Digressions of a Dilettante

Digressions of a Dilettante
Vignettes of Inanity by Bud Hearn

Thursday, December 27, 2007

The Worm Turns

You already know how boring I-16 can get, and I have traveled this route too often in the last couple of weeks. However, I-16, like slow long-distance running, is conducive to dwelling on inane thoughts and getting a hold on elusive dreams. Yesterday, the "worm" thought kept circling around in my brain, apparently prompting me to recall some long-buried remnants of my youth. And I was transported back in thought to pre-teen years of a country boy, bored, curious, and penniless, but creative.

In those days there was little excitement in Colquitt, Georgia, so we had to be creative. The Spring Creek, a beautiful but small creek, meandered slowly through the westerly portion of town, and it was the first choice for spending days in carefree fun. In fact, it was encouraged by our parents. We'd mostly fish with cane poles, using worms we captured, not bought. Since money was in short supply, we had to find our own fish bait, so we resorted to a method of extracting 2 inch wiggly earth worms from their burrows, a process called "grubbing."

"Grubbing" was simple: take a sharpened 2 foot 2 X 4, drive it into the ground about a foot, and take an axehead and rub it across the top. This produced a "grunting" sound which resulted in a 10-foot circumferential vibration of the ground. The worms, either tickled or intrigued by this mini-earthquake, came worming to the surface, where we'd pick them up by the hundreds. It’s easy to fool worms...little did they know their fate! The best “grubbing” was in a boggy area on "our place" (idiomatic for "our farm"), and we could always count on it for worms. We found some pine ridges which produced larger 10 inch worms we called "Piney Hill Rooters," but they were too big and we had to dice them up to fit in the fishes' mouths. I'm sure they appreciated this unanaesthetized primal surgery.

The results were always the same...we caught plenty of fish for our "fish frys" (just FYI, the very first outing produced for Tubby and me 45 bream, all of which fit into a quart jar). Country boys can survive! Well, you know the rest of the story...we grew up and left childish things behind, and began "grubbing" for grown-up things like money, a different sort of creative thrill...but, O, for the return just once more of the good-old-days!

You might wonder where the euphemistic saying, "the worm turns" came from, and where all this is heading...well, it was first used by Shakespeare (who else!) in Henry VI, Part 3, and in that context meant that even the most humble of creatures will eventually turn to fight an oppressor. Well, I kept thinkin’ how a worm might turn to accomplish this, and along I-16 somewhere near Blitchville it came to me in a flash of light. The moral is this: while we got the first laugh on the worms, nevertheless in the end the worms will feast on us even as we so callously did upon them. Thus, the circle is complete.



CAUTION: Identity Theft is Rampant.....You may be its next victim right now.....

Yes, like it or not, some computer in India may have your number and you may lose your stash to some Nigerian nitwit scheme. This is not supposed to be happening to us privileged ones who live on this island paradise, God’s Waiting Room, but it is. So, as model citizens, Renn and I have invited a couple of experts from the Computer Financial Investigations Division and IRS Criminal Investigations Division from FLETC to tell us how to protect ourselves from financial ruin --- Dennis Keith and Jim Wilson, respectively, will be our speakers Friday.

Of course, Identity Theft is not new, but inventive operatives have found novel technological means to separate us from names and money. This was more difficult in time past when identity depended on individual recognizance. You couldn't get away with much then. But we have ceased to be individuals, and have become numbers in cyberspace. Hence the problems.

In the good old days in Colquitt, one passed for who one was. As kids we'd play these silly games of riding horses of brooms, wearing pillow cases for Superman's flying cape, and things like that. We identified harmlessly with all sorts of characters. Even our mothers watched Queen For A Day on TV, hoping one day to have a clothes dryer. We all dreamed of being someone else, but just dreamed. There was a fellow, I think his name was Carl, who identified with a car motor. He was "not all there,” (“touched” as they said in those days), and his 3 year old mind was imprisoned in the body of a 35 year old man. Everybody knew Carl and felt sorry for him, and he just roamed idly downtown and in the ally where we played. Every day Carl came by, "Udduunn, uddumm, motor dead, honey...udduunn, udduunn, motor dead, honey." This was to my knowledge his only vocabulary, and nobody wanted his identity.

Well, these days are gone for sure, and things have changed. We're mature adults now, right? Mature, yes, but we have found even ourselves wishing ofttimes we were someone else, a new identity, if only for a day. I like Woody Allen's remark, "My only regret in life is that I was not someone else." They say college grads these days will have 7-8 careers, each bringing new identities. Imagine. And as adults we have found inventive but subtle means of our own to change identities, and there are a 1001 ways to do that: clothes, cars, jobs, friends, ideology, houses and so on. There are thousands of Elvis look-alikes, and countless celebrity wannabes and pretenders. I think a healthy response to our “mature” identity crises is to collectively take a good look in the mirror, have a hearty laugh, and get on with things.

But, you know, identity theft notwithstanding, life has always been full of angst and profound mysteries...and things always get worked out. But sometimes I remember Carl, "Uudduunn, uudduunn motor dead, honey"...and I wonder if he ever connected with his true identity and got his car started, "Vrooom, vrooom, motor alive, honey, motor alive." And, speaking of mysteries, I sometimes wonder about my own motor...you?


Friends: "Your Soul Secrets have been revealed..."

No, not to me personally, but to our Big Brother, if you can interpret the news lately. How so? Well, in many ways. Take, for example, the new X-ray imaging being installed in airports. Why, it sees right through you...yes, everything personal, which could be both a blessing and a curse, depending, if you know what I mean. Will we soon be profiled on the Internet? Possibly…..I hope so!

Now, take the little small cameras recording red-light runners--no questions asked--violation ticket in the mail. And GPS systems (satellites, folks) can track your car, cell phone, airplane, boat and your Web-surfing habits. Scary, huh? Already there are helmets of electrodes, chip implants in your head and other such invasions that allow your brain to interact with a computer. Where will it end? Not here, and no time soon...much more to come.

Read on: A "Metaphysician", aka a Neuroscientist, by use of a MRI (magnetic resonance imaging) device, has discovered a way to interpret our “free will”, assuming by now we have any left. This science can read your mind, your secret secrets, your intents, your very soul, if you will. And the computer is 71% accurate...Imagine. Now you have no more secrets. And while I don't know how ladies feel about all this, but men, we have reached the final indignity of being totally naked to the world.

Well, some of this intrusion we may avoid, but there is still one little secret device, spoken of only in hushed whispers, that is unavoidable. I’m referring to the little red blinking light sensor found on toilet hardware in public facilities --- you’ve seen them. What are they really there for? Imagine the data they collect --- I shutter to think!

As for me, I always look on the positive side, fellas, so I think we shouldn't be too concerned about all this. It's been common knowledge since the days of The Garden that women, especially wives, have been able to discern the thoughts and intents of a man's brain. It's not all that difficult really, because at any given time there are only 4 or 5 things on a man's mind. And these can be narrowed statistically without science simply by observing such things as the time of day or night, the season, the sports season, the tides, NASCAR events and the level of sobriety, to mention a few. And I suspect the women will score better'n 71% accuracy. And we continue to wait for science to discover a machine to interpret women!

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Esperanto

Friends: ESPERANTO…..

Esperanto…this strange word entered my vocabulary in 1985 and has been taped to my Atlanta office desk ever since. The desk cost $125 and came in three parts. It is constructed of Chinese sawdust and glue made from wood chips, and glazed over with some white acrylic plastic laminate, dissembling itself as expensive furniture you would expect a real estate tycoon to have. The desk, while cheap, is functional, but it’s mostly flash and little substance, and it might crumble if it were ever moved again. But it looks good! The word Esperanto is taped there as a constant reminder of some important things.

The term Esperanto was concocted in 1887 by a Polish eye doctor and linguist named Ludvig Larazus Zamenhof (great name, huh?) who wrote a book, Unua Libro under the pseudonym of Doktoro Esperanto. The word literally means “one who hopes” and was intended to be a universal second language to foster peace and understanding. Imagine: Peace and Understanding among 6-plus billion people! It has simply come to mean “an artificial language.” It might have gained wider acceptance had it been a Polish joke.

We’re having a national discussion in the US now on adopting English as a National Language, all the while gobbling some daily diet of amalgamated American slang. I suspect this is a move by the current majority to establish something that might promote unity before “we” in the majority become “we” in the minority. In time, however, the national language may be some combination of SpanRap or maybe a reversion to tom toms and smoke signals.

Esperanto has been tried before. Specifically, it followed hard on the heels of the evil-hearted antediluvian crowd that was wiped out by the Flood back over there in Genesis 6. It was attempted by the post—Flood pilgrims at Babel, who spoke one language and aimed to set up a world-class building program in an area currently occupied by Dubai. Genesis 11 reminds us of the consequences of that action, and it begs question: Can floods recur in the same place? Well, it makes for interesting reading. And today, Esperanto is alive and well, though artfully disguised, by the use of 0’s and 1’s algorithmically arranged in computers. We really speak one language these days. And the propensity to be artificial, and to deceive, has taken quantum leaps through this means of Esperanto. It’s Babel redux (Babel, interestingly, is a good play on words, meaning “to confuse”).

All this to say that the word Esperanto is a constant reminder of the artifices used in today’s universal culture to disguise ourselves and the real meaning of things…how artful we’ve become in deception. And it helps me contemplate with circumspection what I hear and read.

So I keep Esperanto posted on my shiny desk, a reminder to me that what is seen is not always what it seems to be. Living in a world of subjectivity, it’s real easy to be misunderstood, and clarity in communication these days is critical to peace and understanding. So here’s to Ludvig Lazarus in his attempt at unity, and may we hope the Heavenly Observer will withhold another Babel a little while longer while we try to get it right.

Friday, December 21, 2007

Friday, Dec 21, '07 End of a Season…..

Looking Back


My dad died suddenly on December 20, 1989. We expected it, but it was still a shock. Christmas was not the same that year for the family. It marked an “end of a season” for us. Who had he been to us? What was his life all about? How would we remember him? What did the mosaic of his life look like, and was it complete? We all have those questions, don’t we? And even though I wanted immediate answers, I figured I had the rest of my life to figure them out, so I was not in a hurry.

Our lives, like the years of our lives, are kinda like that. Each year we have a chance to look back and let the events of the declining year settle in. Time has a way of distilling the essence of a person, or a year of events, so that their sum represents a pretty good mosaic of the past. After a few unhurried years the details merge into a composite mosaic of a life or an era. The mind is always assimilating more parts of the puzzle, but the retrospective is really what assembles it into something comprehensible.

Retrospective…an interesting process in itself. What is emerging of 2007 as we backward-glance it? I see several puzzles all at once, perhaps as many as the new people I’ve met, the new friends I’ve made, the old ones who have departed one way or another. Puzzles come, they go. Nonetheless, each comprises mental compartments and sooner or later the “distillation of their essence” becomes another tangible part of an intricate design. How fascinating! I can’t wait until tomorrow to “turn over” some new pieces, so to speak, and “hurry” the process of seeing what my own mosaic looks like…but alas, the process has its own pace!

How can we make sense of such a mosaic? The Apostle wrote these words that give guidance, which I have contextualized:

“…Love never fails…for we know in part…but when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. For now we see in a mirror, darkly; but then, face to face; now I know in part, but then shall I know even as also I am known. Now abides faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.” 1 Corinthians 13:8-13


The Friday Forum exists because Chef Mike, Vanessa, Marjorie, Renn and I hope to add to the mosaic the admixture of love and community spirit…we hope it makes the island a bit more intimate and friendly. We have faith that when the time comes for the puzzle to be completed in our years and lives, we hope that it reflects the joy of your enthusiasm and the picture of each of your faces prominently displayed. And for those who only read the email, be of good cheer, you are not neglected!

The Trumpet plant in my yard is blooming profusely now, carelessly spreading its short-lived fragrance over the whole landscape…strange that it would bloom in this season. But it is, perhaps because in thanks for the tender love my daughter had for it in its several transplants. The sun sets low in the southwestern sky, casting long shadows on the plant in these short days. It gets only small slivers of sunlight daily. Soon it will retreat in rest for another season; but the distillation of its essence has carved out a place in the mosaic, which shall not be denied it.

In a few days 2007 will be over forever. What has distilled for 2007? In time we’ll know. Meanwhile, like the Trumpet plant, I think I will rest for awhile and let it evolve. After all, I have the rest of my life to figure it out! And so do you!

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Christmas Fare, Dec 19


Merry Christmas, Friends: Last Minute Quality Gift Ideas


Anxiety is building rapidly among last-minute shoppers…what to buy that special person, where to get it, time is short.…. Hurriedly we rush out, buying tawdry trinkets, paying too much, embarrassed at The Opening on The Day Of…Oh, the frustration! Well, I have found two Perfect last-minute gift ideas for you…guaranteed to evoke a response when opened.

Gift Number 1: The color is black, matches everything; one size fits all, unisex; fire-resistant, easily stored and cleaned; assembly is not required and no instructions necessary for use; portable, chic, useful, and easily adaptable for “re-gifting.” It’s thoughtful, cheap, and made from recycled materials so you can brag about being part of the “Green Movement”. Recipients will exclaim “Too nice, too nice…”, and praise your creativity.

Moreover, The Gift will become a symbol of your character, and if used daily will add many new friends, invitations, and important opportunities. It will be the envy of all your friends, and you will be able to always see the world and those in it from another point of view. Humility will rule your life and guarantee Head-of-The-Line entry through the Pearly Gates. It’s especially useful for men when playing with grandkids, house chores or just responding to wives’ occasional commands of, “Drop down and give me 50”.

But you must hurry …stocks are running low. What is Gift Number One? Why, it’s a pair of rubber knee pads, of course. The Cost? $8.99. Where? Home Depot. The Response upon Opening? Inestimably Incredulous! (click on the attachments above).

Gift Number 2: It makes a subtle statement of the Gift-Giver’s cache, and is reflective of the depth of your thoughtfulness. It is a perfect gift to every family member, especially children. It can be given to friends, business associates and others who have made meritorious achievements worthy of such a gift. It is timeless and easily replicated, plus it comes in all sizes and can occupy prominent locations within homes or offices. The gift is like fine art, and when spotlighted guests will admire your excellent decorative tastes.

However, you must find an artist or sculptor to assist you in this endeavor, and there is no lack of starving artists! Such a gift will set you apart from most and will surely establish your notoriety.

What is it? Why, of course, it’s a Shoulders-up Bust of your Head, done either in bronze, ebony or white-marble cast stone, complete with pedestal. The Cost? Negotiable, depending on the size of your Ego. Where? Any local artist. The Response upon Opening? A stunned hush or riotous laughter.


Perfect last minute quality gift ideas …. gifts that continue to give!

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Prepping for the Event .....

Dear Friends: Prepping for The Event


The Event? Why, Christmas, of course—that time of year when we slay a perfectly beautiful evergreen tree and put it in the corner of the house for a few days, all decorated up like a military hero but soon dead. But hey, that’s Tradition. There were times when I suggested we just pile up the gifts in the corner of the house and throw some dead boughs on them, which is about what happens by the time Christmas Day comes. But that was uncool, and you already know the responses I got!

So last Saturday on an Indian summer day I left the fog-enshrouded island and headed up to Webster’s Tree Farm in Darien, where there are acres of perfectly pruned and shaped Fraziers, red cedars and pines. It was an event in itself. The air was thick with smoke from the grill where giant slabs of pork ribs were cooking, tantalizing …”Hey, Bud, here’s a nice 10 pound slab, only $15 bucks.” Tempting, but I was saving up for B & J’s, the local diner where you know the food is good by eyeballing the fleshly heft frequenting the joint.

It didn’t take long to find that perfect specimen to slay, and a couple of macho musk-emitting teenage boys, intent on impressing the single ingénue, grunted and sweated while “harvesting” the tree and toting it to my pickup…the tree homicide shall be laid to their heavenly account…amazing what $60 will buy at Webster’s! Loaded, the Chevy headed back down Hwy. 99 to B & J’s, where fried pork chops were the entrée, along with every veggie known, including rutabagas, and where I made up for the slab of ribs I had passed up. And get this: no fork is necessary for eating fried pork chops at B & J’s…fingers are de rigueur…it felt natural to be an undisciplined glutton!

Another Event was going on in Darien, and I heard the music as I arrived. Three enterprising black fellows had set up a make-shift stage in the yard of “The Painted Moon Art Store” and were jiving with a hot blues guitar, a wailing alto sax and keyboards. These boys were in the “zone.” The long, slow blues notes hung in the dry, lazy air, wafting through the empty and silent streets of Darien. The pickup would go no further and parked under an ancient oak tree. For not long enough I listened, as the combo mesmerized some tourists and a few locals. For the first time in months I felt “connected” with something more than myself…it was liberating. The cost? Free!

Fishermen lined the Darien River Bridge, with a backdrop of colorfully moored shrimp boats. A mile or so down Hwy. 17 another Event was occurring, as about 100 black suits, dresses and faces hovered around a green Darien Funeral Home tent, saying goodbye to a departed brother or sister…I think the song was Amazing Grace…and we all slowed to a crawl in respect, while the wailing sax kept filling my head with its sounds.

The day was pretty much anticlimactic after this …the tree was erected, lighted and decorated, mostly without complications this year and without the need to dust off some four-letter words I kept for such occasions. My wife praised me for such a fine tree selection, and I thought the better of suggesting (again!) that we all hide our presents and play hide and seek on Christmas Day to make The Event last longer. It seemed a crass thing to say on such an occasion, and besides, that wailing sax continued to blow freedom into my head, and I was not going to disturb the reverie of the day, nosiree!


Bud
December 13, 2007

Thursday, December 6, 2007

Elvis is Dead.....Now Evel is Too....

Friends:
Elvis is Dead...
Now Evel is Too...


Evel Knievel, that is...dead at 69. The Daredevil who disdained death succumbed to what? Broken bones, concussions, blood and guts? No, stupid conservative things like diabetes, idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, hepatitis C…, things we die of, we who have never done anything so adrenaline-pumping as jumping 52 cars with a Harley Motorcycle at Caesar's Palace, soaring at 350 mph 2,000 feet over the Snake Canyon, landing in beds of rattlesnakes. Not us, we play it safe...live out our lives peacefully, unlike advice from Mark Twain: "Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it's time to pause and reflect."

Jack Kerouac once said, "...the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn...". Evel was a self-described "gladiator in the new Rome," the possessor of the quintessential American trait of self-reinvention. He created a caricature larger than life that could be marketed worldwide to a generation hungry for virtual thrills. I think Jack might have called him mad!

It got me thinking about the value and the brevity of a "voice." Many voices make up the essence of America, not that Evel was as much a "voice" as an icon of idiotic stunts. Voices like Elvis, MLK, Gandhi, Kennedy, Sinatra, Pavarotti, Carson, Brando, Bogart, Gable, Di, Earhart, Churchill and many others… . Voices that made a real difference in things, in nations, in lives ~ voices that continue to speak today. But Evel’s life does point out by contrast the transformation of our culture from actual to virtual, where celebrity status and meritorious achievement stand in juxtaposition of one another.

Evel both succeeded and failed in many outrageous stunts and ended up with most of his bones broken at one time or another, being called virtually a "titanium body-parts" man. It's hard to figure out a man like this, and about all we can do is read his obit in awe of his courage, or idiocy. But one thing we cannot deny: Evel became a household word, for better or worse, in our generation and defined it in his own terms...and that, my friends, is huge -- - it takes real guts to look in the mirror and ask, “Who am I, really?”

We're looking for some loud, clear voices today that define what it means to be an American... What voices do we hear now? Are they voices of outrage, laments of inequity, of weak compromise, or are they bold voices of courage, of sacrifice, of innovation, of hope, or responsibility? Are we listening? What do we hear? What is our response? Elvis is dead and Evel too…..what about you?


Bud
December 6, 2007

Monday, December 3, 2007

Angola State Prison Rodeo...a Parody (short version)

Angola State Prison Rodeo…..
A Parody (
short version)


Sunday, October 14th, Angola State Prison, Angola, Louisiana. The Notice read: “You are about to enter a penal institution…” We all puckered up.

We left Baton Rouge in a white van and rolled across 51 miles of desolate Delta landscape littered with dilapidated mobile homes and hulks of rusted-out cars. Two hours later we entered the razor-sharp concertina wire gates of Angola Prison, where the rodeo theme was “Guts and Glory.”

The smiling face of Warden Burl Cain on a massive black sign welcomed us. A stark warning came with it: “If you wish to leave the premises, all guns, knives, alcohol and contraband should be surrendered at once.” We quickly consumed the beer and yielded up the bucket of KFC, bones and all.

The prison stood stark amid the lush green pastures of The Delta. Livestock grazed peacefully, framed by miles of white rail fences. Small lakes filled with white pond birds broke the symmetry of the fields … so quiet and tranquil. But the serenity disguised the reality of the treacherous institution where death-row and hopelessness co-exist within the tranquility…. Surreal and unnatural, like being an intruder in the distorted reality of a Salvatore Dali landscape.

Inside the scene was chaotic. Multitudes of hefty flesh pressed together alongside rows of low tables filled with fried swine delicacies: chittlins, cracklins and pigtails. The cooking caldrons crackled and spit as pig fat hit the boiling grease. As each hot batch was dumped onto the tables, a new crowd shoved its bodily mass into the fray, while gnats and green blow flies swarmed and buzzed in the wild ecstasy of the feeding frenzy. Beyond, throngs of frenetic shoppers mingled among the cramped booths of itinerant vendors and petty hustlers hawking cheap trinkets and prison memorabilia. It was a monument to human ugliness!

Inside the arena the air swirled with excitement. Some 10,000 “locals” roared and cheered while groups of brawny men and Harley has-beens huddled in tight circles engaging in guttural utterances. The crowd bore a remarkable familial resemblance to the inmates….unnerving!

But here things can turn nasty in a hurry. A thick air of tension permeated the tight enclosure of plowed dirt infused with the thick odor of excrement, urine and fear. Only a 9-foot fence separated prisoners, bulls and spectators.

The inmate “cowboys” were corralled in a wire cage beneath the “hospitality suite!” From there Prominent Invitees and VIPs could make sport of this absurdity, and if bored could easily poke the prisoners with sharp sticks to keep them attentive. We wondered how extreme the Authorities had been to “encourage” volunteerism for these events!

The events probably originated with Caligula, and we saw no way for the participants to win except by death… a hellish, psychological price to pay, since it reaffirmed the participants’ view of themselves as “losers.” But hey, this was Louisiana, where the hole in the wall of the State Capital, created by the bullet that killed Huey P. Long, is still enshrined and worshipped by busloads of devout Cajuns.

One event stood out: four “cowboys” sat playing cards at a red table. An 1,800 pound bull charged the table …. bodies flew through the air, landing with loud sickening thuds in the soft moist dirt, unconscious. They left on stretchers! Two remained seated … in a snorting rage the bull charged again, narrowly missing the two remaining players who were frozen by fear. Buzz --- time’s up…. these two shared the $200 purse…and the music played on: “Dum, dum, dum, another one bites the dust…dum, dum, dum….”

Despite this brutish display, the crowd showed a felicitous empathy for the safety and success of the “cowboys.” The only break in the tense drama occurred when a fellow in a shiny red Elvis outfit brought out 3 sheep dogs ridden by tiny monkeys wearing cowboy outfits and chasing wild goats. The laughter was almost too much to bear, and some became incontinent in the constrained effort of containment.

Finally, the crowd grew restless and made its slow retreat out into the humid dusk of a declining Delta day. Joining the exodus, we wondered: “What was this all about?” We concluded that everyone today had at least one thing in common: A longing to grab all the excitement that can be found in this short life. So for a few hours our lives and voices were fused into One, as we all participated in this wild, unpredictable Spectacle of Life called a rodeo.

My backward glance revealed the “cowboys,” now prisoners again, shuffling in slow motion as they boarded buses for the short trip home. Suddenly, the sky exploded with 100’s of white pond birds, and in the gathering gloom of the sunset they began a slow flight south to their home.

As darkness fell, the wind stirred the leaves of a changing season. Veiled yellowed windows of dimly-lit houses popped out of the dark woods as ghostly shapes moved slowly about inside, casting eerie shadows as the white van lurched forward, roaring through the night with the singular purpose of going home.

The day’s events distilled as I drifted off to sleep. In my dreams I saw flocks of white pond birds bursting forth in freedom, floating silently overhead, homeward. And we also, in freedom, headed back home to elegant island living….


Bud
December 3, 2007