: do you think they’ll make a live action film from It’s A Small World?

For you men who just can’t commit, but you like having that warm body to sleep and have sex with every night (or so the fantasy goes), this is the day women can propose. Dudes, if you’ve been with this woman for a while in a committed relationship — especially if you’ve been living in sin (cohabitating) — and you say “NO” to your lover’s proposal, consider the relationship over!

Hopefully you were thinking ahead and bought a ring, just in case. And if she doesn’t pop the question, be a man and step up to the plate and propose to her! Don’t let her mother be right about you!
 This from a guy who’s never stepped up to that plate!

On the other hand: women, if the guy is so afraid of commitment, is he worth marrying? Just asking. And, don’t ask me1 I’m flat up saying “NO” right now! Not that there’s anyone thinking of asking … (cue the violins please)

Just another aside: How many people reading this had to do blood tests to get married? Most states have done away with the requirement, but do you know what ails your future spouse? I would also suggest a psychological evaluation. And of course Google him or her to check out the financial liabilities.

Back to Leap Year. Actually, there are no other Leap Year traditions. The woman asking the man to get married, or, if you go to a Sadie Hawkins Day Dance, the girls get to ask the guys to dance. Men, if you don’t like dancing, don’t go ‘cause if you say “NO” when the woman asks you to dance, you’re an effin’ pussy! I’m not going to any Sadie Hawkins Day dances tonight so I’m in the clear.

Shoot, if some woman calls and asks me to go to a Sadie Hawkins Day dance as her date, then I’ll have to go! And then dance! Shit, I’m turning the phone off. Sorry gals, you’ll just have to dance without me.
 “If there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and have more occasion to know one another: I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt.”

On that Shakespearean note, I declare this Sadie Hawkins Day in progress!
Leap then! Leap I say! Leap!

The Best Bet Is Service

nospam@example.com (Tim Forkes) — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 12:01:00 -0700

The Giants won the Super Bowl! All the bets paid off! Here’s a bet that never crossed my mind: betting what would be the first score: touchdown, field goal or safety. That latter had odds of 50-1. Bet a buck, you win 50. Well, someone bet $1,000 and won $50,000.

That’s like looking at the results of a horse race and seeing the superfecta paid one-point-five mil on a one dollar bet — but you didn’t pick that one horse for your bet because, dammit, it was 64-1 odds. Yeah, I’m speaking from experience. If you’re betting the superfecta, the four horses that finish the race first, always include the longest shots.

That out of the way, now we’re back to real life. I just had the nicest conversation with a V.A. representative. The wait was ten minutes so, having been a customer service professional, I know she’s getting hammered with one call after another, with barely 30-45 seconds between calls. She was nice, asked me how to pronounce my last name (everyone gets it wrong) explained the entire process and well, she had me smiling at the end of the call. That’s how you do customer service.

It helps of course that as a customer you don’t call with an attitude and start getting hostile and aggressive with the person on the other end of the phone. Why be an asshole to someone you don’t know who is just doing their job? Always observe the Golden Rule.

Now I sit with my bowl of Cheerios contemplating the meaning of my life. Once during meditation, years ago, I received this message from the ether world: “Be of service to your community.” Shortly thereafter I got into some service work and have continued that to this day. Maybe that’s the meaning of life: be of service.

The Buddha said: “A generous heart, kind speech, and a life of service and compassion are the things which renew humanity.”

Take It Easy

nospam@example.com (Tim Forkes) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 12:13:00 -0700

The new season of Ghost Hunters has started, the first location being King’s Island amusement park in Mason, Ohio, a suburb of Cincinnati. The second location was shot in New Hampshire, almost in time for the primaries.

The amusement park had the voice of a little girl in several locations, mostly in the International Restaurant. Anyway, ghosts and the paranormal aside, it was impossible to ignore the great roller coasters in the park, the most epic being The Beast, the longest wooden roller coaster in the world.

You know, I’ve never considered Cincinnati a place to visit (sorry Dave), but after seeing King’s Island, maybe there’s a reason to go. Not only is there an amusement park, it houses the Cincinnati Zoo and an aquarium.

That’s the thing about America, we have many, maybe hundreds, of places that don’t get mentioned much, if at all, in anyone’s list of vacation destinations.

Years ago I was traveling cross country by Greyhound Bus and happened to land on the historic old U.S. Highway 66. As the bus stopped at every crossroads that called itself a town, I couldn’t help notice the scenery and architecture that was straight out of the 1950’s, before the Interstate System made the Mother Road a relic. And in spite of the fact that preservation groups were doing everything in their power to preserve the historic nature of the highway, U.S. Highway 66 was officially decommissioned in 1985.

The point is if you want to take a road trip with interesting sites that don’t appear on any popular travel web sites, Historic Route 66 would be a good trip, especially from Amarillo, Texas to Santa Monica, California. Or you could do the entire route, from Chicago to Santa Monica, although it’s hard to follow in some spots. In every state though, you’ll find stretches that have been designated National Historic Sites.
 I’ve actually done the entire trip, from right around Chicago, IL to Los Angeles, CA. My suggestion: take a full five says at least to do it.

Interesting places like old time gas stations or the stretch of highway in Arizona between Kingman and Oatman, two lanes, one in each direction, in the desert. Drive that once and travel back in time when Oklahomans left their homes in the Dust Bowl for greener pastures in the Salinas Valley of California.

In Arizona, the highway cuts through the Painted Desert and just off the highway you can travel to one of the greatest natural wonders of the world, the Grand Canyon. Or take a short detour to that corner in Winslow, Arizona that the Eagles sing about in their song, “Take It Easy.”
 “Well, I was standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona, Such a fine sight to see, there’s a girl my lord, in a flatbed Ford slowin’ down to take a look at me ...”
 There’s A Park that now commemorates the corner and a festival is held every year. Probably the center of the Universe for flatbed Fords during the festival.

Or picture the movie Easy Rider, when Captain America (Peter Fonda as Wyatt) and his friend Billy (Dennis Hopper) went to New Orleans in search of freedom. As it turns out, “Freedom’s just another word.”

Such is the historic nature of America’s Main Street.

Another road trip I’ve taken on several occasions is the ride up the coast of California, from Malibu to San Francisco. There is awesome scenery with places of interest that spark little of that slick commercialized appeal found at more conventional tourist destinations. So much in fact you feel like stopping every ten minutes just to take pictures. It’s one long post card or maybe a coffee table book worth of pictures. Imagine sunset over the Pacific Ocean from a vantage point in Big Sur.

Big Sur … on one of these trips up the coast my brother Carl and I stayed in a cabin in Big Sur, off-season when the price was right and the beach, a 15-minute walk from the lodge, was all but deserted. Sadly, all the photos from that trip have been lost.

We once made the trip when Clint Eastwood was mayor of Carmel. Unfortunately we never did meet the mayor.

Most recently, about a year ago, my brother Tony and I drove from Parker, Colorado up through Estes Park to Rocky Mountain National Park to Trail Ridge Rd, the highest paved road in the world. We made the trip a year ago when the mountains were full of snow and the road was closed.

Back when Tony married his lovely wife Judy members of the family, with the beautiful Lainey driving, took the trip in June when the road was open. Yes, Young Dan pooped all over everything and everyone thought it was funny, even Grandma.

You know what makes the trip, more than the travel and various destinations? The company you keep while on that trip. You need patience and serenity, especially when traveling through barren stretches. And you need to be comfortable enough for those times when there is no conversation for hours as you pass one cactus after another.

Carl and I made the trip from San Diego to Denver a couple times, passing through areas so uninhabited the signs warn you there are no services for 110 miles and do not get out of your vehicle at night because there are bandits on the road. That’s on I-70 in Utah.

Once we stopped in Green River, Utah for the night at a motel we had stayed at before. Carl smoked so we always got a smoking room. Well, as usual the place had few guests — we were there off-season again — and figured there would be no problem getting a room at a great price. The woman at the check-in insisted there were no smoking rooms available and we should try another motel. So we did, across the street. Such is the character of Small Town, Middle America.

One of the trips we made was for Thanksgiving. That was the time I so famously forgot to bring shoes or boots. You know, Southern California! Shoes? We don’t need no stinking shoes in Southern California! We wear sandals!

So, walking out the door I was trying to remember what I was forgetting. The camera! Back into the condo I went, but there was still something niggling at my thoughts. Off we went in my very nice Lincoln Mark VIII up I-15. As we approached the border of Nevada we began seeing more signs for the casinos and then one for the Las Vegas Outlet Center, featuring Payless Shoe Source. That’s when it hit me: I didn’t have any shoes or boots.

Sheepishly I called the Parker Clan to see if they had any spare shoes or boots and spoke to the lovely Judy who seemed incredulous. How could anyone forget shoes? She didn’t really know and probably thought I was pulling her leg.

On we traveled, through Nevada, stopping at Mesquite and then on to Utah where we saw a sign for a survivalist store in a little town, the name of which escapes me. I got some hiking boots and a bag of socks for less than forty bucks and off we went to Colorado. A trip that will live in notoriety, but we enjoyed it — until we got to Grand Junction, CO and saw the signs saying chains were required to get over the Vail Pass on I-70.

Panic set in until we found out chains were only required for large vehicles, we didn’t need them. But the ride up over the pass was treacherous enough, with only one lane open in each direction. We stopped in Vail at some rest stop that was packed several feet deep with snow, just to calm my nerves.

My advice: save that trip for the summer months and even then you might get snow.

Where were we going with this all those hours ago? Oh yeah, the new season of Ghost Hunters started. You know, I don’t take LSD anymore and my mind still wanders off into these little tangents. What are you gonna do?

Anyway, it was a nice start to the new season, certainly not among their best episodes although the EVP’s were pretty eerie. Maybe next week I’ll actually write about Ghost Hunters — or not. I wonder though, how many haunted locations there might be on or near Highway 66. Someone other than me ought to ask. I’ll just get lost in some tangent.

Happy Birthday!

nospam@example.com (Tim Forkes) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 00:01:00 -0700

Today I’m celebrating my 39th Birthday! That’s right, all you wisenheimers who might feel a need to correct the record, I’m celebrating my 39th Birthday.

As I recall, on my 39th Birthday we, Brother Carl and I, went to Las Vegas. We had a great time, as usual. We did things like gamble, drink “free” soft drinks, eat at restaurants, not buffets, and ummm … experience the nightlife, so to speak.

We went to Vegas a lot in the ’90’s, maybe four-to-five times a year so maybe the birthday was just another excuse to make the drive from Sandy Eggo to Lost Wages.

So, today we are celebrating my 39th Birthday!

Really don’t know what else to say about this day. The Iowa Caucuses are over and former Pennsylvania Senator Rick Santorum came is second to former Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney by eight votes in the Republican Caucuses. President Obama won the Democratic Caucuses. If you’re surprised by that, take your meds.

Texas Governor Rick Perry will most likely drop and out and former Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich finished fourth and vowed to get some payback on Romney for all the negative ads Romney’s superpac unleashed on Iowa voters this past month that took Gingrich from top of the polls to … err … fourth place in the voting.

Who knows what’s going on in the other campaigns, and quite frankly I don’t care. I’ve been fantasizing about a President Santorum making good on his campaign promise to outlaw birth control. Just imagine driving to Canada — or Mexico — to get your Trusty Trojans.

Did you ever see that movie with Jake Gillin … can’t spell his name, and Anne Hathaway? She plays a woman with Parkinson’s Disease (I think) and her character organizes bus trips to Canada for seniors to get their medications. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there other than going to Mexico to get my Trusty Trojans made me think about this movie.

Jake Gillin … someone please spell it for me … plays a pharmaceutical salesman who is one of the first to sell Viagra. Anyway, forget all that. I was just trying to remember the name of the movie, which now will require me to Google it. Anyway, doesn’t matter. If you have prurient tendencies, as I might have, or you probably have, then you would like this movie because not only does Jake What’s-his-name get stark raving nude, so does Anne Hathaway!

So, I’ve just Googled the movie, which gave me the correct spelling of Jake’s last name: Gyllenhaal. Great actor; he was in Brokeback Mountain and … a few others. The name of the movie in which he and Anne Hathaway get totally nekkid and have lots of sweaty sex is Love and Other Drugs. So, if you think either of these people is totally hot and would like to see one or the other totally nude, rent this movie.

Back to going to Mexico to get my Trusty Trojans. President Rick Santorum, defender of the faith, America and the family. He would annul all gay marriages in America, attack Iran and make the wealthy wealthier without adding to the tax burden on the Middle Class, at least not as much as the other Republican candidates for president.

But this isn’t about politics, although the Iowa Caucuses is a big story. This is about me and my birthday. Yes, another year. Since the last one I’ve been in love, lost my job due to losing my voice and, really, the saddest news, lost my lovely sister Elaine to cancer. I’m going to miss her forever.

So, the happy news: I share this birthday with my younger brother Ken, born just eight years after; and we share this birthday with the lovely Playboy model Erin Fox!

So Happy Birthday Ken and Erin! May you have many more!

A New Year

nospam@example.com (Tim Forkes) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 06:01:00 -0700

Years ago New Year’s Eve was a big deal with parties in venues with hundreds of people. This year it was a nice affair in the home of good friends on a quiet street with great company. The midnight hour passed and here it is, January 1, 2012. Another day, but with a new calendar on the wall.

What about 2011? My opinion of the year, at the moment, is pretty low. My lovely sister Elaine succumbed to cancer in June. Man, the idea of a life with out our Little Lainey still remains incomprehensible. Just because I missed the sound of her voice I dialed her number, hoping to get her voice mail. Some young woman answered and that was that. Interestingly enough,

Lainey’s husband Gordon sent a package of letters and photos she had stored away for decades, including a few from my Marine Corps days. The one letter was funny. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

Then of course there are the health issues and the lack of employment issues and a disability check that is so small, were I better situated it would be funny.

Haven’t ridden the Trusty Trek in months and stopped riding every day over a year ago. The lack of physical activity is showing, not only in pictures and on the scales, but in things like triglycerides and glucose levels as well. That’s where it really counts.

Can’t forget about Scotty. His is a tragic story and the best news about that is he is a reminder of just how bad life can really get sometimes.

You know what’s really cool about life? Friends. While typing this on Saturday, Mike called and we talked for a while. What a boost to my spirits! Mike and I never fail to make each other laugh! We inhabit opposite ends of the political spectrum, often the starting point of our humor.

So we got together and had lunch at the Monastery in Mission Valley.

He’s going to the Grand Canyon next week. Man, I’m envious! He’ll have a great time. In December 1989 my brother Carl and I visited the Grand Canyon. It’s an inspiring place. Words cannot adequately describe the beauty and grandeur of the place, especially in winter when snow covers the North Rim. In the morning as the sun rises you can watch the walls change color, from the deep, dark regal purples to the blues, reds, oranges, and nearly white tans. That’s really one of the greatest shows on Earth.

The high points of 2011: they always include family and friends. Didn’t win the lottery although I once got $115 from some scratchers! Then there’s Friday Nights with the buds: Dan, Eric and John. This past week Eric couldn’t attend, but the lovely Liz did! There were a couple picnics with the Mira Mesa Crew and arguing with Keith, via Facebook, about politics and then realizing friendship trumps ideology, although he was in the Navy, but what the Hell, even that’s forgivable.

Can’t forget the Packers won the Super Bowl! There was some poll that registered the most talked about news stories of 2011 and the Packers were number two on the list! Can’t remember what was the most talked about news of 2011, so don’t ask.

The past year, the judgment is still forthcoming. This New Year, who knows? I’d like to smile more; have more reasons to smile. 2011 was the year of the broken heart and that’s how 2012 is starting. Time heals all wounds as the saying goes, and the healing starts not on the inside, but from the outside and then finds its way in. It’s an inside job, but often we need a little assist from the outside.

That assist will start with this: my one resolution is to live as best as possible in the spirit of Little Lainey’s generous spirit and eternal smile! Every day should start with love. So I’ll start this day and this year with gratitude for life with Lainey and all my family and friends.

Happy New Year.

A Short Ride, A Long Story

nospam@example.com (Tim Forkes) — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 08:01:00 -0700

Wednesday Morning I got to spend a little time with my friend Ilona. Not much time really, she was just transporting me from Point A to Point B. She had her lovely baby daughter in the car seat.

The lovely Ilona and I have a short history, one of a truly virtuous nature, so it was nice to: A) speak with her on the phone Tuesday, and B) take a ride to Point B with her and catch up a little.

“What kind of a history are you talking about, Tim,” you may be asking? A virtuous one. We met through Bill a little over three years ago and then in March 2009, when I had my heart surgery, Ilona picked me up from the hospital and got me home in one piece. After that she would frequently stop by with healthy food and make sure I was doing okay and getting out there to do my walking.

Always in tow was her young son Spencer who is a pleasurable little guy. Anyway, Ilona did her best to have some of her good, healthy eating habits rub off on me.

So last week while walking home from Point C I happened to stop at the local In-n-Out to use the rest room and the next thing you know, I’m gobbling down a Double-Double and Animal Fries. Who knows how that happens, but it does. In what many consider characteristic fashion, I posted from In-n-Out, using my new Samsung smart phone, “Who can say “NO” to In-n-Out?”

Most people agreed, they couldn’t say “NO” to In-n-Out, but then there was the wisenheimer Vicki who chirped in, “I can!” And of course Ilona said she could as well and then asked, “…what happened Tim? My influence is gone?”

Well, I could not tell a lie … well, I could actually, but with Ilona it would be like lying to Mom, or Mother Superior. She has so much goodness and purity of heart, I couldn’t even lie through the World Wide Internets. “Yes,” I confessed, all her good influence had disappeared. It seemed appropriate that I take a time out for the rest of the afternoon so I got in the comfy chair, turned on the boobtube and promptly fell asleep.

On Wednesday Ilona picked me up at Point A and as we drove to Point B we started chatting. As it turns out, the Lovely Ilona reads this blog — and notices the lightly covered models that, on occasion, adorn this page. Well, it’s like nearly every occasion. Be that as it may, how we got to talking about this blog was quite interesting.

Her pleasant young son Spencer wasn’t with her, we can assume he was off in school, so I remarked that Spencer was born about the time the MTV “reality” show The Hills was on the air and I jokingly said she and her hubby must have been so enamored with that show they named their first born after one of the more odious characters on The Hills, Spencer Pratt.

We laughed and then she remarked about how what a sad coincidence her son was born at the same time The Hills was becoming popular. I had to agree with that one.

Then we got into talking about other members of that cast, in particular the 2008 Playboy Playmate of the Year Jayde Nicole. She was the girlfriend of series regular Brody Jenner, who is the son of Olympic gold Medalist Bruce Jenner who is now currently married to Kris Kardashian, mother to all those Kardashians of Reality TV ad nauseum fame.

Kris had formerly been married to Robert Kardashian, the business lawyer and friend of O.J. Simpson. Kris divorced Robert and married Bruce. Ilona remarked that going from the lawyer to the motivational speaker was a step up.

“Au contraire,” I said. Robert K. was pulling in the big bucks as a lawyer and, well, Bruce, he once had a career in TV after his athletic days and is now making his money as a motivational speaker. Obviously, Bruce Jenner is probably a real standup guy, the kind of person you’d want at your side when the going got tough, but compared to the income of a business lawyer, Bob K. looks like the man!

As an example, I told Ilona that if I had the choice between a super hot babe model that had a comfortable, but modest income or a fairly attractive woman lawyer pulling down 100K per month, I’m going with the lawyer!

Needless to say, Ilona found this hard to believe because she reads this blog and, well, takes notice of the lightly clothed hot babe models that occasionally (like nearly every occasion) adorn this page. “I kid you not,” I said! It’s the lawyer for me!

This is where it got … err … humorous. Ilona started laughing, noting that even the choices I make for myself are shallow, pitting one superficial denominator against another. What can I say? The “deep and meaningful” hasn’t worked for me, so now I’m thinking — fantasizing — outside the box.

But this got me to thinking: in one episode of The Hills Jayde Nicole was out partying in Hollywood with her friends at a bar where her arch rival … I forget her name … was also having a few cocktails with her friends. These two women are/were arch rivals because the rumor was, the babe whose name I can’t remember was supposedly trying to steal Brody Jenner away from Jayde Nicole.
 I just remembered her name: Audrina Patridge. She's a celebrity now, on the covers of all the “Laddie” magazines.

Well lo and behold, one of the friends that was out with Jayde was none other than 2008 Cyber Girl of the Year Jo Garcia! Okay, a few drinks were had by all and an argument ensued and the next thing you know, Jo Garcia is climbing over people to punch some woman upside the head! Now that’s the woman I want for a girlfriend and/or wife: One who’s ready to throw a punch as quickly and directly as Jo Garcia!
 Jo, are you single?

Alas, cooler heads prevailed and no one got punched, but still, she’s the one I’d like to have watching my back! On the other hand, piss her off and that could hurt and, bowing to reality (if only briefly) here, I’m at an age when getting punched would really hurt!

Back in the day, when I was a rootin’, tootin’, lean, green fightin’ machine (USMC), there were more than a few times my face and head met the business end of a punch. For the first time ever I’ll admit it hurt, every time. Once, for days afterwards, although that one wasn’t a punch, but a bar stool that glanced off my back and hit the side of my face. Long story, usual circumstances: too much alcohol, drunk Marines and scantily-clad bar girls.

Anyway, getting punched back then hurt and one can only imagine it hurts even more now. Plus, I no longer drink so I’d actually feel the punch when it happened.

So, that was my far too short ride with the lovely Ilona. I wish her and her family a hearty Happy Holidays and I’d like to extend my offer to baby sit young Spencer when he gets a little older. You’ve been such a good influence on me, I’d like to return the favor!

The Last Straw

nospam@example.com (Tim Forkes) — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 00:01:00 -0700

Life is a crapshoot. Often enough it’s just crap. If it wasn’t for the kindness of friends and family there’s no telling where I would be at this moment. Nothing can prepare you for many of the low points in life and when disappointment comes at you, one heartbreaking reality after another, it’s hard to continually, daily, hourly, fend off the feelings of hopelessness and self pity.

No one likes self-pity and it’s a great device for all kinds of humor. We love to mock each other when we get into our little “pity parties,” and usually it’s a good-natured reminder it ain’t nearly as bad as we make it seem, whatever “it” is.

But something that affects the entirety of your life for days and weeks and months at a time can transcend the average moments of doubt and self-pity. We have these mantras we can recite, like “I’m powerless over people, places and things” and “I’m right where I’m supposed to be” and the Serenity Prayer, but sometimes they just aren’t enough. In fact, to have any of that suggested feels like an insult.

So, instead of talking to friends who themselves are tired of hearing about our troubles and are most likely to recite some bromide that, in less troubling times is comforting or gives us a kick in the ass, we retreat and isolate.

There’s a lot to be said for isolating. You can retreat into your own little world, a fantasy even, and script every scene to fit your mood. You can tell people off, have arguments with your friends that pointedly prove you are the victim; you can have arguments with government bureaucracies that, once again, prove you’re the victim. You can look at pictures and videos of hot, nude women and make them your willing and enthusiastic sexual playthings. And you can kill the people who really, truly have hurt you. All without leaving the comfort of your easy chair.

Ever see someone carrying on conversations with themselves? One day while traveling through Pacific Beach on Garnet, there was a White man with long, unkempt hair and slight beard. He actually could have cleaned up and been a chick magnet.

Obviously homeless, the man was ferociously guarding a shopping cart filled with all his belongings. But he was also, it seemed, screaming at two Black men in an SUV. This was all taking place at one of the gas station/convenience stores that dot Garnet Avenue. The two men with the SUV looked befuddled, the other guy enraged. So, I stopped to listen.

The White man guarding his shopping cart was yelling obscenities at someone, but from his words, which escape me at the moment, it was evident the two men with the SUV were not the target. I noticed that when the yelling man was staring in the direction of the SUV guys, he wasn’t actually focused on them, instead looking off into the distance. And he would walk back and forth on the sidewalk, turning around to yell in the direction.

At some point the SUV guys figured out they were really not part of this man’s conversation and went about their business. After they left, the yelling man continued railing at his adversaries, as imaginary as they must have been for years. I mentioned the race of these three people because at first I thought it might be a race-related incident. Of course it wasn’t so once again there was a lesson that there is more to what meets the eye.

Here’s the creepy part: I understood exactly where the yelling man was in life. I could relate. Instead of isolating in a room with a computer to vent his frustration and fear, he was living out on the street, his schizophrenia on display for all the passersby.

Years ago while waiting for a bus on a Downtown street corner, a woman I had known from a few years previously, walked by talking to herself. She looked like she had been living on the street, not the bright-eyed woman I had been hanging out with for a few months. I tried to make contact but she walked by without a glance. She was too deep in her own world to notice anyone or anything in this world.

It is sad and it isn’t just the vagaries and disappointments of life affecting these two people. Obviously the yelling man and my friend suffer from deeper mental illness that when left untreated leaves them helpless in this world and vulnerable to the horrors of their own minds. But really, from talking to my friend, the system did her no favors; the system in fact pushes those of us on the edge over the edge often enough.

People like this are often punished for their troubles, with disability requirements that can be daunting, like having to reconfirm diagnosis and reapply, right down to the amount of compensation which barely allows one to live in squalor. There’s such a stigma attached to mental illness we won’t even allow these people to live comfortably. And of course as individuals we want little to do with these people. Hell, we don’t even want to take care of the elderly: there are politicians who want to end Social Security and Medicare!

The system fails these people because some of us who pay for it don’t believe we should be paying to support the ill in our society at all, which is the height of arrogance and selfishness. We only give those on disability enough to subsist on, just enough to keep them struggling from one check to the next, reminding them that they are just another drag on society, if we decide they qualify for assistance.

After a while all this punishment takes its toll and the punished snap. They go off the deep end and start walking up and down the streets talking and yelling to people who aren’t there. And maybe they act out in ways that cause harm to themselves and others. Then we notice — and wonder, “What went wrong?”

All of that is understandable to me. Something happens and becomes the last straw. Although we may be powerless over people, places or things, for some of us our lives are, at times, dependent upon other people, places or things and when they get it wrong, or one person in that chain of people, places and things drags their feet on something that has a heavy, debilitating impact on our lives, what else can you do? Recite some bromide you might have heard at church or in a Twelve Step Program meeting?

No. I want to scream, “FUCK YOU!” And then start punching and breaking things, going to wherever the problem rests and repeating said procedure. And you know, from this vantage point, getting arrested and going to jail seems worth the effort.

But then there’s that other little part of the brain that believes such behavior is unacceptable and counter-productive, that it will lead to even more problems. So, instead, we just sit in silence, isolating from everything and everyone around us.

At some point we just can’t take it anymore. Even George Clooney said he contemplated suicide just a few years ago. For entirely different reasons, but I understand his misery. So I’ll recite one of those bromides, give it a couple more days and see what happens.

Today in History

nospam@example.com (Tim Forkes) — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 09:38:00 -0600

Today is Friday, September 30, 2011. Not a whole lot different from September 30, 2010, or most of the preceding years. It might be as anonymous and forgotten a day as ever. Although for me, it does bear some social significance, although in the grand scheme of things, well, it’s big for me. More on that later.

You see there have been some notable events that took place on September 30. For instance, historically, this day usually marks the end of the regular baseball season and this year, the Milwaukee Brewers — MY Milwaukee Brewers — won the National League Central Pennant!

They better win the World Series this time. If they don’t, well I may finally become a Padres fan. Do your remember how they lost the series to the St. Louis Cardinals in 1982? Effin’ Brewers …

Back to September 30th. Thomas Edison’s first hydroelectric power generator went on line in 1882 and get this: it wasn’t in New York, or even on the East Coast. It was on the Fox River in Central Wisconsin, Appleton to be exact. The owners of that power company beat New York City to the punch.

It’s a long story on how that came about, but just chalk it up to boys with their toys and who has the biggest … ummm … ego. That’s all beside the point really. The amazing fact here is that electricity was already being harnessed in 1882. My grasp of the minutiae of history is demonstrably weak; people had been monkeying around with electricity for years and just five years before the generator in Wisconsin went live, Edison had invented the first practical incandescent light bulb. He wasn’t the inventor of the light bulb. I’m not even gonna look to see who owns that honor.

In a related topic: the Hoover Dam, another hydroelectric generator, was dedicated in 1935. That construction project was one of the big infrastructure improvements that helped pull the U.S. out of the Great Depression.

What else has taken place on this day in history? In 1927 Babe Ruth became the first player to hit 60 homeruns in a season, a record that stood undisturbed until Roger Maris, also of the New York Yankees, hit 61 in 1961. Ruth did for baseball what Michael Jordan did for basketball: he changed the game. The Babe ushered in power hitting, a part of baseball we take for granted and every winning team must have. You got that Brew Crew?

This is a big one. Hearts were broken and tears flowed like rivers in the spring melt on this day in 1955. Actor and teen heartthrob James Dean died in an auto accident driving a race-ready Porsche 550 Spyder. Dean had decided, at the last moment, to drive his Spyder to the road race in Salinas instead of towing it. The intersection of highways 41 and 46 where he died outside of Cholame, CA has been christened the James Dean Memorial Junction.

Twenty-seven years ago today … do you remember September 30, 1984? Pitcher Michael Witt of the California Angels pitched a perfect game, becoming only the 11th person to do so in the majors. The Texas Rangers were the victims of his arm.

The number one movie at the box office was All of Me. Sheesh, I barely remember it. As I recall and Box Office confirms, it’s a body swap story in which the spirit of Lily Tomlin invades Steve Martin’s body. It’s a forgettable movie, directed by Rob Reiner.

Ghost Busters was #5 and Purple Rain was #6. I still like watching the Ghost Busters movies. Rumor is they’re making another one. I wonder if the Ghost Hunters, Jason Hawes and Grant Wilson, will make a cameo?

And who can forget Apollonia Kotero in Purple Rain? Arguably the best reason to see the movie! Well, Morris Day and the Time were pretty good too, but really, seeing Apollonia!

“Let’s Go Crazy” by Prince was the number one song on September 30, 1984. In my rarely humble opinion, the best song to come from the album and movie, Purple Rain.

Ronald Reagan was president and on his way to winning a second term in a landslide against Walter Mondale. Just for my Republican friends who worship at the altar of Reagan: he raised taxes in all but one year of his presidency.

Also on this day in 1984, I started my clean and sober life. Since then I’ve done and seen things that had only been fantasies in drunken stupors. One thing I’ve learned over the years: most “big deals” tend to fade from memory after a while. Whatever was driving us to near insanity yesterday is nothing more than an after thought today.

Of course I remember my family and friends, all of them: Cheryl, Mary Lou (MLou), Rick, Tony and Ken. Then there’s my brother Carl who I lived with for so many years. He put up with a lot of shit in those years, but we also managed to have a good time too. The Grand Canyon and cruising up the coast of California on Highway 1. And then there was the one weekend in Vegas! We actually had many weekends in Vegas, but this one stands out!

And my Dear Sweet Sister Elaine. How I miss her today. Used to be I’d call or text her, or she would call or text me, just to mark this day. Last night I had gone to sleep with this unfinished, but woke up 90 minutes later, after a dream in which I was first pedaling the Trusty Trek over some rough terrain and then at her bedside as she was dying. I miss her. The old saying goes: “This too shall pass,” but not my love for Little Lainey.

Today I humbly thank all my family and friends who have been with me on this journey: Dan, John, Liz, Rudy (thanks for the phone call this morning Liz!), Terri, Julie, Diana, Mike, Mikey, Paul, Bill, Alan, Jerry, Keith, Vicki, Cat, Tom, Rachel, Phil, Tony, another John, another Alan, Brian, Norm, Rick, Claudia — and even you Eric! D’OH! A shout out to Eric. Pat and Oscar’s tonight! To those I missed mentioning, my apologies.

Thank you everyone! As Joe Walsh once sang: “Life’s been good to me so far.” Have a blessed and fortunate Friday and weekend!

The Wages of Boredom

nospam@example.com (Tim Forkes) — Sun, 18 Sep 2011 08:30:00 -0600

Boredom. That about sums up life right about now. I’ve been plugging away at this little screed for four days now, feeling oh so close to finishing with each swipe at the keyboard.

Boredom, born in the incubator of isolation and the crushing weight of failure. Sometimes it feels good to isolate from the rest of humanity, but most of the time, not so much.

All summer this malaise has engulfed my days. No one likes to be around people feeling sorry for themselves, so when around other people I put on the happy face. And if the question is, “How are you?” Then the mental battle is what to say in reply.

“I’m really fuckin’ okay! What’s it to you?”

Eh, that doesn’t really work because most of the people asking are friends and loved ones and you don’t really want to alienate them. Plus, should you say something like that to a loved one especially, their response is invariably, “Aw, what’s wrong?”

Oh jeez, I don’t want to talk about it! Once you start talking about what’s bothering you — me, in this case — it gets whiney and with a lot of stuff, whining about it doesn’t make it better! Then that embarrassed feeling begins to crawl across the skull because now you’ve just opened up your vulnerabilities and “let someone in!”

Okay, here’s a tangent, as if tangents are a foreign substance in this space. When did that bit if dialogue become dialogue in TV and movie scripts? “Why won’t let me in,” the girl cries to her stoic male companion, usually her lover.

In where? Our heads? Listen sweetheart, you really don’t want to go there. Trust me. The joke is men are thinking about two things 98% of the time: food and pussy and visa versa. I was about to say that’s not really true, but in reality, that’s a fairly close approximation. That other 2%, that’s the scary shit.

We’ve watched way too many action movies, memorizing far too many one-liners from Clint Eastwood, Arnold Schwarzenegger and Bruce Willis to be settled souls with thoughts of peace and tranquility fluttering through our brains. We’re thinking about killing some dipshit we encountered online, or a crazy driver who ignored the red light and the walk light to make a right turn, almost running me over in the process. WTF!

And then we’re back to thinking about pussy and food, or visa versa. Ladies, if you wanna get in, come show up in an outfit like the one Erin is wearing. And while you’re at it, could you bring me a pizza and bottle of Diet Coke?

So, what to do about the boredom? Go out for a walk, seriously, or a bike ride. “That’s exercise!” Yeah, but it gets the endorphins going and if you really want to improve your health and take your mind off the blues, start doing homebound exercise like push-ups and crunches.

Just a few minutes ago I finished some push-ups and crunches and all of a sudden I couldn’t get up off the floor due to the muscle spasms in my abs. And these are some awesome abs. Too bad they’re hidden by too much fat.

But that’s just a small fraction of the day. What else is there? Most people have jobs of course, taking up anywhere from eight to ten hours a day, sometimes more. We hope most employees devote most of their thought time to their jobs while on the clock, especially in jobs like doctor, lawyer, police or firefighter, stuff that we the public rely on in times of need. Especially lawyers, but that’s a tangent for another day.

If you should have a job like … oh … telemarketing, or even “customer service” for a company that cleverly skirts the line between legal and otherwise while remaining completely immoral and unethical, thinking about other things for eight to ten hours a day is quite understandable, encouraged even, because god knows, ripping people off requires flights from reality.
 Doing the “right” thing at these jobs will only result in your termination and trying to find a new, more fulfilling job is far easier said than done.

But let’s say you’re a slacking scalawag like me, not working a real job that requires you to be in an office not your own for eight to ten hours a day. You could dial into any number of social networking sites and websites that have membership forums that allow you to talk about anything under the sun, including which Playboy Playmate in 2011 will become the 2012 Playmate of the Year.

 Just for the record, I’m pulling for Miss July, Jessa Lynn Hinton, but really, how could any of the other 11 not be qualified? And technically, we still haven’t seen Misses November and December, although there are guys who have already scoped them out on a variety of different sites … eh, trust me, there are fanatics who already know who they are.
 Yeah, I know. “Pulling” is a euphemism for self-gratification.

So, you talk about anything under the sun with people from around the world you don’t really know, getting into arguments and threatening certain death or at least vile verbal denunciation through the relatively anonymous universal forum known as the World Wide Web. You can be the baddest motherfucker on the WWW — but there’s always that possibility you’ll have to back up those tough guy posts when some knob you only know as “MrBator” shows up at your favorite beach looking for a fight.

That in itself could be fun, if you have a penchant for throwing punches and are in a chronic bad mood. Heaven knows the last time I threw a punch it put a smile on my face! But then it was tempered with the reality that the next time the return punch might actually hurt.

Back to boredom. So, you’ve done all that, had your exercise, spent some time doing something productive, like writing, spent a couple hours on the social networking sites and got into some forums trading quips and insults, all with the television blaring your favorite news programs. Or maybe you’re into the Law and Order: SVU marathon happening on the USA network.

Every half hour, without fail, you see this ad for some thing, a guy actually, who claims to have predicted every financial disaster since Bill Clinton shot his load all over Monica Lewinsky’s blue dress. Sick bastard!

There’s a website you have to get on and watch a video. Well, after months and months of seeing the commercial, I finally clicked on NewAmerica5.com. No need to watch it, unless you have nothing better to do for the next hour. Seriously, this video is an hour long with rather primitive graphics and so scary that by the end, you’re ready to start dishing out money to the guy in charge, convicted felon, Porter Stansberry.

“What was he convicted of,” you ask? Stock fraud. Stansberry was ordered to pay restitution and a fine of 1.5 million dollars.

Five minutes into the video you know Stansberry is on the far right of the political spectrum when he condemns government and regulations—and slams President Obama, claiming he’s bringing on European-style Socialism. We wish, Porter.

He easily blends a few truths with his political ideology, coming up with a solution only he can solve for you for the right price. He says everyone in the financial services industry agrees with him, even George Soros, the notorious left wing financier who backs every socialist cause in the world!
 Here’s the thing I never get about this belief that Soros is some kind of latter day Bolshevik. He’s one of the most successful Wall Street investors and hedge fund managers of all time, hardly the resume of a Socialist.

God bless Stansberry! He’s out there making a buck using the age-old tactic of appealing to your fears. He gets you to fork over almost a hundred bucks in order to hear or read the end of his plan — which is, basically, buying more gold and silver! Especially silver!

Is he a fraud? I don’t know … no more so than FOXNews. They pedal the same nonsense about the end of the world if Barack Obama isn’t removed from office. Unlike the Koch Brothers and their mouthpieces at FOX (and elsewhere,) Stansberry is making money off our irrational fears. Well, directly. FOX makes their money from advertising and Cable/satellite subscriptions, but this is interesting: on the local FOX affiliate during a football game, they had minutes of dead space where normally we’d find a beer commercial with scantily clad young women.

But that’s just another tangent. Here’s the kicker: boredom took me to that online video. Man, how sad is that? I let life get so boring it ended with me watching an hour-long video from a right wing nut who claims the world is going to end and we all better invest in precious metals.

Now it’s 4 a.m. Sunday Morning, finally time to go to bed. This isn’t the best thing ever presented here, but this is all there is today.

Remembrance

nospam@example.com (Tim Forkes) — Sun, 11 Sep 2011 09:11:00 -0600

September 11, 2011. Just an average day by any standard. In Southern California it means that the morning sky is overcast with the “Marine Layer,” that bank of clouds formed over the Pacific Ocean and drifting inland making the morning gray and drab.

Ten years ago on this morning, September 11, 2001, the East Coast had a bright sunny day, the kind of day that makes you want to skip out of school or work and spend it outside being light-hearted and capricious. A day you’d want to spend with friends or a lover.

Here on the West Coast I was spending it with a friend, putting mailing labels on newsletters for a service organization. Being a news junkie, the TV was on to one of the news channels, CNN as I recall.

Before that friend arrived however, while pouring coffee, having a bowl of cereal and getting the folded newsletters ready to be labeled, I noticed what was happening on the TV, live from Lower Manhattan: smoke was billowing from the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center.

Everything stopped in that little condominium as the melee of what can loosely be called news (it more resembled televised mayhem) unfolded across the screen. We were under attack from terrorists. Shortly after I began watching, a third plane hit the Pentagon and then there were split screens from Washington, DC and New York City.

Then video began coming into the two news channels, CNN and MSNBC, shot earlier in the day, when the two planes hit the Twin Towers, the first one at 8:46 a.m. and the second at 9:03 a.m., Eastern Time.

That was about the time I called Carl, who had left for his job minutes before I woke up. He asked me to record some of it since he would not be home for at least eight hours.

The TV in the condo I shared with my brother was on about 30 minutes after the second plane hit, but it was still very fresh for everyone. Information — accurate information — was scarce, so flipping from one channel to another became the non-stop activity.

Then the broadcasts went live once again, as the first tower collapsed and then about 20 minutes later the second tower. By this time one side of the Pentagon was on fire, having been a target for one of the planes.

Where was the president, vice president, cabinet members and members of Congress? All of that was getting sorted out, in the way only live TV could: with conflicting reports. Both houses of Congress were in session, quickly adjourned once the gravity of the day was known. The president was in Florida to promote the “No Child Left Behind” bill, reading a story to young children. The Vice President might have been in his office, but soon we were told he was in an undisclosed location.

He had to be, we didn’t know how many more planes had been hijacked. Every flight over North America was immediately grounded and every plane on its way to our shores was turned away. Every plane but one, United Flight 93, from Newark, NJ to San Francisco, CA. It had turned around over Lake Erie and began its flight to the nation’s capital.

United 93 didn’t make it to its target because the passengers, connected by cell phones to their friends and families, knew what was about to happen if they did nothing. So they did something, knowing that the odds of survival were so slight it couldn’t be described in realistic terms.

Although the passengers of Flight 93 didn’t gain control of that plane, they forced the hijackers to crash in an empty, almost forgotten strip mine outside of Shanksville, PA.

As I sit writing this, the ceremony for the unveiling of the Flight 93 Memorial in that now bucolic field is taking place. Speakers included two former presidents, George W. Bush and William J Clinton. Speaking now is Vice President Joe Biden.

It was a stirring memorial. All three had deep emotion in their words, but none more so than George W. Bush, the sitting president on the day of the attacks.

Poet Laureate Robert Pinsky read two poems, “Souvenir of the Ancient World” by Carlos Drummond de Andrade and “Incantation” by Czeslaw Milosz, moving pieces, one of memories of beautiful moments passed and the other en homage to the invincible spirit of truth and justice.

Then Pinsky recited the names of the 40 average, yet heroic, passengers of Flight 93 as rescue workers who were in that field 10 years ago rang the bells once for each name, including an unborn child.

The pictures of those 40 individuals were displayed one at a time on the screen as Sarah McClachlan sang her song, “I Will Remember You.” And then one more time as the ceremony ended, when McClachlan sang another of her songs, “Angel.”

Earlier in the day, former president George W. Bush, along with Vice President Biden and former Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, joined Secretary of Defense Leon Panetta at a special memorial at the site of the attack on the Pentagon, starting this weekend of remembrance.

So, what happens now, ten years and two ongoing wars later? The leader of Al Qa’ida is dead, along with thousands of his companions and the mastermind of 9/11 is stuffed away in a military prison.

We remember that national tragedy and hope we have done enough to prevent it from happening again. Right now we have word that there are three members of Al Qa’ida looking to strike either New York City or Washington, DC with truck bombs. It’s deemed a credible threat. We will know by the end of the day whether our protectors were successful in thwarting it.

Most likely, an ordinary citizen, like the 40 who took on the hijackers of United Flight 93, will see something out of place and report it. New York and Washington are big metro areas, too big to be completely protected. It will take not just law enforcement, but ordinary citizens.

There’s nothing else to say really, other than 2,752 dead on that day and thousands more as a result. But, as a reminder of who we are as a nation, the best of America was also on display that day, with individual acts of courage so numerous, you couldn’t write about a few without slighting the memory of the hundreds of others.

There are thousands of heroes wearing uniforms, or wore uniforms when they selflessly gave themselves so others could survive, but among our American heroes are the average folks without uniforms, but uniform in their willingness to risk their lives so others can go on living. Like the passengers and crew of United Flight 93 and Cyril Richard "Rick" Rescorla, the security chief for Morgan-Stanley-Dean Ritter on September 11, 2001.

Rescorla anticipated the attacks on the World Trade Center and started fire/escape drills for his company that eventually saved over 2,500 lives that day. After WTC1 was hit, Rescorla ignored the building managers who were telling everyone to stay put, and started evacuating the people in his offices. Before he and the last few could get out, the second plane hit WTC2. Almost ironically, Rescorla survived the 1965 Battle of Ia Drang, during the Vietnam War. It’s the battle written about in the book, We Were Soldiers Once … And Young that eventually became a movie.

There were thousand of heroes that day and whether or not they wore uniforms doesn’t really matter. Without intention or expectation of reward, they did what needed to be done and many of those heroes gave their Last Full Measure of Devotion doing so. To paraphrase another American icon: “Uncommon Bravery was a Common Virtue.”

So we remember them and all those who died September 11, 2001.