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This morning I woke to find the season's first blanket of snow on the ground outside my window. I had anticipated the storm and even prepared for it. Indeed, just yesterday I climbed the stairs to the attic in search of my snow brush and a shovel, and smiled at the irony of finding them next to my beach chairs and umbrella.
As I pushed the wet heavy snow from my car windshield, I realized that my heart still quickens when the first snow of winter falls from the night sky, glistening in the street lights and covering the black pavement like baby powder. I still think that the first snow has some magical qualities. And as I do every year, I remembered the day I snuck snow into Elizabeth's hospital room.
She was eight years old, painfully thin, with sunken cheeks and huge eyes. For years, her symptoms had baffled her doctors. We knew something was wrong. We just did not know its name, and without a name, nobody knew how to treat her. Finally, her symptoms became so invasive that her doctor admitted her to the medical center for a week of testing.
I knew the testing would be difficult. She would have an IV and an A line inserted. She would have blood tests every hour or so. We would recount her story to multiple medical students, doctors and nurses. She would be allowed not food or drink for thirty-six hours, or until her blood sugar made a drastic drop. She would be exhausted and hungry and nauseated. And she would not understand.
The first several hours after her admission went quickly. The staff at the medical center gave great pediatric care, and made my daughter as comfortable as possible. But as the hours passed and she was moved into the PICU-Pediatric Intensive Care Unit- she grew hungry and irritable. Not wanting to leave her, I waited until early evening when she drifted into an uneasy sleep before sneaking off to the hospital cafeteria for a quick bowl of soup. On the way back to the PICU I heard someone mention that it was supposed to snow.
When I reached Elizabeth, she was awake. "Where were you?" she asked. "Why did you leave me? I'm hungry. Can't you get me something to eat?" Her big eyes filled with tears that rolled down her pale cheeks and splashed on her bed sheets. I gathered her in my arms, wrapped her in her favorite blanket and walked through the PICU, softly singing to her until she fell asleep. I sat by her bed until dawn broke. As the sky turned from black to gray to white, I realized the snow had fallen, just as predicted.
When Elizabeth woke, she was listless and quiet. She lay in her bed and stared at the wall, too nauseated to watch television or play. She didn't want me to read to her. She didn't want to play with "Diarrhea Doggie"- the stuffed puppy named by an intern to make her giggle in naughty glee. She didn't want her back rubbed. And when I told her I was going to leave the PICU for a short time, she didn't protest. She just lay in silent resignation.
I hurried to the cafeteria for breakfast, but found I was only able to swallow half a cup of coffee. I felt alone, and bewildered and ineffective at making things right for my precious little girl. Tears burned at my eyes, and I knew it was only a matter of moments before they would spill down my face betraying my silent worry. Needing a place to collect myself, I made a beeline for the parking lot and sat shivering and sobbing in my freezing car. I cried and prayed and then cried some more. Finally, I dried my eyes, and looked at myself in the rear view mirror. I looked almost as bad as Elizabeth. My eyes were sunken and red rimmed from tears and lack of sleep. My hair was messy and my clothes were wrinkled. I clearly needed something to lift my spirits and more importantly, lift Elizabeth's.
Getting out of the car, I absently dragged my hand across the window and realized how sticky the snow was. "Great for snowmen," I thought, and wondered if Abby and Gabe were playing in the white stuff on their way to the bus. Snow brings out the fun in all of us- especially the first snow of winter.
And then I had a thought. I hurriedly packed together a large snowball and placed it in my jacket pocket. Then I went straight to the PICU. Elizabeth was still awake, her eyes staring ahead, looking at everything, looking at nothing.
"I have a present for you!" I exclaimed, and she turned my way. I carefully drew the snowball from my pocket, not sure how the nearby nurses would react if they noticed.
Elizabeth's eyes widened and a smile came to her lips. "A snowball? Here?"
"All for you. It's the first snow of winter- magic snow!"
She took the snowball and held it in her hand for a few moments. It began to drip on her covers and she placed it in the plastic water cup by her bed. She grinned at me and laid back, her now sparkling eyes still on the melting snowball. She watched it until it was nothing more than a small puddle in the bottom of the cup. And although the following hours were difficult and long, the spark in my daughter's eye remained. She managed to endure the rest of the testing, and subsequently received a diagnosis and a treatment plan. And a few days later, I took her home, where she grew from a spirited skinny little girl to a spirited willowy young woman.
This morning, I walked into work and heard people muttering about the mess they had to drive in, the slop on their sidewalks, the coating on their cars. They complain. They gripe. And while they grumble, I smile, because I will always welcome the first magical snow of winter.


text: Family-friendly places especially for those with young children can be a challenge when in Tokyo. Just a few minutes away from central Tokyo is the city of Edogawa, the easternmost ward at the bounds of Urayasu and Ichikawa in Chiba Prefecture. Edogawa is known to many because of its proximity to Tokyo Disneyland and the crazy influx of people riding Tozai Line during rush hours in the morning and.. Read More

subset: commoncrawl


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My Fairy Godmother Parties


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So far today the big B-J auction's brought in a total of $9,010,000. Not too shabby if you ask us. Not for enthusiasts looking to buy on the cheap, but certainly for the Barrett-Jackson people and the folks looking to sell. With about half of the lots already sold, we've got the top five money-makers so far below the jump. We'll have more from the auction shortly — including some pretty amazing one-off stuff that'll blow your mind — live from
our couches Barrett-Jackson in Scottsdale.
5.) 1970 Chevy Chevelle LS6 SS - $177,500 4.) 1953 Buick Skylark - $155,000 3.) 1970 Hemi Cuda - $245,000 2.) 1956 Chevy Bel Air - $255.000 1.) 1932 Ford Custom Competition "Rollin Stone" - $320,000


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1,000 Hours
01. 1,000 Hours
02. Dry Ice
03. Only Of You
04. The One I Want
Behind the EP
"There was a girl when I was sixteen—my best friend's sister. Her name is Jennifer. She's the one that got away. She's a couple of years older than I am. You know, a sixteen-year-old wanting to be in love
with some girl. It wasn't quite there as far as she was concerned, but I was there. I was down. I knew what was up, but she wasn't willing to take that risk so… (laughs). The entire first seven inch [is about her]."1
page revision: 1, last edited: 16 Apr 2008 16:08


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Category Archives: Function
Fabricating a Formula 1000 Race Car Diffuser
I try to post updates only for completed projects, and since I've had several projects in progress it's been a while since I've blogged. The diffuser is finally finished, so here are some pix and a video that explains it all:
GSX-R1000 First Engine Startup
After much debugging of the electrical and fuel injection systems, we have ignition!
Custom Molding the Seat
For the intermediate term I'll be using a custom-molded seat insert made with readily available (and cheap) two-part urethane foam. I have a kit of the Indy/F1 style foam, but it's so expensive I'm going to learn what I can from the cheaper seat first. I've learned useful things already: on the first pour the bag doubled over or stuck to itself and the foam didn't make its way to the thigh area, so the first attempt was scrapped. It was also useful, however, in finding out where to slice the foam to get it out of the car easily, and learning how thin the foam will make itself under high pressure areas (zero thickness). So for the second attempt I first lined the entire cockpit with two layers of 10mm energy-absorbing foam before pouring the 2-part foam.
As it expands the foam pushes hard against any constriction, like your body. When it hardens it's almost too tight to fit back into. Many hours of sanding and cutting are needed to make the fit reasonable and comfortable. As it is, I can't even get into the seat with my wallet in my pants pocket. At first I couldn't even breathe in fully with the shoulder harness straps moderately tight.
Building the Undertray / Floor
Building the undertray started with building a surface large enough to hold it. It's larger than it looks, so we had to laminate decorative plastic laminate onto two 4×8 foot sheets of plywood that had been trimmed to about 3×8 feet each. Then wood to form the side air dams was screwed down, and the radii filled with auto body putty. Next we cut plastic honeycomb and plywood pieces to fit, with the plywood located to pick up the attachment points on the frame and to protect the radiators on either side of the car. I built a hot-wire foam cutter from a tree saw handle, a piece of guitar wire, and an automobile battery charger, which I used to cut foam profiles for the leading edge of the floor. Then we laid the whole thing up with epoxy and two layers of fiberglass on the bottom and one on the top, and vacuum bagged the whole shebang. Vacuum bagging was made more difficult by the random tiny holes in the plastic sheeting, which we expediently fixed by adding a whole second sheet on top of the first.
After debagging we painted it and found out the hard way that you can't paint enamel over fresh epoxy in a humid climate. It never dried, and had to be scraped off like tar. Epoxy paint worked much better. We then mounted the undertray on the car, drilling mounting points through the plywood in the correct places. We had to fabricate a mount for the front of the undertray, which was a little tricky as we didn't want to remove the fiberglass body panel under the driver's legs so everything had to be done from the outside. We fabricated a small pylon from aluminum sheet and pop-riveted and epoxied it to the bottom of the body.
Laying Up a Carbon-Fiber Honeycomb Front Impact Attenuator
SCCA FB rules require a metallic or composite front impact attenuator. Can't have cars running around on the track with a battering ram on the front… My impact attenuation structure, or crash box, consists of a carbon-fiber and honeycomb sandwich laid up directly on the inside of the fiberglass nose. The carbon fiber varies from four layers at the front to eight layers around the rear attachment points so that it will crush progressively from the front to the back. Cylindrical aluminum inserts are used in the honeycomb as hard mounting points for the wing to the nose and for the nose to the chassis. This area is designed to be strong enough not just to absorb impacts but to allow lifting the front of the car by the front wing.
Fabricating the Chain Guard
Formula 1000 rules require a chain guard equivalent to 1/4″ aluminum to contain the chain in case of a break. I had the blank laser cut, then bent it on my tubing bender. After bending, it was sliced in two parts for easier access to the chain and rear sprocket, drilled and tapped for an overlapping tab, cross-drilled for mounting holes, and installed.


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Complete Story
Announcing PAR/WACHA's NEW Corporate Member & Sponsorship Program
Providing practical and needed solutions to our Financial Institution members and their corporate customers and members
With the new Corporate Membership and Sponsorship Programs, companies have access to payment rules and product development such as authorizations, record retention, compliance support, and data security. Financial Institutions must ensure that their corporate Originators are informed of their obligations as it relates to payments and data security. WACHA has a desire and obligation to provide practical and needed solutions to our Financial Institution members and their corporate customers or members, which led WACHA to develop three Corporate Program solutions for our members.
Read more details on the Corporate Program Brochure.
- Direct Corporate Membership, Tiers 1 & 2 - These memberships grant organizations the entire suite of WACHA member benefits, including direct access to our knowledgeable help desk for support. Tier 1 of Direct Corporate Membership grants full WACHA member benefits plus additional resource materials and training modules.
- Corporate Sponsorship - Financial Institutions may sponsor their corporate Originators based on their need, granting the corporate Originator limited WACHA membership. Sponsorship enables the Financial Institution to remain the main point of contact for their originator's questions, yet WACHA provides basic resources to assist the Financial Institution.
- Training Modules - There are short training modules available for Financial Institutions to purchase for their corporate customers or members. The modules cover ACH Rule changes and separate rules on Notification of Changes (NOC), Return Reason Codes, and Authorizations, or it can be customized to your customers' or members' needs.
View all the details on the Corporate Program Brochure.
Click here to have a PAR/WACHA Membership Representative contact you if you are interested in joining.


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Stan Meyer's Story
Stan Meyer's Story
Stan Meyer's Story
Should I admit to my Orthodox Jewish friends that I was a secret believer in Jesus? Perhaps I hoped they would challenge my belief. After all, life would be simpler if I did not believe in Jesus. But my experience with Orthodox Judaism pointed me back to him. I could not deny that everything they looked for was found in him, Jesus the Messiah and the Hope of Israel.
My paternal great-grandfather was a German Jew who immigrated to the mid-South in the 1860s. They were as proud to be German-Americans as they were to be Jews. They were content to run a dry goods store in the sleepy town of Eudora, Arkansas. But my dad, Carrol, had other ideas. His aspiration was to escape the dying Mississippi River-Delta village. He joined the army in 1945, finished service, and went to college on the GI bill just before the Korean War broke out. With no desire to return to Arkansas, he finished school and moved to St. Louis to work for Wohl Shoe Company. Wohl, founded by a German-Jewish businessman and WWII vet, was a leading designer and manufacturer of women's footwear. They had teams of salesmen traveling the U.S. They sent him to San Antonio, where he met my mother, Joyce Skolnick.
Joyce, a daughter of Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe, grew up in an Orthodox Jewish home. Her father, Sam, immigrated to the U.S. from the Ukraine, and her mother from Poland in the 1920s. If my dad's side of the family were likened to Driving Miss Daisy Jews, my mother's family members were closer to Fiddler on the Roof. Sam followed the thousands of Jewish immigrants in the 1920s who entered the U.S. through Havana, Cuba. En route, however, he argued with an immigration officer who ripped up his visa! It seemed my grandfather was fated to live and work in pre-Castro Cuba. He learned Spanish, as well as the culture, and came to love the people of Latin America.
Ruth, Joyce's mother, came from an ultra-Orthodox family in eastern Poland. They settled in Cincinnati where Ruth's father found a job with Manischewitz insuring that the matzah was always kosher for Passover. She met Sam on a "vacation" in Havana. In truth, her parents sent her there to bring back a husband from the community of Jewish refugees stuck in Cuba. Many were unable to enter the country because the United States had shut the doors on Jewish immigration by the 1930s.
They were overjoyed that she found Sam, a Jewish-Spanish speaker! They sent their daughter and new son-in-law to San Antonio, Texas.In the 1930s, at the height of the Depression, the city was booming due to growing military bases and public works projects. Sam imported clothing from Mexico and opened a clothing store in south Texas. They attended Agudas Achim, a Conservative synagogue, and became active in the Texan Jewish community. Their daughter, Joyce, was born and raised in Alamo City. She went on to nursing school and later met and married my father, Carrol.
A Mother's Faith
In 1967, my mother began a spiritual journey that would lead her to discover Jesus. Having grown up in an observant home, her family was active in their synagogue, the Jewish community, celebrated Jewish holidays and were fairly traditional. They sort of kept kosher, attended Shabbat services weekly and rested on Saturdays. But Joyce did not understand what it meant to have a personal relationship with God. She wanted to have a spiritual experience.
Books and TV shows on the occult proliferated in the late 1960s. There was an excitement in the air about the psychic phenomena. Her search for spiritual answers led her to explore the psychic phenomenon including "automatic writing," "channeling" and ESP. However, instead of discovering spiritual answers, she found herself oppressed with terrifying nightmares and manifestations of demonic forces (not uncommon among people who delve into this realm).
On Halloween night, in 1972, she had a terrifying dream: she was standing at the brink of a pit, her ears filled with screams of the dead who'd been delivered into the pit. On the other side of the pit was God. She wanted to reach God, but the pit separated her from Him. God seemed distant and unreachable.
The next morning, she remembered seeing an orange flyer at the neighbor's house. The flyer's title asked, "Have You Been Tricked by the Devil, or Treated by the Son?" On the back of the flyer it said, "Deliverance" and had a phone number. She took the flyer, returned home, dialed the number and reached Castle Hills First Baptist Church. The music minister, Rev. Malcolm Granger, listened carefully as she tried to describe what she was experiencing. Without hesitation, he and his secretary came over, picked Joyce up, and brought her back to the church.
These Christians prayed over my mother in the name of Jesus and the oppression stopped immediately. They explained the gospel and why Jesus had the power to deliver her. Joyce had heard the gospel growing up in the Bible Belt and while attending a Christian nursing school. But it was at that moment she comprehended that Jesus was the Jewish Messiah. She immediately prayed and received Jesus into her heart and life. She felt as if a huge burden rolled off her back and she had come home!
Over the year that followed, there were minor recurrences of spiritual oppression, as though a dark presence was visiting the house. Each time she sensed such a presence, she prayed and it left. One day my mother saw an inexplicable bright light in the house. A being something like a man told her that God had sent angels to watch over the Meyer family. Her prayers had been heard, and dark forces would not afflict their home after that. Sure enough, nothing more happened after that encounter.
Growing Up Jewish in Texas
My two sisters and I were born and raised in San Antonio, and grew up in a Reform Jewish home active in our synagogue, Temple Beth El. I was the middle child: we were five years apart from each other.
Our family was very involved at Temple Beth El, a Reform synagogue. My sister and I were members of NFTY (National Federation of Temple Youth). The two of us attended religious school every week, and our family faithfully attended Friday night services. I received my Bar Mitzvah and later confirmation from Temple Beth El.
My dad was raised in the Deep South, the heart of the Bible Belt. Like many Jews of the South, his family had been significantly influenced by their neighbors, many of whom were Baptists. He taught our family that we had obligations to a real and personal God. That idea was new to Mom prior to her finding Jesus. She found it very peculiar that Dad prayed before meals. For my mother, Judaism was a commitment to traditional practices and observances. While he was not concerned with keeping all the traditions to the letter, being Jewish was central to our lives. He taught us that we were Jews, and that as Jews, God expected us to live a moral lifestyle filled with integrity and honesty.
Every Passover we attended a Seder with my grandparents, Ruth and Sam. Some of my favorite memories were our Hanukkah celebrations, when we'd sing Maoz Tzur, light Hanukkah candles and exchange gifts. I especially enjoyed playing Maoz Tzur (Rock of Ages) on the piano. I felt that the triumphant tone of this anthem captured the drama of Hanukkah. The tale of a few hill-country freedom fighters triumphing over well trained, battle hardened Macedonian soldiers was like none other! Of course, I also enjoyed the fact that my Christian friends received gifts on only one day for Christmas, but we received gifts for eight nights!
In addition to the annual holiday celebrations, we had a weekly Shabbat tradition. Every Friday night mom placed the candle sticks on our formica kitchen counter while Dad pulled out a tiny silver kiddush cup set and a silver platter, transforming the mundane kitchen into something special, a place of celebration. Mom lit the candles and recited the blessing, then Dad recited the Kiddush over sugary-sweet Mogen David wine (which reminded me of Robitussin!). As we sat down to eat, dad recited the traditional blessing over the food in Hebrew and then in English, "Blessed art Thou O Lord our God, King of the universe, who brought forth bread from the earth." Then Mom would typically serve a roast beef dinner.
About a year after she came to believe in Jesus, my mother began sharing her spiritual experiences and beliefs with me. I was nine, and had never lived outside San Antonio. If you've been to Texas you might understand why I told my mother, "Mom, you've become a Baptist!" (I assumed all Christians were Baptists.) I was curious, but not shocked. I had already learned that Jews don't believe in Jesus and I knew that growing up, my father had some bad experiences with people who had called him a "Christ Killer." I had not experienced that, but it colored what I thought of Christians and my mother knew that.
She explained to me that Jesus was Jewish and had a Hebrew name, Yeshua. She also explained that all Yeshua's first followers were also Jews and that he came as our long-awaited Messiah. Then she told me that his death paid for our sins so that we could have a personal relationship with the God of Israel. One evening, when Dad was away on a business trip, Mom asked me if I'd like to pray and receive Yeshua as my messiah and savior. I thought "why not?" We knelt down by my bed, and I prayed and asked Jesus to come into my life. My mother led my younger sister to accept Jesus just a few months later.
Dad was not so happy with our decision. Mom could continue going to church, but our family would continue attending Temple Beth El and we were not to speak of Jesus. I decided it would be best to keep my faith a secret and avoid any further conflict. I thought of myself as a 007 Christian.
As mentioned, I had a Bar Mitzvah at Temple Beth El. It was mainly a family celebration, though some family friends and extended family joined us for the Shabbat service. Dad sponsored the oneg (refreshments) afterwards. However, our Sunday school confirmation class was a huge event, because unlike the Bar/Bat Mitzvah services, where one boy or girl is featured, our confirmation was a huge group with over 900 people attending the graduation of our class of 20. We all sat on the platform, dressed up in our white gowns, nervously awaiting our turn to speak. One-by-one we each gave speeches, the rabbi and board members presented awards and a luxurious oneg followed. While my Bar Mitzvah was the official rite of passage, it was significantly overshadowed by the confirmation.
Keeping Silent
I continued to see myself as a 007 Christian. I hid a small Gideon New Testament in my dresser and would sneak it out every now and then. I continued praying "in Jesus' name" but mostly before I took an exam! Mom continued to read the Bible to my sister and me at night when Dad was away.
Meanwhile, my older sister, a teenager, watched my mom's changes and newly found faith with curiosity. I remember at one point she asked Mom what she believed and seemed to weigh it in her heart. But she observed our parents' tense exchanges over Mom's faith in Jesus from the sidelines. She heard the yelling and saw the tears—and began to feel that all religion is divisive and maybe even destructive. In the years that followed, she separated herself from Judaism altogether and became an agnostic.
I rarely spoke of my faith to anyone other than my mom and younger sister. But I never stopped believing in Jesus. Occasionally I admitted to Christian friends that I was a secret believer. But the more I learned about Jesus and the Bible, the guiltier I felt about keeping my faith a secret. I remembered Jesus said, "Whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before my Father which is in heaven" (Matthew 10:33, KJV). And yet for most of my school years and on into college I avoided Christians and did not disclose that I believed in Jesus.
I went on to study physics at the University of Texas in Austin. I felt I was studying the fundamental questions of the universe. Physics intrigued me; it seemed the entire universe could be described by a few basic mathematical expressions. Out of these universal laws, our entire universe operated. I was fascinated and wanted to make a career of this study. I hoped one day to win a Nobel prize by finding a black hole, discover a new subatomic particle or learn a previously unknown law governing the universe.
One day, strolling along the West Mall of the University of Texas, I saw a thin man, wearing a black hat and jacket, with a long beard. He was the rabbi from the campus Chabad Lubavitch organization. Growing up Reform, I had not experienced Orthodox Judaism. I knew Orthodox Jews were well versed in Hebrew and had much to teach me about my heritage.
I began attending Chabad every Friday night and celebrated the Jewish holidays with them. I loved the interactions, the chance to ask religious questions and particularly enjoyed the traditional Jewish Shabbat meal. For those, I could endure the long, one and-a-half hour, all-Hebrew, Shabbat service. I would stay up late at night asking questions about Judaism, our tradition and the Messiah. I devoured books on the shelves at Chabad House. Maybe I even hoped they'd challenge my belief in Jesus. I knew life would be simpler if I did not believe in him. And yet I could not deny that everything they were looking for was found in Jesus, the Messiah and fulfillment of Jewish hope.
One afternoon during my junior year I ran into Steve, a high school friend who also attended UT Austin. He told me he was now a born-again Christian and that he was part of Campus Crusade for Christ (now known as "CRU"). I confided that I was a secret believer in Jesus. He asked where I went to church, and I explained that I'd tried a few churches but felt uncomfortable and out of place. He invited me to attend the Thursday night Campus Crusade meeting.
The meeting was incredible. I enjoyed the music, as well as connected with the people, and the message that the speaker delivered from God's Word seemed to speak directly to my heart. He spoke about growing in a personal relationship with God. He explained how God speaks to us through the Bible, His Word. And he stressed that God wanted to hear from us, which is why we need to pray. I was surprised that the other students were interested in my Jewishness. I decided to continue attending, but secretly. Thursday nights with Campus Crusade and Friday nights at Chabad House—that was my social and spiritual life.
Some friends at CRU explained to me that being Jewish and believing in Jesus were not mutually exclusive. All my life I'd heard that you can't be Jewish and believe in Jesus, and since I didn't know any Jews who did believe in Jesus other than my mom, younger sister and me, I thought we were an anomaly. I was settled to embrace my life as a contradiction. My Christian friends explained to me that believing in Jesus did not strip away my Jewishness because, after all, he was Jewish. They helped me see how Jesus fulfilled the Jewish hope, and how following him not only made me a Christian, but also a "Messianic Jew." This was entirely new to me. For the first time, I had met Christians who affirmed my Jewish identity. I was accepted for who I was and not asked to change my identity.
Things began to connect for me. I left home and began a spiritual journey that included investigating Judaism more closely. As I researched, I questioned my faith and even considered leaving it behind. However, I held onto my faith in Jesus, not exactly knowing why until now. Jesus was important to me, and I realized I belonged with others who were following him. Yet, I still refused to tell my Jewish friends I believed in Jesus—until I took a trip that changed everything.
In 1983, I participated in a summer program at the Weizmann Institute of Science in Israel. I was housed by an Orthodox Jewish family, traveled the country, visited Jerusalem—all without telling anyone I was a believer in Jesus. While in Israel, I came across a book titled Faith Strengthened written by a sixteenth-century Jewish scholar, Isaac ben Abraham of Troki. Ben Abraham sought to discredit Christian interpretation of the messianic prophecies in the Old Testament. Each chapter of his book wrestled with a Scripture passage from the Hebrew Bible. He presented the Christian interpretation of prophecies Christians say describe Jesus. Then he rebutted each of them with the Jewish counterargument. For the first time, I explored the many passages in the Jewish Scriptures that clearly describe Jesus. His rebuttals seemed weak, contrived and unconvincing. But far worse was his misrepresentation of Christianity and its beliefs. He addressed Christian claims that I had not heard Christians voice, and he represented them weakly. I felt he had constructed a straw man only to tear it down.
The book Faith Strengthened, written to rebut the claims that Jesus is the Messiah of the Jewish Bible, actually strengthened my faith that Jesus was in fact the promised Messiah! It filled me with certainty that the Messiahship of Jesus was not a matter of religious feeling or subjective faith: it was a verifiable truth. If Jesus is the Jewish Messiah described in the Jewish Bible, then I should be telling my people about him. Particularly compelling was his discussion on Isaiah 53:
All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned everyone to his own way; and the LORD hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth: he is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth. He was taken from prison and from judgment: and who shall declare his generation? for he was cut off out of the land of the living: for the transgression of my people was he stricken. (Isaiah 53:6-8 KJV)
Ben Abraham contended that Isaiah described the nation of Israel. Israel suffered at the hands of the sinful nations. Really? Israel died for the sins of the world? That made no sense to me. "Am Yisrael Chai" (the people of Israel live!). The Jewish people will never perish and certainly are not a silent people such as this servant of the LORD. We are the most vocal people around. His arguments were surprisingly weak.
While in Jerusalem, I went to the "Wailing Wall"—the last remnants of the ancient Temple where Jewish people come to pray. Some believe that their prayers go directly to heaven from this specific location, as though the ruins of the once glorious edifice retain holy properties that can connect people to God. I had no idea that this would be a turning point in my life.
I stood watching people weep as they shoved pieces of paper written with prayers into cracks between the stones. And then God spoke to me, not exactly in a voice, but in a quiet thought unlike any I'd ever had: "Why don't you tell your people? You know Who they're looking for. You say you love your people, but what you really love is being liked and accepted by them. You have chosen to please people rather than pleasing God."
I was stunned by this truth. Then I was horrified. For years, I had been ashamed of Jesus, the One who suffered and died as a covering or atonement for my sin. If I should be ashamed of anyone, it was not Jesus, but me.
Finding His Voice
When I returned to college, I was still terrified about telling my friends about Jesus. So, I procrastinated and refused to admit to them I believed. Christian friends at CRU read me Romans 1:16 "For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation, to the Jew first…" That bugged me! One weekend, Angie, a bold friend from CRU,shared the gospel with David, whom I knew from Chabad. When he protested that Jews don't believe in Jesus, she immediately brought up my name, telling him she knew a Jew who was in fact very religious and did believe in Jesus. I was "outed"! David told the rabbi, who broadcast the news to everyone at Chabad of Austin, Texas.
My Orthodox flatmate kicked me out of the apartment. Word quickly spread that I was a spy. They claimed that I snuck in under false pretenses to learn about Judaism in order to establish credibility as a religious Jew who embraced Jesus. How could they make that allegation about me? I had been a sincere seeker! I was no longer welcome at Chabad, and the rabbi made this clear to me with intense anger.
I was shocked and deeply hurt. I suspected that if people found out about my faith, some might disagree, probably argue with me, even laugh or make fun of me. But somehow, I wasn't prepared for the level of hostility. I had spent two years at Chabad of Austin. I came to the synagogue sincerely seeking to learn more about Judaism, my Jewish heritage and a side of the religion I had not learned in Reform Judaism. I came wanting to learn. In those two years, I had never tried to convert anyone. I had no secret agenda, plan or motive other than to experience Judaism. And yet now I was not welcome, even if I promised not to tell anyone else about my belief.
One Sunday afternoon, my dad was walking back to his car at the San Antonio Jewish Community Center when he ran into none other than the Chabad rabbi from our campus who was on a visit in San Antonio. The rabbi pointed to Dad and said: "You need to say Kaddish (a prayer for the dead) for your son! You should be ashamed of him." My dad snapped back: "No, you should be ashamed of yourself! You had an eager young man, hungry to learn about his Jewish roots and devouring everything you had to teach him. And you cast him aside, and ejected him from your community. You are the one who made the mistake!" and he stormed away.
At last, I had come "out of the closet"!
At that time, it was hard for me, a 20-year-old, to empathize with the pain that many older Jews feel when they encounter Jesus. For many Jews, Jesus personifies 2,000 years of persecution at the hands of so-called Christians. Centuries of persecution in the name of Jesus has left Jewish people feeling that Christianity is the greatest threat to our survival. Jewish people have believed that the church's historic stance toward the Jews was either convert them to Christianity or destroy them. So, when Jews embrace Jesus, we are perceived as having betrayed our people. That elicits strong emotions and protest.
But there is a reason Jesus taught us to love our enemies. Hatred tends to be self-perpetuating; anyone who has been hated knows the temptation to hate in return. But hatred hurts those who spread it as well as those who are its targets.
Not long after the rabbi's exchange with my father, the rabbi phoned me and asked if I'd meet with a "specialist" whom he said would be able to help me. This "specialist" was familiar with both Judaism and Christianity. I thought long and hard about it. But really, what kind of help did I need? Help to reject Jesus, the way I had been rejected? No. If the only way I could be welcomed back was to go down a road meant to lead me away from Jesus, I had no choice but to remain unwelcome. I still cherished my Jewish identity, but I no longer wanted to be a part of their religious system. I was disillusioned with Chabad and their community.
As painful as all this was, it caused a real spiritual growth spurt and changed the direction of my life. I suddenly felt the freedom to attend church and to publicly talk about Jesus. By the end of my senior year, I knew that my purpose in life was to bring the good news of Jesus to my Jewish people. And I discovered that there were many other Jews who felt just the same. I began meeting Messianic Jews and realized that God had raised up a community of testimony. By the end of my college career I realized I no longer wanted to find "black holes" or "subatomic particles." I wanted to find Jewish people who would consider faith in Jesus. God had called me to be a missionary to my people.
In 1985, I joined the missionary staff of Jews for Jesus. I trained in New York City and then went on to study theology at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School in Deerfield while working with the Chicago branch of Jews for Jesus. That's where I met Holly.
Finding Love
Holly Coulsting grew up in a Catholic family in Connecticut, but most of her friends were Jewish. She regularly attended mass as well as confessed her sins to the priest. For a teenage girl, confessing private sins to a middle-aged single man was very uncomfortable. She began asking, "Why do I need to confess my sins to a man? Why can't I go directly to Jesus?" Those questions led her to religious discussions (and arguments) with her Christian friends at high school. One weekend she was invited to a spaghetti dinner at a local church. She didn't know the dinner would be followed by a Bible study!
That Saturday night, Holly heard the gospel as she'd never heard it before. She went home, got on her knees by her bed and prayed to receive Jesus. Holly went on to study Jewish and Modern Israel Studies at Moody Bible Institute in Chicago and attended the Olive Tree Messianic Congregation… the same congregation I was attending!
Holly was an accomplished singer (she'd taken classes at Westminster Choir College in Princeton). Music was a huge part of her life, as was her love for Jesus and the Jewish people. Holly said:
I didn't have a long list of what I wanted in a husband. I just wanted to meet a Jewish believer in Jesus who was a missionary to his own people, was smart, kind, funny, and…oh yes…played piano! Not a lot.
Of course, I had played piano for years. Many times, in Jews for Jesus I had led worship or played special music in churches where I ministered. Holly and I began seeing each other, allegedly to practice music together. I often accompanied her when she sang at the Olive Tree. We made beautiful music together and were married in 1990. Holly and I were married under a chuppah (Jewish wedding canopy). We had a messianic cantor who recited the traditional seven benedictions, and I crushed a wine glass under my shoes. To our joy, many of our family members came out to be a part of the wedding.
A Life of Ministry
After our wedding, Holly and I traveled with the Jews for Jesus singing team The Liberated Wailing Wall for a year and a half. We toured 47 of the 50 states, as well as England, Holland, Germany and South Africa.
In 1992, after our tour ended, we went to work with the Jews for Jesus branch in Los Angeles. There Holly received missionary training and I completed my Master of Arts in Intercultural Studies at Fuller Theological Seminary. In 2000, we were sent to Fort Lauderdale where I led the South Florida branch of Jews for Jesus. We were content with our lives except for one thing… after more than a decade of marriage, we had no children. We were the typical example of young professionals, carried away in their exciting career who awoke one day and declared: "Oh no! We forgot to have children!"
In 2005, we flew to China where we adopted an eighteen-month-old toddler named Yi Fu Tong (translated Happy, Lucky, Red-Clouds). We renamed her Caroline, aka "Carrie-Fu." Baby Carrie grew into a joy-filled, athletic and artsy girl. We enrolled her in art lessons, gymnastics classes and I taught her the piano. Her art became so good that I created a website and turned her prints into greeting cards. The sales of Carrie's cards help pay for her art classes!
In 2007, I returned to Los Angeles, this time as the Southern California director. We were thrilled to be back in Los Angeles where we would try to accomplish some of the same things we'd done in Florida.
A Deep Loss
On Valentine's Day in 2010, Holly and I were performing at a banquet in Ventura when Holly realized she could not keep up with me on the piano. She complained that her tongue was "slow" and "sluggish." After a battery of tests, a neurologist at UCLA informed Holly she had ALS or "Lou Gehrig's disease" and that the average life expectancy was three to five years.
At first we didn't believe him. How could this be? But by December 2010, Holly began to experience breathing and swallowing problems. By August 2011, she could no longer speak, and was using a BiPAP to breathe. In November, she went to the hospital in respiratory distress. Holly died the night before Thanksgiving 2011. She flew home to celebrate Thanksgiving with Jesus.
Holly had served with Jews for Jesus for over twenty-one years. More than 350 people came to Holly's funeral, some flying in from the East Coast. Holly's gentleness, her love for family and those she ministered to, her passion to tell others about Jesus and her contagious laugh have been missed so very much. At her funeral, Francine, a middle-aged Jewish woman, shared how she met Holly and how Holly prayed with her to receive Jesus. There were many there whom Holly had either led to Jesus or discipled. I felt that even though Holly was gone, God had charged me with carrying on the work she so successfully completed in her life. Her job was completed; mine would continue.
Weeping May Endure for a Night, Joy Cometh in the Morning
From Psalm 30:5
Oh Stan, my heart is breaking. May God's peace surround you and carry you and Carrie through this time. Holly is in Jesus' arms…
That was one of many Facebook messages I received when friends learned of Holly's passing. This particular friend, Jacqui, was a Jewish believer in Jesus who had known Holly and me since 1993.
Jacqui Hops came to faith in high school and was the only believer in her Jewish family. Her mother, who was convinced she had been brainwashed, sent her to a rabbi and then a psychologist. Neither dissuaded her from believing. However, she decided to study psychology in college and became a licensed clinical social worker. Jacqui sang with us on our local music team when we were first living in Los Angeles. We lost touch with Jacqui when we moved to Florida, but reconnected with her when we returned to LA in 2007. Jacqui attended Holly's memorial service and was moved to pray regularly for Carrie and me.
One Sunday in July 2012, I was scheduled to speak at a church not far from Jacqui's home. I asked her to come, share her testimony and help me lead a song. At lunch after the service Jacqui opened up about her heart to serve the Lord on the mission field, how she loved children and cared so much for those who hurt. She had been practicing as a licensed clinical social worker for years.
Something in both of our hearts "clicked." We felt a connection. I saw how Jacqui's love and concern for Carrie stood on its own strength, apart from the friendship that was developing between the two of us. And as that friendship developed, I felt torn.
It had only been six months since I lost Holly. I knew I wanted to remarry eventually, but it was too early for me. One night I couldn't sleep. I found myself wondering what Holly would say if she sent me an email from heaven. It really wasn't hard to imagine what she would say.
Hi Honey! It's me, Holly! I know you must be sad and lonely now. But guess what? I'm all better. I'm healed!
I smiled. I knew that was true. Holly was forever free of sickness and suffering. As I continued thinking about my wife—what she'd wanted, how she'd lived her life and the quality of her love—it wasn't hard to know what she would want for Carrie or the things she would hope for me.
Honey, I can't care for Carrie anymore. She needs a mother, and you need a wife. Jacqui is a good woman. She will take care of Carrie and she will make you very happy. Don't let her go.
It would have been nice to have a tangible letter from Holly clearly stating what she wanted for Carrie and me when she left. Sadly, Holly was never able to write such a letter. However, through my memory of her and my imagination, she had told me… over the course of a lifetime of marriage. I knew exactly what Holly's wishes for us were.
No love replaces another, and no person replaces another; however, our hearts can make room and grow in a new love. Over the months that followed, Jacqui, Carrie and I began "hanging out" together. Carrie liked Jacqui and made no secret of the fact that she would be glad to have a new mommy. Jacqui and I began dating and were married in 2014.
Jacqui confided that in the course of her profession, as an outpatient therapist, she treats clients with tremendous emotional and psychological needs. However, as a clinical social worker, she is not allowed to share the gospel, read a word of Scripture or even pray with a client. Ever since she came to faith, she longed to work full-time, bringing the gospel to needy people and pointing them to the Great Physician. Jacqui had served on short-term mission trips overseas and served in her church, but never felt there was an open door for full-time ministry. Now she felt God had opened the door. Jacqui wanted to work with Jews for Jesus.
Today, Jacqui, Carrie and I live in Phoenix where she is serving with Jews for Jesus. Carrie continues studying art and piano. I know Jacqui is God's gift to Carrie and me. And we have begun a new volume in my life serving God. In the Bible, God promised Israel when they returned to the land from captivity, "I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten" (Joel 2:25). Israel's crops were completely wiped out by locusts for several years, but God promised to miraculously restore what had been lost. Perhaps today you have "lost years" eaten up by loss, pain, disappointments, etc. Friend, know that faith in the risen Messiah Jesus can restore your lost years and give you hope and peace. He is the great Redeemer!


text:
|Quantum Leaps Coding Standard
|QP/C MISRA-C:2004 Compliance Matrix
|QP/C++ MISRA-C++:2008 Compliance Matrix
|QP-nano MISRA-C:2004 Compliance Matrix
|QP Ports to ARM Cortex-M
|Setting ARM Cortex-M Priorities in QP 5.x
|QP and ARM Cortex-R
|QP and ARM7/ARM9
|Dining Philosophers Problem (DPP)
|"Fly 'n' Shoot" Game (Chapter 1 of PSiCC2 book)
|PEdestrian LIght CONtrolled (PELICAN) crossing
|Web Link
Beyond the RTOS
by Miro Samek
|Slideshare, April 2016
Active Object Computing Model
by Miro Samek
Quantum Programming for Embedded Systems
by Miro Samek
|CUJ, March 2003
Managing Concurrency in Complex Embedded Systems
by Dr. David M. Cummings
| Paper, June 2010
Slides, June 2010
Prefer Using Active Objects Instead of Naked Threads
by Herb Sutter
|DDJ, June 2010
Know When to Use an Active Object Instead of a Mutex
by Herb Sutter
|DDJ, September 2010
| Message Passing for Intertask Communication
by Dr. David Kalinsky
|Kalinsky & Associates 2010
| New Directions in RTOS Kernels
by Dr. David Kalinsky
|Kalinsky & Associates 2014
| Parallel Microsoft Style
by Andrew Binstock
|DDJ, July 2011
| The Actor Model: Towards Better Concurrency
by Dror Bereznitsky
|Slideshare, January 2010
|Web Link
| A crash course in UML state machines
by Miro Samek
|Embedded.com 2009
| The Pragmatics of Model-Driven Development
by Bran Selic
|IEEE Computer Society 2003
| State Oriented Programming
by Miro Samek & Paul Y. Montgomery
| UML Statecharts at $10.99
by Miro Samek
| Yet Another Hierarchical State Machine
by Stefan Heinzmann
|ACCU Overload 64 2004
| Statecharts in the Making: A Personal Account
by David Harel
|Communications of the ACM 2010
| Statecharts: A Visual Formalism for Complex Systems
by David Harel
|Science of Computer Programming 1987
|Web Link
| Build a Super Simple Tasker
by Miro Samek & Robert Ward
| Use an MCU's Low-Power Modes in Foreground/Background Systems
by Miro Samek
"Building bare-metal ARM Systems with GNU" is an in-depth, 10-part article by Quantum Leaps' Miro Samek, which was second most-popular article of the 2007 year as well as many following years on the Embedded.com website. The article describes in detail how to use the GNU toolchain for classic ARM7/9 to build real-life embedded systems based on ARM microcontrollers. This article demonstrates Quantum Leaps' expertise in the ARM processor and our commitment to open source. The article is the recommended reading for using QP/C, QP/C++ and QP-nano ports to the ARM processor with GNU.
|Web Link
Building Bare-Metal ARM7/ARM9 Systems With GNU
by Miro Samek
|Embedded.com 2007
The Embedded Angle was a bi-monthly column in the C/C++ Users Journal magazine that Quantum Leaps' Miro Samek wrote from February through December 2003. The column touches on many aspects of embedded systems programming and using state machines in particular. This is recommended reading for all embedded software developers.
|Web Link
| The Embedded Mindset
|CUJ, February 2003
| Who Moved My State?
NOTE: The calculator examples in C and C++ are included in the standard QP distributions
|CUJ, April 2003
| Dèjà Vu
NOTE: The Pedestrian Light Controlled Crossing examples in C and C++ are included in the standard QP distributions
|CUJ, June 2003
| An Exception or a Bug?
NOTE: The embedded assertion header file
qassert.h is included in all standard QP distributions
|CUJ, August 2003
|Patterns of Thinking
|CUJ, October 2003
| Back to Basics
NOTE: The Time Bomb examples in C and C++ are included in the standard QP distributions
|CUJ, December 2003


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Being a responsible team member includes doing your very best when a SaaS (Software as a Service) company moves from one state to another, and the utter chaos that goes with it. I worked 60 plus hour weeks for the first two quarters I was here in Denver. I didn't have time to think about being creative other than providing code solutions, I just had time to code and troubleshoot. Boy was that booty!
The stress became so horrid my health took a bad turn, it was ugly. I had to let go and have a balanced work to personal life ratio. It was REALLY HARD! I had poured all of myself into making this old very successful company into a new successful company. This is really difficult when you have management that just doesn't give a crap. Welcome to private equity young padawan.
My old management team? Well lets just say the bass player and lead vocalist was one in the same in one of the bands I was working in. He was the General Manager, and an owner. I wont drop names, but the management of the old company was exemplary! I knew it then, and I know it now…. That's what made it such a special place to be a part of the culture. It was collaborative, awesome "let's build useful tools for our clients" heaven. But that's the past….. Live in the now!
I could not unplug from my career, even with my stress related health issue. However, I realized very quickly it was because I was not in a good creative space. If I had a great room to create in like I did in Oregon, it would have been easy. Trade one addiction for the other so to speak. This could not happen in this space, unless I wanted to commit 5k to sound treatment that would be mostly useless elsewhere.
To make things darker, both of my Mac's died within 10 days of each other. Poor baby! NOT, I just kept thinking about ways to create, I never gave up. If I was the type of person who wasn't tenacious, I would be the guy who quit playing music like the rest of them once I had children at the behest of my spouse. Did I mention I'm divorced? HAHA! That is not me, not me what so ever.
For a year, I thought deeply about how I could get back into a daily creative routine. I am now in a creative space, but before I touch upon that I want to share the 4 things I learned:
- Taking a Break is good sometimes to reflect on your creative "Engine."
- Journaling here beyond what I was writing privately was a huge part of my process. I just didn't realize it at the time. It is / was a very creative process. It's lovely to revisit this blog!
- If you have to downsize, be grateful! It can turn out to be such a positive thing in your life.
- If your Mac(S) takes a dive and you lose Mac Journal, WRITE ION SCRAPS OF PAPER! Do not stop writing ever, period.
As I suffered through buying a used PC (Dell 8 core Xeon 2.7) I know I could never utilize this tool to write, record, create, mix and master…. whatever. Let's face it, I have thousand's of dollars invested in Logic's plugin's. I'm just simply not a Pro Tools guy let alone a windowz human. The only OS for me is OS X. Boy, buying a 5K mac was not in the cards while looking for a Town home close to downtown Denver.
My answer came to me as I was trying to switch phone carriers. I am with Sprint, as advertised they're not so great. BUT….. I brokered a deal with them because they owe me a new phone and quite frankly I
Until next time….. Stay Thirsty my Friends!


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Friday, February 22, 2013
"Ethnic" jury unprecedently dumb, says British judge
10 out of 12 jurors were of African or Pakistani origin. Another triumph of multiculturalism in Britain
The jury in the trial of Chris Huhne's ex-wife Vicky Pryce was discharged today after the judge expressed grave concerns that they had not understood the case.
Mr Justice Sweeney was forced to send the 12 jurors home without reaching a verdict, saying they had demonstrated 'absolutely fundamental deficits in understanding'.
There will now be a retrial starting on Monday.
The judge spoke out after the jury sent him an extraordinary list of ten questions about key aspects of this relatively simple case, which they did not understand, and said they were 'highly unlikely' to reach a verdict.
Jurors had reached a stalemate over the allegation that Pryce, 60, perverted the course of justice by taking her then-husband Huhne's speeding points a decade ago.
Pryce, a former government economist, admitted taking the points but argued she was forced into it because of 'marital coercion'.
The eight women and four men retired on Thursday but remained deadlocked, even after they were told the court would accept a majority decision agreed by at least ten of them.
Their list of questions included: 'Can a juror come to a verdict based on a reason that was not presented in court and has no facts or evidence to support it, either from the prosecution or defence?'
The question flew in the face of the jury's oath – sworn by every juror in every trial in Britain – to try the case solely on the basis of the evidence presented in court.
Another question asked if 'religious conviction' was a satisfactory reason for a wife to obey her husband, because it was included in her wedding vows.
Prosecutor Andrew Edis QC said the jurors had shown an 'unparalleled' failure to understand 'very basic concepts of jury trials'. He told the court: 'This is a jury which hasn't, it appears, understood its function.'
He added: 'I don't recollect getting to this stage in any trial – even far more complicated trials than this – and after two days of deliberation getting a list of questions of this very basic kind, illustrating that at least some of the jurors don't appear to have grasped it.'
Jurors were asked to decide if Huhne, the former Energy Secretary and MP for Eastleigh, had bullied his ex-wife into taking his speeding points in 2003.
The case hinged on the comparatively straightforward question of whether the jury believed she had no choice but to accept.
The judge gave the jury lengthy written guidance about the meaning of marital coercion, and said the prosecution had to prove its case 'beyond reasonable doubt'.
Despite those directions, the list of jurors' questions included requests for definitions of both marital coercion and reasonable doubt.
Mr Justice Sweeney responded: 'A reasonable doubt is a doubt which is reasonable. These are ordinary English words that the law doesn't allow me to help you with.'
Their questions were handed to the judge on Tuesday but could not be reported until he decided if the jury should be discharged on the basis they had not understood the case.
He ruled they should be given further instructions in the hope they could continue and eventually reach a verdict, without the need for a costly retrial. They couldn't.
Give suspects in rape cases anonymity to prevent the innocent becoming 'stigmatised', says top barrister
The identities of men accused of rape and other sex crimes should be kept secret unless they are found guilty in court, a leading lawyer said yesterday.
Maura McGowan, a deputy High Court judge and chief of the professional body for barristers, said the law should protect the identity of those charged with sex offences because the crimes 'carry such a stigma'.
'Until they have been proven to have done something as awful as this – I think there is a strong argument in cases of this sort, because they carry such stigma with them, to maintain the defendant's anonymity, until he is convicted,' she said.
'But once the defendant is convicted then of course everything should be open to scrutiny and to the public.'
Miss McGowan, who is chairman of the Bar Council, acknowledged that there were arguments in favour of allowing suspects to be named.
'There is obviously a public interest in open justice,' she said. 'People would say that they are entitled to know not simply who has been convicted but who has been accused.'
She added that if Jimmy Savile had been accused of sex crimes when he was alive he should have been named.
'In a case like that, people would say, if one complainant comes forward against a person it might give other people who don't know her, but who went through the same experience, the courage to come forward as well.'
The idea of anonymity for rape defendants was a surprise inclusion in the list of promises made by David Cameron and Nick Clegg when the Coalition was formed in 2010.
But the plan was dropped by the end of that year in the face of criticism and fears that protection for some defendants would mean secrecy could be extended in future to others.
John Cooper, a human rights barrister, said: 'Anonymity for sex crime victims is unworkable. 'Why should somebody who is accused of a sex crime receive anonymity?
'Why don't we broaden that out to include people who are accused of beating children or murdering children? There's no distinguishing case for sex crimes to be singled out, it has to be anonymity for all or anonymity for none.'
Victims and alleged victims of rape have been granted anonymity since 1976 to spare women from humiliation and encourage more victims to report attacks.
The law originally gave the same protection to those charged with rape. But anonymity for defendants was withdrawn in 1988 after judges protested that it prevented police from appealing for witnesses.
Judges also said that the acquittal of a man charged with rape was enough to clear his name and reputation.
But Terry Harrison, who was falsely accused of rape in 2007, told the BBC: 'If the person has done a crime as heinous as that, then they should be named and shamed, I agree, but not until they've actually been done for it.
'Innocent until proven guilty is a load of rubbish. I was guilty until I was proven innocent, and even when I was proven innocent I'm still getting judged. 'I ended up going to jail for something I didn't do.
'I was in the paedophile wing, the rapists' wing, the grass wing. I was there for three months before the DNA results finally came back negative.'
The woman who falsely accused Mr Harrison, 42- year-old Shirley Prince, was jailed for three months in 2008 for perverting the course of justice.
Mansion tax: The Labour Party shows its true colours with this spiteful tax on homes
If the two Eds get their way, an Englishman's home will not be a castle, but a leaky ruin
Boris Johnson
Whoa there, I hope you haven't just spent a happy weekend of pottering about and improving your home, in the way of British families for hundreds of years. Forget about the conservatory, folks. Stuff the new kitchen. You want my advice, you will let it all slide.
If you see one of those damp patches appear on the ceiling – about the size and colour of a poppadom – you should just lie back and watch it grow. If the floorboards yawn open, just cover the gap with cardboard. Never mind the state of the downstairs lavatory. A faint aroma of ammonia never hurt anyone. Drip from the ceiling? Shove a bucket under it.
I tell you why I offer these household tips: they are the only sensible response to the first policy Ed Miliband has offered the British people. Under a Labour government, it is now clear, you would run a risk in making any improvements whatever to your home – because any such effort might lift you over the limit for Ed's so-called "mansion tax".
At which point the state would fine you viciously for any increment in value over a certain threshold. It is always a relief when your opponent stops ducking and weaving, and announces what he actually believes in.
At last we can see exactly what kind of a Labour leader Ed Miliband proposes to be – and he is taking his party right back to the politics of envy and nihilistic class war that kept them out of office for a generation. The proposal for a new tax on people's homes is ill-thought-out, unjust and un-British. It is colossally unfair on Londoners, since the vast majority of homes that would currently qualify are in the capital; but then there are plenty of other properties dotted around the country – family farms, for instance – where the notional cash value of the buildings would incur a mansion tax far beyond the ability of the family to pay.
The proposed tax is unfair on those who may be asset-rich – the elderly widow springs to mind – but whose income is low. If Labour were to pursue the policy announced last week, and set the threshold at £2 million, the result would be bizarre – from discontinued improvements to deliberate vandalism: anything to help the home owner limbo dance under the danger area. It is peculiar to try to raise money for the state by taxing this one particular form of wealth, and in this one particular way.
What about someone who owns several houses, all of them worth £1.9 million: why should he or she pay nothing, while someone who owns just one pricey home gets totally clobbered? What about someone who lives in a home worth a million, but happens to have a load of Van Goghs and Cézannes on his kitchen wall, or gold bars under his bed? Why should he get away with paying nothing, while the taxman pulverises the little old lady still living in the former family home next door?
The pressure to be fairer between households, and to reduce the sudden severity of the tax, would be very great. If Ed and Ed came to office – a very big if – they would almost certainly modify the mansion tax, so that it was less of a blatant disincentive to doing up a home. They might have several bands for the new tax – hundreds of bands, thousand of bands (or Milibands, as they will be known).
They might decide to solve the elderly widow problem by going with the even more demented Liberal Democrat proposal, and taxing fixed wealth of all kinds. So we would have a new race of ghastly beady-eyed officials tasked with feeling under our beds for gold bars and running an expert eye over the pictures on the wall, or rifling through the jewellery box. An Englishman's home, to put it mildly, would no longer be his castle.
Every property owner in the country would be engaged in an undignified haggle with the authorities to persuade them that their home was under this or that threshold. The end result would be in many cases to force sales, and to reduce the value of property – and for a country whose wealth is, for better or worse, so tightly tied to property, that would not be a good outcome.
Yes, of course we need people to be able to afford to live in Britain. But the answer is not to make it even more punishing to own a home in an expensive part of the country. The answer is to get going with a massive programme of house-building on the many brownfield sites. Here in London we have a crying need for homes — hundreds of thousands of them over the next 10 years.
We could build about 80 per cent of them on the 18 brownfield opportunity areas that have already been identified across the city, and all we need is a steady stream of funding to be able to get on with it. That could be found by simply earmarking, for London, the £1.3 billion that the London residential market already raises in stamp duty. And with one in four small and medium businesses in construction, that programme would get huge numbers of people into work.
If you listen to Nick Boles, the housing minister, you can see that he understands the urgency of the problem. The Treasury understand it, and George Osborne knows that Tories win elections when they help aspirant people get the homes they need – and it is time to return to the great Tory building programmes of the Fifties, but with beautiful standards and on brownfield sites.
As for Labour, they have shown their true colours. The Blairites in the party must be watching with incredulity and despair. Never mind the individual injustices – the message of the Miliband policy is that Labour is once again hostile to one of the deepest instincts of the British people: to show the energy, enterprise and ambition to want to improve your own home and to raise its value. I cannot believe Miliband will pursue this policy through to the election. If he does, he will have signed his political death warrant.
The false rape allegations keep coming in Britain
Feminists say there is no such thing
A teenager who put a man through two months of torment by falsely accusing him of rape has been spared jail.
Sophie Hooper, 19, told police she had been forced to have sex against her will with a man she had only just met in the pub.
But two months later her conscience got the better of her and she wrote a letter to the police confessing she had lied about the allegations.
Hooper had claimed she went with the unnamed man to his home where he held her down by the neck on his bed and raped her.
After she called police, who came out in the middle of the night, the man was arrested and held in custody for more than seven hours.
But there was no truth in Hooper's allegations. She didn't admit this for over two months, before she eventually told police she was lying.
Southampton Crown Court heard how police began investigating and found inconsistencies with her version of events.
Hooper accused the man of raping her in June 2011 but by August that year officers told him he wouldn't face prosecution.
A short time later police received a letter from Hooper, who has just become a mum, in which she said 'maybe calling it rape was wrong'.
The teenager from Eastleigh, Hampshire, was later arrested in September 2011 on suspicion of perverting the course of justice.
But it wasn't until January 2012 that 'she fully accepted the lies she had told' said prosecutor Carolyn Branford-Wood. Hooper revealed how, in fact, the pair had gone to his home from the pub, began kissing and the sex 'just happened', adding she didn't say yes or no.
When she left his home she returned to the pub run by friends of her family who told her she had been raped and to call 999.
In court Hooper apologised by saying 'I shouldn't have lied, I am sorry' and added that if she could turn the clock back she would.
The court was told how the man described in a victim impact statement feeling 'sick to the stomach' and anxious following the accusation. He was also unable to go out because, even though he knew he was innocent, he felt he would be tarred.
He said he could not sleep properly and resorted to taking anti-depressants.
Mitigating for Hooper, Fern Russell said it was not a sophisticated plot - she was in a state and made a bad decision out of stupidity rather than malice.
Recorder Stuart Jones QC handed the teenager an eight-month prison term suspended for two years.
He told her she was lucky not to have gone to jail for what the court deems a very serious offence.
Mr Jones said: 'The consequences for the man accused must have been traumatic in the extreme.'
He added that Hooper had just come out of a difficult period of adolescence and her mental health was far from robust.
The teenager was ordered to carry out 200 hours of unpaid work.
Political correctness is most pervasive in universities and colleges but I rarely report the incidents concerned here as I have a separate blog for educational matters.
American "liberals" often deny being Leftists and say that they are very different from the Communist rulers of other countries. The only real difference, however, is how much power they have. In America, their power is limited by democracy. To see what they WOULD be like with more power, look at where they ARE already very powerful: in America's educational system -- particularly in the universities and colleges. They show there the same respect for free-speech and political diversity that Stalin did: None. So look to the colleges to see what the whole country would be like if "liberals" had their way. It would be a dictatorship.
For more postings from me, see TONGUE-TIED, GREENIE WATCH, EDUCATION WATCH INTERNATIONAL, FOOD & HEALTH SKEPTIC, AUSTRALIAN POLITICS, DISSECTING LEFTISM, IMMIGRATION WATCH INTERNATIONAL and EYE ON BRITAIN (Note that EYE ON BRITAIN has regular posts on the reality of socialized medicine). My Home Pages are here or here or here. Email me (John Ray) here.
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Indeed Pierre Franchomme offers validity to the very important healing modality called "Aromatherapy".
Bravo and Thank you to Pierre.
Essential Oils for Pain- presented at UnLimited Possibilities Conference, San Francisco by Pierre Franchomme
Franchomme's Lectures provide the type of in depth knowledge that puts the "Therapy" in Aroma-Therapy. He draws parallels between the science behind medicinal properties of essential oils and their use in real time treatment. Correlating chemistry with pathology. For example; the mention of Petit grain (Bitter orange) and it's use in pain treatment. Most of us who have used this oil, know it to be uplifting. But Pierre explains that this is so because it stimulates secretion of endorphins. To go further into the science, specifically it is a " Stimulant of Morphino-mimetic substances". An "Aha" moment, I had never quite viewed petit grain with such bonafide action. This knowledge enhances and broadens my thinking on it's use when it comes time to formulate for my clients health needs.
Indeed Pierre Franchomme offers validity to the very important healing modality called "Aromatherapy".
Bravo and Thank you to Pierre.
Kurt's comments below, about the success of the recent Conference and the introduction of Asian essential oils into Aromatherapy....
aromatherapy 2.0
November 27th, 2015 by Kurt Schnaubelt
After the Conference
The 8th PIA Conference on Therapeutic Uses of Essential Oils appeared to be a success in every aspect. We would like to thank all the participants, presenters and helpers who contributed. The diversity of the presentations showed impressively how aromatherapy is a healing modality with an expanding horizon.
Almost all presentations can be looked up in "Unlimited Possibilities," proceedings of the conference. An overview of the presentations is still available on the New PIA site (www.newpacificinstituteofaromatherapy.com).
aromatherapy 2.0
In addition, I would like to point to "aromatherapy 2.0." This project of OSA and PIA offers new perspectives on essential oils that so far have not been at the center of attention. "aromatherapy 2.0" highlights essential oils of an Asian pedigree that have not been among those that the colonial powers of the 16th century and thereafter brought to the West. "aromatherapy 2.0" focuses on the wood, rhizome and resin oils of Asia, quite some of them at the center of scientific attention for their ability to help with chronic inflammation or to prevent tumors.
"aromatherapy 2.0" also introduces some of the most sought fragrances from Asia: Different Agarwood and Sandalwood essential oils.
All of this can be explored on our new site www.asia-aromatherapy.com. The objective of the site is to allow for leisurely exploration and gathering of information. It offers three main approaches
Experiences. This first approach introduces two offerings, "Monsoon" and "Smelling T'ang." Collections of oils intended to transport and mediate a relaxed and balanced mood.
Explorations. Different collections of Asian essential oils assembled according to diverse cultural or therapeutic aspects.
Notes and more Reading. The asia-aromatherapy site is first and foremost intends to provide a slow and pleasant approach to the cultural connections in which many Asian aromatics are embedded and to stimulate curiosity. In the "Notes and More Reading" column we will sporadically add more texts referring to the healing properties of these oils, mostly from an Asian perspective.


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Also found in: Thesaurus, Medical, Legal, Acronyms, Idioms, Encyclopedia, Wikipedia.
Related to clam: clam up
clam 1(klăm)
a. Any of various usually burrowing marine and freshwater bivalve mollusks chiefly of the subclass Heterodonta, including members of the families Veneridae and Myidae, many of which are edible.
b. The soft edible body of such a mollusk.
2. Informal A close-mouthed person, especially one who can keep a secret.
3. Slang A dollar: owed them 75 clams.
intr.v. clammed, clam·ming, clamsPhrasal Verb:
To hunt for clams.
clam up Informal
To refuse to talk.
[From obsolete clam-shell, shell that clamps, clam, from clam.]
clam′mer n.
clam 2(klăm)
A clamp or vise.
[Middle English, from Old English clam, clamm, bond, fetter.]
1. (Animals) any of various burrowing bivalve molluscs of the genera Mya, Venus, etc. Many species, such as the quahog and soft-shell clam, are edible and Tridacna gigas is the largest known bivalve, nearly 1.5 metres long
2. (Cookery) the edible flesh of such a mollusc
3. informal a reticent person
vb, clams, clamming or clammed
(intr) chiefly US to gather clams
[C16: from earlier clamshell, that is, shell that clamps; related to Old English clamm fetter, Old High German klamma constriction; see clamp1]
vb, clams, clamming or clammed
a variant of clem
n., v. clammed, clam•ming. n.
1. any of various usu. edible bivalve mollusks with equal shells closed by two adductor muscles, inhabiting shallow seas or fresh waters. Compare quahog.
2. Informal. a secretive or silent person.
3. Slang. a dollar or the sum of a dollar.v.i.
4. to gather or dig clams.
5. clam up, Informal. to refuse to talk or reply: so shy that he clams up in public.
[1585–95; short for clamshell, with clam clamp (now dial.; Middle English; Old English: bond, fetter, c. Old High German chlamma)]
clam′like`, adj.
clam′mer, n.
Any of various bivalve mollusks having equal shells and a burrowing foot, some of which are edible. Clams include both marine and freshwater species.
Clama stack or pile of bricks; a heap of oysters.
Examples: clam of bricks, 1663; of earth, 1554; of oysters.
Past participle: clammed
Gerund: clamming
Past participle: clammed
Gerund: clamming
ThesaurusAntonymsRelated WordsSynonymsLegend:
Switch to new thesaurus
|clam - burrowing marine mollusk living on sand or mud; the shell closes with viselike firmness
bivalve, lamellibranch, pelecypod - marine or freshwater mollusks having a soft body with platelike gills enclosed within two shells hinged together
Mya arenaria, soft-shell clam, long-neck clam, steamer clam, steamer - an edible clam with thin oval-shaped shell found in coastal regions of the United States and Europe
Mercenaria mercenaria, hard clam, Venus mercenaria, hard-shell clam, quahaug, quahog, round clam - an edible American clam; the heavy shells were used as money by some American Indians
geoduck - a large edible clam found burrowing deeply in sandy mud along the Pacific coast of North America; weighs up to six pounds; has siphons that can extend to several feet and cannot be withdrawn into the shell
jackknife clam, knife-handle, razor clam - marine clam having a long narrow curved thin shell
giant clam, Tridacna gigas - a large clam inhabiting reefs in the southern Pacific and weighing up to 500 pounds
shipworm, teredinid - wormlike marine bivalve that bores into wooden piers and ships by means of drill-like shells
clam - flesh of either hard-shell or soft-shell clams
|clam - a piece of paper money worth one dollar
U.S.A., United States, United States of America, US, USA, America, the States, U.S. - North American republic containing 50 states - 48 conterminous states in North America plus Alaska in northwest North America and the Hawaiian Islands in the Pacific Ocean; achieved independence in 1776
bank bill, bank note, banker's bill, banknote, Federal Reserve note, government note, greenback, bill, note - a piece of paper money (especially one issued by a central bank); "he peeled off five one-thousand-zloty notes"
|clam - flesh of either hard-shell or soft-shell clams
clam - burrowing marine mollusk living on sand or mud; the shell closes with viselike firmness
shellfish - meat of edible aquatic invertebrate with a shell (especially a mollusk or crustacean)
hard-shell clam, quahaug, quahog, round clam - Atlantic coast round clams with hard shells; large clams usually used for chowders or other clam dishes
long-neck clam, soft-shell clam, steamer, steamer clam - a clam that is usually steamed in the shell
|clam - gather clams, by digging in the sand by the ocean
gather, pull together, collect, garner - assemble or get together; "gather some stones"; "pull your thoughts together"
بطلينوس: سَمَكٌ صَدَفي
ēdamais gliemezis
n → Venusmuschel f; he shut up like a clam → aus ihm war kein Wort mehr herauszubekommen
clam[klæm] n → vongola
clam up vi + adv (fam) → zittirsi
clam(klӕm) noun
a shellfish with two shells joined together, used as food. gapermossel, gaapskulp بطلينوس: سَمَكٌ صَدَفي вид мида marisco škeble, mlž die Venusmuschel musling οστρακοειδές almeja merekarp صدف simpukka palourdeצדפה एक प्रकार का घोंघा čančica, lisanka ehető kagyló kerang skelfiskur mollusco はまぐり 조개 moliuskas ēdamais gliemezis kima mosselmuslingmałż يوډول صدف چه خوړل كيږى ameijoa moluscă морской моллюск lastúrnik školjka školjka klepavica mussla หอยชนิดหนึ่งกินได้; หอยลาย midye, deniz tarağı 蛤 їстівний молюск مچھلی کی ایک قسم (động vật) con trai 蛤
n. almeja.


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BEIRUT, LEBANON (3:30 P.M.) – The US and Russian backed forces in Syria are preparing for a major battle for the strategic oil fields in the eastern countryside of Deir Ezzor, a military source told Al-Masdar News on Monday.
According to the military source, the Syrian Arab Army (SAA) and their allies have been amassing their forces along the western bank of the Euphrates for nearly two weeks now.
The source added that the government forces are planning on crossing the bridge that was recently constructed by the Russian military near the key town of Khasham in eastern Deir Ezzor.
If the Syrian military does in fact cross this bridge, they will be within striking distance of the Al-'Umar Oil Fields.
This site possesses Deir Ezzor's largest oil fields, making its capture all the more important for the Syrian government.
However, the US-backed forces are not likely to give it up without a fight, despite the fact they are greatly outnumbered by the Syrian military.
While Russia and the US will provide their respective sides with military support, it will be the latter that might have to militarily intervene.
The US Coalition has bombed the Syrian military before and given their latest attack, they may choose to do so again.
277 4
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text: My wife and I recently each got a Droid 3. We decided we wanted to use the Google Calendar, my phone is working fine, but my wife's does not have an option to Sync Calender. When I go to My Accounts and select the Google account I have four options to Sync (Books, Contacts, Gmail and Calendar) On my wife's phone she only has (Books, Contacts, and Gmail) no Calendar with no obvious way to add it. Any help would be greatly appreciated.


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Wednesday, 5 January 2011
Bernardo Bertolucci films at TIFF Cinematheque: Fashion, Fascists and F**king
Above: Prima della rivoluzione
I was overcome with a wave an emotion while delving into the films of Bernardo Bertolucci for the upcoming Fashion, Fascists and F**king: The Films of Bernardo Bertolucci program at the TIFF Cinematheque. The gorgeous use of shadow. The adept use of contrasting colours. The emotionally intense dialogue that is so evocative I believe I understand Italian so I stop reading the subtitles. I don't, but it's easy to get caught up in the moment. And there is always political commentary, film references and of course gorgeous women and handsome men. It's quite a treat to see so many fantastic and racy films included in the program which starts January 6, 2011 with The Conformist (also a part of their Essential 100 series) at the Lightbox Theatre.
Prima della rivoluzione / Before the Revolution
Dir: Bernardo Bertolucci
Cast: Francesco Barilli, Adriana Asti, Allen Midgette, Morando Morandini, Cecrope Barilli
Italy, 1964
I loved Prima della rivoluzione right off the bat. I loved how it looked, how it felt, how it sounded. I loved it so much that it took me a while to be really watching it beyond simply letting it wash over me. Eventually I noticed that it's a bittersweet coming of age story following Fabrizio (Francesco Barilli), and his involvement with the unpredictable, older and stunning Gina (Adriana Asti). The emotional and relationship arc of the film is parallelled to the pre-revolution time and set with the tone of those who didn't live it, don't understand. It's a brilliant parallel as with the romance we see, we can't know it but we still get it, and then in essence although we may not be able to understand the time they are showing, we still have the ability to get it. The beauty, emotion, retrain and chaos are things that shine through brightly giving us an engaging tale to connect to on many levels.
Prima della rivoluzione screens on January 14, 2011. See more information here.
The Conformist
Dir: Bernardo Bertolucci
Cast: Jean-Louis Trintignant, Stefania Sandrelli, Dominique Sanda, Gastone Moschin, Enzo Tarascio
Italy/France/West Germany, 1970
Out of all the Bertolucci films I watched, I have to admit The Conformist was the one I understood the least as it's heavily steeped in the politics and plots. But, I like to go in blind to films so sometimes that happens and in this case I still enjoyed it immensely for being stunningly beautiful. The shadows alone, are worth watching the film for. I would hold up my hands and sigh at the beautiful in this film. The content was certainly harsher than I expected and centred on conspiracy and often steeped in the notion of limited or no choices - which is a hard place to be. It also has a fair amount of sustained fear but also hopelessness, again another hard place to be. But I did enjoy it and would certainly re-watch it, especially after delving into some of the history. This one certainly has the strongest political commentary and focus of the three, so if that is your cup of tea it should go straight to the top of your list!
Dominique Sanda as Anna Quadri
The Conformist screens on January 6, 8 and 14, 2011. See more information here.
Above: The Conformist, The Dreamers
The Dreamers
Dir: Bernardo Bertolucci
Cast: Michael Pitt, Eva Green, Louis Garrel
Italy/France/UK, 2003
The Dreamers is truly a film for film buffs and enthusiasts, referencing film history and expressing the joy, impact and connection that film creates in the world and in specific relationships. The Dreamers is set in late 1960's Paris, and follows student Matthew (Michael Pitt) and his relationships with brother/sister duo Isabelle & Theo (Eva Green & Louis Garrel), all of whom are massive film buffs, and all have difference levels of eccentricities and quirks. The eccentricities hold a lot of the fun and friskiness of the film, of which there is plenty. We get great characters, conflicts, intrigue and exploration. In a time where it feels like there are few boundaries to push, it finds ways to do so. The performances are key here, and they are done so well especially Eva Green (Casino Royale, The Golden Compass, Franklyn) for which the films is her first on screen appearance. I was a little bit suprized that I did feel a bit pushed of the film, not due to the pervasiveness but rather all the film references. I know many are essentials, and lots of film buffs have seen and love them all but I'd say it's required viewing to have seen at least the majority of the 20+ films referenced, quoted and featured within the film. For the spoiler sensitive, you want to see them all because they discuss them in detail, including key moments, quotes and endings. It's weird how in one way I feel like I'm the complete target market for the film, and then in others I felt shut out because I didn't want to know the end of another big, important film. I did enjoy watching it, and will happily revisit it once I've seen more of the references.
The Dreamers screens on January 14, 2011. See more information here.
The Fashion, Fascists and F**king: The Films of Bernardo Bertolucci program begins January 6, 2011 at the at the TIFF Cinematheque. Along with the above titles they are also screening La commare secca, The Spider's Stratagem, Last Tango in Paris, Luna, La via del petrolio and Love and Anger. Find out more information about individual titles or buy tickets here.
Posted by Shannon the Movie Moxie at 17:02
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All content on Movie Moxie is written by Shannon Ridler, © 2006 - 2012


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The view from my parent's living room. I'm sooo buying a pirate flag to hang on that flag pole…
After my parent's house burned down back in February, they started renting a house a few blocks away on the beach. While this house will never really feel like "home" to any of us, and is too empty and void of memories for any of our liking, it definitely has it's perks. I think if you have to lose everything, it doesn't hurt to be living on the beach while you're trying to rebuild your life.
I'm home for the next week and a half for the 4th of July holiday, and to attempt one last search through the old house before they tear it down. We're having a huge friends and family BBQ on the 4th, along with attending the town's annual sand castle contest with my cousin, and watching the firework show at night. I plan on spending the next week swimming and biking as much as possible, taking day trips to Chicago, working on my Etsy store, experimenting with my Blackbird Fly camera, and drinking a lot of the best ever homemade sangria.
It's due to storm tonight and tomorrow, but I already went for my first swim this afternoon! I'll be spending as much time down on the beach as possible this week. Preferably with my dog.


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Archive for December 2011
Know your worth
As we move into a new year, I thought this oldie would be a useful reminder to all of us… A well known speaker started off his seminar by holding up a R20 note. In the room of 200 people he asked, "Who would like this R20 note?" Hands started going up. "I'm going to…Read More


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Years ago (must have been in the mid 1980's), I thought I might be able to get away from my problems, my mess of a life, if I went out west. I know, really an original thought. In retrospect, so many things in life seem like cliches. Perhaps there is some truth in cliches and stereotypes. Perhaps that bit of laughter comes from recognition. Anyway, back to the mid 1980's. I bought a beautiful old 1963 Ford Fairlane. Such a beautiful machine. Last of the tail wings, but small and understated. Holley 4 barrel carb and several chromed out Cobra engine accessories. I threw a bunch of my belongings in the back of that Ford and took of west, running away with a smile of my face. And I went slow. Stayed off the interstates. I remember getting looks deep down in the south as a was blasting the just released Public Enemy album "Yo, Bum Rush the Show". And speaking of stereotypes, I think most white guys down in that area were driving 4X4 pickups and listening to Molly Hatchet.
There are stories from that road trip, but I won't linger on that now. Well, perhaps a couple of quick snapshots:
– Florida. Somehow I ended up down there right in the middle of Spring Break. I was traveling on a budget, camping as much as possible. The whole Spring Break thing was just ugly, and I wanted to hide. I got a spot at an overpopulated campground. Went out to eat and got a dozen raw clams. 12 midnight, I woke up, thought I was losing my mind. Everything was different, liquid, uncertain and painful. Then I started vomiting wildly. It was a relief in a way. I wasn't losing my mind, I just had sever food poisoning. Once I was completely emptied out, I was painfully dehydrated and had no water. I couldn't drive, I could hardly see. I ended up walking over a mile to a gas station and buying a large container of water, none of which would stay down. When I got up in the morning, I called the hospital, and they advised me to drink lots of Gatorade. So I bought a case of Gatorade, threw everything in the car, and drove non stop to Atlanta, where I met my friend Ozzie and we immediately started drinking Bloody Marys. In those days, I considered that a cure.
– Bakersfield. Well, about 3 – 4 hours outside of Bakersfield, I picked up a couple of young white thugs. I liked driving alone, really cherished it actually. Still do. My mind can just go, there's a special freedom to it. But I felt for these guys. Perhaps a typical motorist might be a bit scared of them, but I could tell they were like me. And I certainly have had enough time on the other side, sitting on the side of the road with my thumb out. So I picked them up. They had a quantity of grass on them, which diminished the closer we got to Bakersfield. I was going to just drop them off and keep on going, but they invited me in and were going to give me some leaf to take along with me. So I ended up going with them to their cousins house, who I think they were in business with (dealing). But they were waiting, there was no grass. And god, I hated being in that place and I had been there so many damn times before. Waiting for some shit. The whole house was kind of like a lock box, secured against invasion, all the shades drawn, dark as a crypt. At one point the cousin was talking about his past racing motorcycles, and he leaned down and unclasped his leg, leaned it up against the chair. Even after the wreck in which he lost his leg, he still raced. I waited, I drank, I slept, and I left in the AM without any grass.
– Last snapshot. This one is painful in the telling for me, as it reveals a side of myself that is very unflattering, a side that I would rather hide under the rug. While in Tuscon, I looked up Ruth, who was an ex of mine. Our relationship had seemed to be primarily spiritual, though we had our physical moments, no doubt. It seemed that a lot of the time we would be on the same wavelength, that we would have this spiritual understanding of each other without talking. In retrospect, who knows, maybe we just thought that. Since I had last seen her, I felt like I had gone over to the dark side, sliding in to a lifestyle of debauchery and addiction. Some of the tools that had initially helped elevate me spiritually had turned on me and dragged me down in to the gutter. And that was a large part of what this trip was about, running away from that. The problem was, no matter where I went, I was still there. And I wasn't running towards something, I was running away from something. In fear. Ruth and her roommate and I had dinner, had some drinks, went back and went to sleep. I slept on the couch. I woke early, haunted by the memories that this encounter sparked. Like it made manifest the distance between where I had been and where I was. I felt like shit. I rose from the couch, went in to the bathroom, leaned on the sink. And the sink cracked in to about 5 pieces and fell apart on the floor. Water was running everywhere. I was pissed, ashamed, aching badly for that freedom of the road. I had no money to leave, I had no way to make this better. Ruth and her roommate were still asleep. I slipped out in the pre-dawn silence and headed for the highway. That was the last time I saw Ruth.
Six months after leaving Brooklyn, I arrived in San Francisco. A small group of my misfit friends in NYC were from San Francisco, and had told me about the Hotel Utah, how it was their living room, their home away from home. I pulled off the highway in San Francisco, completely lost, not knowing anyone. Coming off the exit ramp, I looked to my right and saw the Hotel Utah. It was 5 PM on a Friday Evening. I parked the car, went in. Within 30 minutes, I made friends with at least a half dozen like minded misfits, all trying to drink the week away. I woke up Saturday morning in an apartment in the SOMA area. Staggering to the bathroom, I thought I was still completely wasted, as I kept bumping in to the walls in the hall. By days end, I realized that the building had shifted and settled so much, the floors were at a severe angle.
I settled in to SOMA for a while, and then moved in to a huge warehouse in downtown Oakland. I inhabited 2 small rooms with no windows. Outside my room was the vast warehouse, around 10,000 square feet. The ceiling was 60′ high. Also living there was a barmaid from the Hotel Utah and her skater boyfriend, Jake. Jake wrote for Thrasher magazine and supposedly had a skateboard move named after him. There was a huge half pipe just off the kitchen area. About 10 or 12 feet above the top of the half pipe was a picture of Jesus, slapped on there by someone who had flown off the pipe that high and still had the nerves to slap up the poster. Right next to us were a bunch of hippie punks who ran a piano repair business. They literally had around 250 pianos in their warehouse. There were several late night parties where dozens of those pianos would be played, stroked, pounded and abused all at the same time.
One day during this time, I was back in San Francisco, walking down a street in SOMA. From behind me, a man came up to me and said, "Excuse me sire, can I be your slave?" I was startled, and thinking I had misheard, asked him what he had said. "Excuse me sir, can I be your slave?" I said, "No, that's alright", and walked away, puzzled. A block or two later, I realized I had a handkerchief sticking out of my back left pocket. I forget what color it was, but it was obviously giving a very specific signal to those in the S&M gay community. "Damn it", I thought, "I just passed up my opportunity for a personal assistant" My life could have become so much easier.


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Cinemania Trivia Quiz – Blazing Saddles
With cameos by Count Basie, Anne Bancroft, Sally Kirkland and Gilda Radner, this controversial comedy was a trailblazer in many ways and led the way for later Brooks comedies like Young Frankenstein and Spaceballs. Take the quiz to see how serious you can get about one of the funniest movies out there. Take Quiz »
Bonus Question: How many times does Hedley Lamarr have to correct people on his name?
Bonus Answer: Five
Bonus Winner: arcadia
Read More