Jason, Caesar and Superman do Friday the 13th

Written on Friday, March 13, 2009.

It's Friday the 13th! It's the day to look over your shoulder, just a split second too late, to see a madman wearing a hockey goalie mask brandishing a huge butcher knife. Can you see it? Hear it? Listen. Violins screech wildly! A tragically cute blonde screams! Her hot red blood splatters! Yeah, I can still hear it, too.

(pic) - Goalie masked Jason caught in the act. This is definitely high-sticking and he'll get a double minor (4 minutes) for drawing blood.

But don't forget the rest of the story (may Paul Harvey also rest in peace. Good day.). The hockey mask man is mad, crazy-killer-slasher mad, for vengeance because he's come back from the dead. Because he was a helpless little kid left to drown in Crystal Lake while the teenage camp counselors were bonking in the bunk house all those summers ago... I really hate to say it, but I now know exactly how Jason feels. Yeah, that's right. Better look behind you.


(pic) - Jason on-shore. The tables turned.

But that's only a tale from Hollyworld. In the real world, today also being called "Pink Friday" here in Santa Cruz County as the pink slips go out today to thousands of public school teachers being cut due to the economic crisis and California's pathetic budget woes. Folks are wearing pink in solidarity of the teachers being let go. It is one sad state of affairs. Charlie's favorite color was pink. Every time I see the color I think of him and his pink Chuck Taylor converse. Makes it even sadder.

(pic) - Pink Friday logo. (source: http://pinkfriday.ning.com/)

Two days after Friday the 13th it will be the ominous Ides of March. Julius Caesar was warned to beware the Ides of March, but he had just declared himself Roman Emperor for Life and wasn't afraid of anything. Well, after the dramatic act of tyrannicide took him down, we learn that no matter how in control we may seem (Emperor of the World for Life. - not enough), maybe we should be afraid. Very afraid.

(pic) - Tyrannicide of Caesar, 44 BC.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm not superstitious at all. I'm just paranoid. This past week the sea claimed a 30 year old man and a local teenager. The 17 year old 's memory is being honored by his friends and family. Los Gatos High School tragically lost three students this year. One boy collapsed and died on campus. Another in a car accident. The school community is in shock with grief and there are memorials and counselors at hand. I actually know Los Gatos HS well. Their track is home to the infamous Dammit Run , a 5 miler that runs up the face of the Lexington reservoir dam, over a mountain and back to the HS. Charlie won first place in the Boy's 13 and Under Division in 2003, crushing the Impey brothers by over 2 minutes.

(pic) - Charlie with his first place medal from the 2003 Dammit Run in Los Gatos.

The rough year at LGHS reminds that during my senior year at Springfield HS we lost a classmate in a car accident. Her name is Karen Sargent. I knew her, but didn't know her well; just knew she had brilliant black hair and a big bright white smile. At the time, I honestly had no clue of the pain some of my classmates and her family were suffering. I am really very sorry for that. I am really sorry for their loss. I don't remember anyone at school talking to us about it. A real-life learning lesson was lost on me. In retrospect, a lesson I dearly could have used. So as my 30th HS reunion approaches and then when I blogged about Cosmos #22, I dug out my HS yearbook. There is a full page tribute to Karen.



(pic) - Karen's memoriam. (source: SHS Yearbook 1979)

(pic) - Charlie's memoriam. (source Santa Cruz HS Yearbook 2005)

I also glanced through the Senior Quotes printed below the pictures of each one of the graduating class of 1979. Terry Barton, a close friend of Karen's, senior quote grabs me. It says it all:
"All the wealth in the world could not buy a friend or pay for the loss of one." Amen.

(pic) - Terry Barton. (source: SHS Yearbook 1979)

My own Senior quote?
"Any day you don't get killed is a good one."
I cringe. How would Karen's friends and family have taken that? After the events of my life thus far, it takes my breath away. I cringe again.


(pic) - Scott Harrison. Why so serious? you might ask (source: SHS Yearbook 1979)

My senior quote is taken word-for-word from a techno-thriller novel called "Weather War". I remember reading those words and the feeling of simple truth in them. They hit a chord inside and stuck with me, so I stuck them in the yearbook. Primarily, I chose that quote because I had some rough times of my own in HS and made some incredibly stupid mistakes and had some of my own near-miss car accidents that could have easily killed me and / or my closest friends. But we somehow survived each day, and so we better just count it as a 'good' and be thankful for that.

If you don't agree that "Any day you don't get killed is a good one." then you must be a very lucky person. A local young man Charlie must have run against in cross country, Jerry Maccallister, is a C4 quadriplegic since Jan 2, 2009. But he is alive and there is hope. And ultimately that is all that is needed to sustain us: life and hope. This week I just finished listening to an audio book that I plan to give to the Maccallisters. It's called, Nothing Is Impossible, written and read by vent-dependent, C2 quadriplegic Christopher Reeve. The book covers the range of emotions: depression, suicide, despair, gratitude, helplessness, progress, love, fight and hope. It is also a political plea to allow embryonic stem cell research to help find a way to regenerate spinal tissue. It is sobering and realistic, too, and I sometimes wonder if the gift will not be wanted. The last chapter starts with this quote:

""Hope is itself a species of happiness, and, perhaps, the chief happiness which this world affords: but, like all other pleasures immoderately enjoyed, the excesses of hope must be expiated by pain; and expectations improperly indulged must end in disappointment.""
- Samuel Johnson

Yep, there's some tough love in this book.

The final paragraph of the book is superb. So I will just leave you with Hollyworld's own Superman's words, and assure you I will pass it on to Jerry. Read them slow and think about the meaning of each word:

""When the unthinkable happens, the lighthouse is Hope. Once we find it, we must cling to it with absolute determination... Hope must be as real, and built on the same solid foundation, as a lighthouse; in that way it is different from optimism or wishful thinking. When we have Hope, we discover powers within ourselves we may have never known - the power to make sacrifices, to endure, to heal, and to love. Once we choose Hope, everything is possible. We are all on this sea together. But the lighthouse is always there, ready to show us the way home.""
-- Christoper Reeve

(pic) - The cover of the audiobook by Christopher Reeve quoted above. If you look closely you can see the ventilator tube sticking out of his throat. The hardest part of this book is readin it knowing that Reeve died on October 10, 2004, two years after it was written. Nothing and nobody lasts forever, but as long as there is hope...

Posted March 16, 2009.

Simon and Tapfunkle

pic - Smilin' Simon in the middle of a turn at Dancenter.

Three weeks ago Simon came down with the flu. He had stomach pain, stopped eating and lost five pounds. The doctor said it 'might' be the flu but had his blood checked just in case. Same Dr. calls back that night to say, "Simon's white blood cell count is abnormally low and we need to do some more tests to make sure he doesn't have lymphoma or leukemia". Say what?!

Yeah, I worry.
A lot.
Too much you say?

Subsequent tests showed he's fine. False alarm. We were due for a false alarm.

But Simon had missed a week of school and dance practice. He had a week of homework to make up and his take home application / test for High School Math Academy program was due. He was supposed to dance a solo at a benefit performance on March 7. He sucked it up, caught up on his work and got his application in on time. Then he choreographed and practiced his own solo tap dance for the benefit show. I had never seen it and wondered what he had come up with in a week...
Well, here it is on YouTube, to Queen's "Seaside Rendezvous".
It brought the house down.

Enjoy!



Then, a day later a real life seaside rendezvous with some kids from Los Gatos went terribly wrong. Under the category of "you never know", the front page headline in the Santa Cruz Sentinel was:
Teen Swept Out To Sea
http://www.santacruzsentinel.com/ci_11875854?source=rss
I read the article and got stuck on those two words too impossible to swallow: presumed drowned.

Yeah, I worry.
A lot.
And for good reason.
Yeah, I miss my oldest son, too.
A ton.
Every day in a different way.

I feel for Dennis' parents and know of the not-so-private hell they are going to live with for the rest of their lives. Sometimes I wonder how I ever made it this far. Then I see my youngest son dance like that with a big smile on his face - and watch while he puts a big smile on others faces, too. And I understand one big reason why I will always continue to take it one day at a time.

pic - Simon on the left showing some hip hop attitude. Note the old school Expos cap. (source: http://www.dancenterinfo.com/events.html)

Cosmos # 22

In the winter of 1977, Assistant Coach Chip Dorwin of the Springfield High School Cosmos boys varsity basketball team is handing out the game uniforms before the start of the season. He offers the #23 jersey to a scrawny, 5' 7 1/2 ", 135 pound, bow-legged kid who had just barely made the team. The kid knows better not to touch that one. #23 was worn by legendary SHS athlete Greg Birsky who owned the career scoring record of 1,466 points. The kid watched Greg play spectacularly for four years. Birsky ended his career in Burlington with a loss to Mt. Anthony in the State Finals game but played brilliantly.
#23, was his hero.
"No way, that number should be retired!", the would-be #23 cries.
He takes #22 instead.

pic -1979 - #22 for the Cosmos looks to pass, not shoot. Still needs a haircut.
(source: SHS 1979 Yearbook)


In the winter of 1979, with four or five games left in the regular season, Head Coach Richie Wyman pulls that same short, scrawny, bow-legged kid, #22, off the end of the bench and starts him at point guard. The team goes on to win the rest of the regular season games and hosts their first playoff game at home versus Montpelier. The Solons are coming off a State Championship in football. Also, they beat the Cosmos badly in their own Christmas Tournament title game earlier in the season.
The opening tip of the game falls into the lap of #22 and he waltzes in for an easy layup. But the ball never reaches the rim, as it is unceremoniously swatted off the backboard. The big boys had come to play. But #22 is not rattled. On defense, he plays 'free safety' the entire game and doesn't allow the run and gun Solons to get any cheap fast break points - points that had killed them in December. He also makes sure he has a hand in the face - sometimes fingers near the eyeballs - of the outside Solon sharpshooters and they miss a bundle. #22 doesn't turn the ball over the in the back court and finds Farmer Lockwood underneath for a few easy lay-ins in the half court offense. Late in the fourth quarter with the Cosmos running away with it he takes his second shot of the game, a wide open 20 footer, that goes 19 feet and sails wide left out of bounds. The stat sheet shows 3 fouls, no points and one W. Springfield goes on to play Brattleboro in the next round, with the winners advancing to the Division I State Tournament (final four?) at UVM in Burlington. The playoff game is played in Bellows Falls gym, a neutral court that has an odd rubber spongy surface. During the opening layup drills before the game #22 is as pumped up as he has ever been. He takes a pass, two steps, bounces toward the basket. Suddenly, he is soaring - soaring in uncharted territory, his head way up near the net, and he has to duck (duck!) at the last second so he won't hit his head on the rim. The layup slams off the backboard and misses everything. He is stunned. Had anyone seen that?! No one? Yet, he still remembers the rim in his face as if it was yesterday. His memory is like a dream where he is flying, regretting he had not composed himself and dunked it... The Cosmos lead the game at half time by a single point. The Brattleboro Colonels pull away in the second half, shooting a ton of free throws. With the game winding down, #22 steals the ball in the back court on a press. While he pulls the ball free he turns and in one motion sends up an awkward looking hook shot from 20+ feet toward the basket and it miraculously rolls around the rim a couple of times and falls in. His only two points of the game. The Brattleboro player looks at him in disbelief and all he does is smile, trying not to laugh. On the ensuing possession #22 commits his fifth foul and is sent to the bench. Fouled out. His season and his beloved high school hoops career ignanimously over. His dream of playing in Burlington for a State Title gone.

pic - The 1978-79 Springfield Cosmos Boys Varsity Basketball Team:
Back row left to right: Coach Richie Wyman, Kurt Rushton, Pete Hake, Kurt Martin, Bob Frawley, Chris Wood, Ben Mellish, Mike Porter, Scott Harrison, Manager Kirk Messer
Front row: co-captains Brad Lockwood and Glenn Cioffi.
(source: SHS 1979 Yearbook)

Flash forward thirty years to the winter of 2009.

That scrawny kid is now 47 years old, with a family, college tuition for his daughter due, a mortgage and a two hour round-trip commute. He has been through an awful lot in three decades - but he still plays pickup hoops and he loves to shoot this (not so) new thing called "The Three". And he still remembers. He gets an email from his sister with a link to a website that is going to show a Vermont high school basketball game *live* online on February 28, 2009. The Springfield Cosmos are playing.

He logs in and watches the whole game and he remembers.

The 2009 Springfield Cosmos boys varsity basketball team is playing for the Division II Vermont State Championship against the Vergennes Commodores. The title games are now played at the Aud in Barre, the home of the semi-pro Vermont Frost Heaves. The #4 seed Cosmos come out and play well against a strong #2 seed Commodores team, but somehow trail by one point at half time. The Cosmos defense then shuts down the Commodores and hold them to eight points total in the second half and crush them 59-31. An absolutely brilliant game is played by #22 for the Cosmos, who totally dominates, scoring 13 points in the third quarter alone and finishes with 33 points - outscoring Vergennes single-handedly. He makes five three pointers. The Cosmos had won their first boys State Championship in basketball in 49 years!

pic- The scoreboard at the Aud. The Cosmos as Guests victorious.
(source: Vic Baskevich)

The 47 year old #22 sits at his computer in disbelief. He has just watched his dream come true! But it is only a dream. And like a dream, he is not really there. He is not being interviewed on TV and he is not holding a shiny trophy over his head as the townspeople rise as one and cheer him. It is someone else living his dream. Same number, but the younger #22 is much bigger - 6'2" and probably weighs 180+ - and eminently more talented in every way.


pic - 2009 - #22 for the Cosmos jumps center for the Cosmos in the opening tip against Mill River. Who is this guy?! (source: http://www.sevtsports.net)



pics - #22 dominating the boards against the Mill River Rats in the quarterfinal game. He does it all. (source: http://www.sevtsports.net)

pic - #22 takes down a rebound to add on to his 33 point performance against Vergennes in the state title game. You can watch the full game archive here. Incredible!
(source: http://www.sevtsports.net)

The younger #22 is named Grant White. Now an instant Cosmo legend, if you say his name fast it even sounds like "Green 'n White". Incredibly, he broke #23 Greg Birsky's career scoring record. Grant was the star quarterback on the SHS Football team that won the State Title in that sport just months earlier. (In November, I wrote about the SHS state championship in football here.) Grant is the pride of the small town. He is described by town elders as, "One of the nicest and best athletes I've ever seen. good kid, good family, good grades. Still deciding whether to play football or basketball in college. Lots of interest in him."

The older #22 sighs and mumbles to himself... well, at least I got good grades.

GO COSMOS!

Grateful Red in Takebe, Japan

pic - Mark in his element, with the cutoff jeans, Red Sox Wild Card t-shirt, mike in hand with a locals only jam band at his back. Probably channeling Neil Young better than Neil himself. Ya think this man has it figured out?

I'm proud of my little brother, Mark. He's found his place in this crazy mixed-up world. He's my only brother and I've sometimes thought I love him like a son, too. Yeah, I know. Weird. But I know he's pretty darn happy right now where he is, and that's really all anyone can ever ask for in life - to be happy. Not rich, not famous, just happy as a pig in slop.

He just moved from Ground Zero in Hiroshima, a big city in Japan, to the countryside of Okayama Prefecture in a tiny village called Takebe. His wife Yumi inherited her parent's home there and they fixed it up. They moved there at the end of January and are settling in. Yumi works in the women's clothing department of a major department store in the city of Okayama. Mark is re-starting his English Conversation School business there. He just sent me a link to his website he'll use to advertise. Here it is:
http://web.me.com/harrissongs/Site/Welcome.html
Check it out.


The house in Takebe. Nice!

Representing the Red Sox Nation at a Hiroshima Carp game. Go Sox!

The Big Wahoo in Oahu.

(Pic) Mike and Etsuko about to demolish a huge order of sushi at Mitch's, Mike's newest favorite sushi place in Honolulu. Yeah, I helped the uni and ikura and.... It was all great, and flown in to this warm water island. Note to self - next time give the flounder sushi a pass. This meal almost surpassed the Hy's SteakHouse bonanza (remember to get the steak house picture from Etsuko...).

ALOHA! I went to Hawai'i last week. It's meant to be an annual trip I call "The Big Wahoo In Oahu". Some of you would refer to it as a "boondoggle". Call it what you want, but visiting the islands is good for the soul. Life slows down here. It's meant to be an annual thing, but due to various family emergencies, I haven't been really making the trip annually. Put that down in the category of "you never know..". But I always look forward to going back when I can. This year I made it!!!

I visit my friend Mike and his gracious wife Etsuko in their cosey apartment off of Waikiki. They used to rent but are now buying their place which bodes well for the future of the Big Wahoo.
Here's a view of the backside of Waikiki and Diamondhead in the distance from their lanai (veranda):



I left my family at home to fend for themselves and I got on a plane. They think that somehow I am going to visit "my girlfriend in Hawai'i". All I can say is that the only one I shared a bed with is Mike's ancient but genki cat Itchy-san (ak "Grover"). Grover is 17? years old and a story in herself...
(pic)


My excuse to make this trip is to celebrate Mike's birthday, golf and watch the Pro Bowl. I'll tell you up front though, that those are all peripheral events to the main focus which is drinking (a lot), eating (a lot, and only the best), tobacco'ing (in any form) and visiting the Harbor Pub until all hours. For Mike's birthday, I brought him a bunch of t-shirts, calendars, toys, books and trinkets which will probably just fill up his apartment with unnecessary stuff. Sorry, Mike. The golf this year was played at beautiful Ko'Olina on the west coast of Oahu and Makaha on the northwest coast. Makaha is in a beautiful valley that also looks out over the ocean. We had beautiful weather all week and it was like paradise. My golfing really really sucks, but I couldn't care less. I played on a sprained ankle so that was my alibi - but really, I just suck at golf and probably always will. We played with David F. who shot a legitimate 82 at Makaha, which is pretty much the best round of golf I've ever witnessed in person, so that helps me understand how the game is supposed to be played. He consistently made some amazing putts while I consistently came up a foot short on a 3 foot "tap in".
(pic) - Mike, me and David (Pana o ka mele) at Makaha golf course. David took our money, but not as much as we blew at the 19th Hole here. Note to self - the 'poke' is good eatin'.

We also witnessed possibly the worst college basketball game of the 2009 season as UH Rainbows blew out the Fresno State Bulldogs. The score was 14-1 after 5 minutes...

The Pro Bowl this year is a somber tale to tell. Alas, after 30 years this could be the last Pro Bowl in Hawaii ever, and the locals here are clearly bummed. Tons of tourist dollars will be lost, as will one of my excuses to make the trip to Honolulu... Next year the NFL plans to hold the Pro Bowl in Miami the week *before* the Super Bowl, also in Miami. Go figure! This was shocking news to me as I arrived, but made me realize that 'nothing lasts forever', and I'm really glad I made it out this year - possibly the last. So this year Mike and I decided to forego the regular tailgate extravaganza and take Etsuko with us on TheBus (da city bus) to the game. After all, it's possibly her last chance to see it, too! This was probably a good thing for our overall health as well - giving us a break before the final assault at the Harbor Pub.


(pic) Me, Etsuko, Mike, 4 rows from the top of Aloha Stadium at the 2009 Pro Bowl. These seats turned out to be perfect because they were in the shade, near an exit with no lines for beer, and in the end zone where the mascots and cheerleaders did all of their special performances. Nice!


(pic) A view from our seats of the halftime show. "To make an apple pie from scratch, first you must create The Universe." - Carl Sagan

But as I mentioned, the rest of the time Mike and I spent drinking Budweiser at the Harbor Pub or elsewhere. We shared banter which shouldn't be repeated even if we could remember them, and we argued about public stuff like A-Roid, low carb diets, and the culpability of the greedy wall street stock brokers. This year we did less golfing (yeah, my ankle was still swollen and Mike had a touch of gout) so there was gratefully not much re-capping of the golf game. Here's an appropriately blurry pic of the scene of the crime (Harbor Pub entrance), near the IliKai Hotel (soon to be condos?), across the street from the yacht harbor.



One of the owners/managers of the Harbor Pub, Gabe, is also calling it quits this year and is moving back to the mainland. New Jersey, I think, where most of the core Pub folks are from, including Paul (Mr. Baseball). I was also sorry not to get to hear Jeff the bartender drill us with trivia questions and his NJ memories because of his unfinished dental work. Surely the end of an era at the Pub as well (and yes, I'll stop calling me Shirley!).

One huge highlight: The semi-famous 49er Knuckleheads did show up on cue at the Pub one night and did two excellent numbers, including their newest: "Don't Take Our Pro Bowl Awaaay!" sung to the Simon n Garfunkle tune of "Don't Take My Kodachrome Away". [I videotaped it on my new cell phone and was psyched to post it on YouTube for John and Augie, but alas, the audio (garbled) and video (too dark) quality basically suck and not worth posting. Major sigh and major opportunity missed due to poor technology. Note to self - bring *real* camera/video next time.]

So this year it was nice to get back in the Oahu saddle (grass skirt?) again, but it may never be the same again. A big MAHALO to Mike, Etsuko and Itchy-san for putting me up and putting up with me. (How bad do I really snore?).

It was a great escape, but the return to reality in Santa Cruz has been, as always, somewhat of a struggle. Everything Changes and Nothing Lasts Forever. I guess so.

PS:

Pic- Above, a lei-strewn statue of surfing legend Duke Kahanamoku on Waikiki beach. Note the tourists are everywhere. I guess if they make a bronze statue of you, then you might last quite a bit longer, but not forever. And I overheard a Japanese tour guide try to explain the plaque beneath the statue but he got all his facts mixed up and pretty much explained a purely fictional history of the Duke: "The Duke introduced Surfing to the Olympics! The Duke was an actor who starred as The Sherriff of Honolulu!". Click on the pic below and read the real tribute... He got it all wrong. But the Japanese tourists all nodded and took pictures and took it all in anyway. I didn't have the heart to correct - and embarrass - the poor guide. But yeah, you never really know...

One (1) Puppy

After moving from Japan, it was our first Christmas in our new home in Santa Cruz. My daughter Jeremi was in second grade and she wrote a letter to Santa in crayon that said she wanted a new puppy for Christmas - more than anything in this world. The holiday arrived with alarming speed, however, and there was no puppy bouncing out from under the tree that Christmas morning. But Santa had not forgotten. He had left an official letter rolled up and tied with red yarn nestled in the bows of the tree. It was addressed to my daughter and it was signed in a spectacular flourish by the Jolly Old Elf himself. He explained that she had been a very, very good girl, and so she could indeed have a puppy! But he wanted her to have the joy - and the responsibility - of choosing the pet on her own. She must also promise to love, feed, clean, walk and take good care of her choice. He included an official looking cut-out coupon at the bottom of the page, good for "One (1) Puppy".
A few weeks later, on the way home from Japanese school, I took Jeremi and her coupon to the C.A.R.E shelter in San Jose. The 'Companion Animal Rescue Effort' saved pets from neglect, abuse or abandonment and provided them to caring families for a nominal fee. We walked into a large room with caged dogs on the sides. We were met at the door and we asked for a puppy, but received a stern look from the woman in charge. She glanced down at my small child, and inquired if we had any 'smaller' children at home. Indeed, I said, two boys, one in kindergarten and a one year old. The stern face smiled briefly and then explained that puppies and babies or toddlers don't go well together. Neither one of them properly understands the boundaries of the other, and they often treat each other badly. The puppy is invariably the loser in this scenario. Besides, she said, they don't have any puppies available here at C.A.R.E.

Oh. So, I learned some things.

She offered that they did have plenty of beautiful fully grown dogs that would be more appropriate for our family anyway. Please take a look. She didn't beg. She insisted.

We wandered down the aisle, a bit dismayed but wanting to check out the goods anyway. After all we'd come this far. There was a couple of very small miniature-style dogs including a chihuahua-type with a name tag of "Charlie" that caught our eye. Hmmm, same name as my oldest son and definitely smaller than even a normal puppy, we thought. Maybe...
But we wandered on. Then we came upon what appeared to us to be a 'golden retriever puppy' with a name tag "ButterScotch". Perfect! Jeremi lit up. We were told that she was actually fully grown and was probably a mix between a golden retriever and some other "significantly smaller dog". I tried hard not to imagine the actual mixing which occurred to create this lovely dog. The stern face explained, this dog wouldn't grow any more and was actually a good size and temperament for a house with small kids. Not too big, not too rowdy, well-behaved. Jeremi could probably handle her on a leash already, they suggested. Of course, that meant BS (Butterscotch) was immediately put on a cheap plastic leash made of red twine and we were sent out to the parking lot with her "just to see how it feels". Jeremi could barely contain herself as she ran and giggled and tried to keep up. BS wagged her tail and Jeremi would have if she had one. BS was very skinny and she walked with an odd wiggle in her hind legs. They looked out of line with the rest of her body, like she needed a rear end alignment, rotation and balancing - or something. I asked if she had been hit by a car - or something? They politely told me that they couldn't tell me even if they knew - and they don't. The dogs were all cleared by a vet for general health and this dog was fine and full of energy and we'd be doing her and ourselves a tremendous favor if we took her home with us... Hmmm, I looked down at Jeremi and she was absolutely beaming! So I said, we'll take her, but what is the cost? You see, all we have is this coupon from Santa... After careful examination of said coupon for authenticity, validity, expiry and an intense discussion on the definition and applicability of the phrase 'One (1) Puppy' to this case, they accepted the coupon! Ahh, the magic of Christmas!
After a brief side discussion that resulted in me paying $125 for "One (1) Red Leash" we were on our way home. Jeremi sat in the backseat of the car buckled up with BS sitting obediently at her side. I glanced back in the rear view probably a thousand times because Jeremi's eyes were so wide and her smile so huge as she just stared in silence at HER NEW PUPPY! She was clearly ecstatic. It was an hour drive home and I swear I've never seen someone smile so hard for so long in my life.


At home we quickly agreed that 'ButterScotch' was a mouthful, BS was inappropriate, and we should give her a new name. The boys were watching a Peanuts cartoon, and so we decided on the name "Sali" with an "i" at the end, just like Jeremi. In Japanese we'd call her "Sa-chan". Then we took Sali to Derby Park and discovered she would bark defensively at any other dog she met. We also discovered that if we threw a tennis ball as far as we could onto the grassy field, she would run it down and bring it right back to us time after time after time after time...

...and time itself did go on a long walk. It is now thirteen Christmases and hundreds of slobbered tennis balls later. Time flowed with hope and cheer, easily and joyously for years. We played with Sali at the park and the beach and she always barked rudely at the other dogs. We got pet hamsters, guinea pigs, hermit crabs and an imperious cat and Sali accepted them all graciously. Then a beach tragedy cost us our Charlie, and turned Time into a grief stricken, merciless struggle. It no longer flowed, but rushed hard out of our hearts. Time trudged on painfully, desperately, hopelessly. Time would pass regardless of whether we had an unwaveringly faithful pet dog at our side, or not.

And that very same Time turned our beloved D-O-G very O-L-D.



Jeremi is now in her third year in college and has her whole life ahead of her. Sali, on the other hand, does not. Her golden fur turned white and she slowly lost her eye sight and then her hearing. She lost control of her rear left leg completely when arthritis finally shook the wiggle loose. She lost control of her bowels and finally stopped eating entirely. We called in the vet to 'do the right thing' so she wouldn't suffer any longer. We all stroked her fur while she lay on our living room floor on a beach towel with a scene of a Hawai'in sunset on it. The injection mercifully and swiftly took her from us. Another life, and love, lost on a beach.



Today is Wed. January 28, 2009. I miss you, Sal.

"hanging by a thread"

Time to move forward, straight but not narrow.
Well, the evidence is all around us.
The ice caps are melting from west to east.
""scientists in Antarctica say a major ice shelf is about to break away from the continent. The Wilkins Ice Shelf is said to be "hanging by a thread" from the Antarctic Peninsula, the strip of land pointing from the white continent towards the southern tip of South America.""

Fuck! I just put 1,000 miles on my 96 volt EV Rabbit, powered by a 3.4 Kw solar panel system on the roof of my house, the front door of which is all of 50 feet above sea level. Fuck! Why the USA isn't on board with this lifestyle, yet, I'll never know. But maybe, now is the time. It's time to feed from the sun, not the earth.
Feeding In Renewable Energy Breakthroughs
http://www.greentechmedia.com/articles/feeding-in-renewable-energy-breakthroughs-5556.html

So he's gone now. Off into a beautiful sunset brightly colored by the greenhouse gasses he did nothing about. Baby George is happy now, back in Texas with his fam damily. You can bet they're listen' to both kinds of music: Country and Western. You betcha!
And here's the song W oughta sing to all of us.
Brenda Lee's, I'm Sorry. (mea culpa, I changed one lousy word.)



I'M SORRY

I'm sorry, so sorry
That I was such a fool
I didn't know
Love could be so cruel
Oh oh oh oh uh-oh oh yes
You tell me mistakes
Are part of being dumb(ya)
But that don't right
The wrong that's been done
(I'm sorry) I'm sorry
(So sorry) So sorry
Please accept my apology
But love is blind
And I was to blind to see.
Oh oh oh oh uh-oh oh yes
You tell me mistakes
Are part of being dumb(ya)
But that don't right
The wrong that's been done
Oh oh oh oh uh-oh oh yes
I'm sorry, so sorry
Please accept my apology
But love was blind
And I was too blind to see
Sorry


YEEE HA!




Or. Willie Nelson sang it best, of course.
I changed one word of his lyric, and I want to dedicate it to W.
... and tell him, "Hey Texas! Don't Mess With Vermont!"


Somewhere in Texas
A cowboy dreams of the days
When the buffalo roamed
And he wished he had lived then
Cause he knew that he could have been
The best cowboy
The world had ever known
He went dancing that night
With his San Antone rose
The one he would marry someday
To the music of Bob Wills
And polkas and waltzes
While beautiful time passed away
Going home in this pickup not knowing this stickup
Was in progress on the same side of town
By a man in a truck the same kind he was driving
Bad karma was soon coming down
Before the store owner died she had tried to describe
The man who had shot him that day
And he described to a letter the misunderestimated cowboy
So he tried him and sent him away

W is for Whatever.

As they used to say at the height of the British Empire.
"The King Is Dead. Long Live The King."

Amen,
--F;

God Bless Everyone...

Pic - The Yahoo poll map the day before the historic election, November 3, 2008.

Even America.

Out With The Old. In With The... New?

2009 is starting out full of loss.

I mentioned Jerry Mac in my previous post. The 18 year old young man paralyzed from the collarbone down after taking a header off a dirt bike on the 2nd day of this new year. I visited him once and am wishing for a miracle for his complete recovery. It will be a long year - or years - for him and his family, but the one thing they know they have that is most critical is HOPE. I know too well what it's like to live without that most important piece. I hope to support them through this struggle in some way, and run in his honor - along with Charlie, of course.

On the 9th day of this new year, my last remaining colleague in the Localization Department where I work resigned for a better job and a chance to work back in Asia. I took ScottC and his beautiful young Thai wife to lunch that day and wished them well. I'm literally the last man standing in department that once had a multimillion dollar budget and almost 30 people. It makes me feel incredibly vulnerable in these days of cost-cutting. I know. I'm not alone.

On the 12th day of this new year, my angel for years said goodbye. I am forever grateful for this angel who basically saved my life and taught me how to live and love again. If you have ever been blessed with such an angel in your life you will know what I'm talking about. Maybe angels are not meant to stay forever. Maybe that's why they have wings. That's all I'll say.

There are other ominous signs of loss looming in 2009.

Job cuts and investment losses are mounting and threatening everyone across the world. Barack, buddy, I wish you the courage to reshape this world to something more sustainable, humane and compassionate.

Much more closer to home, and much more important really, our beloved dog, Sali, is literally on her last legs. She is a mix between a golden retriever and some smaller dog. Jeremi got a 'coupon from Santa' good for One Dog Of Your Choice in 1986. She picked out this fully grown dog from the CARE (Companion Animal Rescue Effort) in Santa Clara one Saturday on the way home from Japanese school. They didn't know how old she was, but she had been 'mistreated' and walked with a little twist in her back legs. Now her rear right leg appears useless and is practically falling off. Arthritis has crippled her but she can still walk. Her eyes are both milky white from cataracts. She lost a front tooth on the floor near her bed last week. She doesn't eat much of anything anymore but biscuits and hot dogs, if that, so she isn't taking her pain or arthritis medicine either. She is skinny and weak and sometimes falls down on the slippery pergo kitchen floor and can't get up. Her face fur is almost completely white. She's lost control of her bowels for the most part, too, and is leaving a trail of loose poop on the carpet every morning now.
The signs are all there and certainly I don't want her to suffer. Yet, she'll still try to walk to the ocean or Derby Park and back. She'll still bark at other dogs she meets during her walk - even at imagined dogs that really aren't there. She'll still wag her tail when I pet her. She'll still move her feet and legs while she sleeps, dreaming of chasing a tennis ball (or better prey) perhaps. I look up in our living room at the self-portrait close-up photograph Charlie took of his face with his 'Wild Card' Red Sox cap on next to a younger more vibrant Sali. I go to snuggle Sali, and she'll still lick the tears off my face when I do.

You never know.

Holiday break - and another heart break

Over the holiday break I watched some movies and read most of a book. In these stories, a recurring theme of 'follow your passion' or 'use your time, here it's precious' presented itself to me at the end of year. Telling me to get to it in 2009, I suppose. 'It' meaning my own life's true passion and calling.

"The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" was a wonderful movie . I want to watch it again. During the movie he mentions a few times that opportunities taken or not, fateful turns and being true to oneself are important to pay attention to, time marches on and there are really no second chances. So we best get to being our own true selves NOW - is what went unsaid. The F. Scott Fitzgerald short story this movie is based on would be a fun read. The movie is long, but without a wasted moment and I highly recommend it.

"Man on Wire" was an incredible documentary on DVD. For me, someone who is terrified of heights, whoa, it is, as they say in the Princess Bride, inconceivable. Almost hard to believe what this man and his team pulled off, but it's all true! And if there was ever a person on this earth who lived purely in the moment and unflinchingly followed his passion, well Phillipe Petit is the guy. This Frenchman is the real deal, and thus begs the question: is this guy a role model or clearly insane or both. I don't think he cares what you think - he's in love with what he does. Must be.

"Ghost Rider" is a book by Neal Peart, the drummer and lyricist for the Canadian classic rock band RUSH. His memoir is about his lengthy journey on a BMW motorcycle all over the western hemisphere in search of himself shortly after suffering the loss of his daughter and then his wife in the span of 12 months. Neal also talks about his admiration for the writer Jack London, his hero, who's credo is simple: life is short, time is precious, so use it well. Jack died at the age of 40. Neal, the 'ghost writer' and 'ghost rider' talks a lot about the 'that person he used to be' but is no longer and his need to find a place in real life again. Wow, a lot of his statements are seemingly taken directly from my own mind.

Then, earlier this week, the real world reared back and returned with a bitch slap to the face which stings worse from the salty tears.

I wrote this email Tuesday (1/6/9) night:

Chris Proffitt is a former x-country team mate of Charlie's. He and his family have been a big source of encouragement and support through the years. Chris ran some training runs and races with me before the SF Marathon two years ago and has always had kind words and great memories to share of Charlie and our trips to the freshman XC meets together. He's on the UC Irvine track team and keeps me posted. His mom, Trish, organized the talent show at the middle school where Charlie's garage band, Scrap Metal, won first place. She let me know this sad news yesterday...

Another one of Chris' friends and XC H.S. team mates (same class as Charlie), Jerry MacCallister, had a dirt bike accident on Jan 2 and is currently paralyzed. He's had two surgeries, but so far all he can do is blink. I don't know Jerry personally but I have seen him run. I will visit him in the TCU at Santa Clara Valley Med Ctr (same hospital, same wing Misao was in) tomorrow after work to give him some encouragement.

If you think 2009 is going to be tough for you (..and pretty much I think we all do!), just stop and think for a moment what this young man and his family are fighting for right now.

You never know.

http://followingjerry.blogspot.com/

Please take care,
--Scott;
""

Further info:

Here's what happened:
http://www.riderdown.org/forum/showthread.php?s=d6ffe176c06109a5d2beb6d5edc5eb73&t=1460


And the Facebook group to follow Jerry:
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=44783796493

And I posted this just tonight after visiting them.
""
I met Jerry, Dennis and Katie for the first time at the hospital this evening. The SCVMC hospital that's all too familiar to me, since I watched my own wife walk out of there after a serious car accident just ten months ago. Jerry looked me in the eyes and seemed bright and alert, but a bit perplexed by the strange man with too much to say who came to visit. Jerry - I hope to let you do all the talking on my next visit. Dennis and Katie both are strong, courageous and very compassionate parents who obviously have tremendous faith. We all want to see the miracle happen here and see this brave young man continue to recover. Take it one day at a time and feel the love from everyone pulling for you.
Be Well!
--Scott;
January 8, 2009 12:02 AM
""

Katie, Jerry's mom, posted a blog entry about finally being able to communicate with Jerry enough to know he wanted to hear his Zune, and he wanted to hear music for 'Death Cab for Cutie'. I saw the post and googled for the group and from a list of about 50 songs clicked on one of them randomly to see the lyrics.

These are the lyrics I read:

http://www.metrolyrics.com/all-is-full-of-love-lyrics-death-cab-for-cutie.html

All is Full of Love (apparently a remake of a Bjork song)

you'll be given love
you'll be taken care of
you'll be given love
you have to trust it
maybe not from the sources
you've poured yours
into
maybe not
from the directions
you are
staring at
twist your head around
it's all around you
all is full of love
all around you
all is full of love
you just ain't receiving
all is full of love
your phone is off the hook
all is full of love
your doors are all shut
all is full of love


And here it is on youtube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqHPgFygMkk

Wow. Is that both powerful and haunting, or what?

My thoughts and prayers are with Jerry and his family. Godspeed in your recovery.
You are one brave young man.

Thanksgiving: The Springfield Reporter

An open letter to The Springfield Reporter in Springfield, Vermont

11/18/08

For starters, I want to publicly give thanks to Barb Parker for giving me what seems like a lifetime subscription to my home town weekly newspaper, The Springfield Reporter. After I read it, I pass it on to my Mom out here in California. So it is a Vermont gift that keeps on giving. The Reporter is like a time machine that takes me back to my days at Elm Hill, Park Street, Riverside, the Plazoo and Cosmos Green. Every week I secretly treasure my little read with the local home town news. News, I may add, that exists only in newsprint form. Trees and ink required, no website. Out of Google's reach and not a slave to the search engine. Old School.

I still remember the thrill of reading my name in print in the paper for the very first time when Red Forbush wrote a brief blurb about our freshman basketball campaign in 1976. So, it was with delight I read the recent screaming headline "CHAMPS! Cosmos Earn First State Football Title in 61 Years" and the 58 point explosion over Windsor in the championship game. To put that in perspective, I'm pretty sure our punchless '79 team didn't score 58 points over the course of our entire season. Congratulations to Coach Mike (do they still call him Hondo?) Hatt and his dominant '08 Cosmos team! 61 years. That's not exactly Curse of the Bambino territory, but it's only off by a generation. Certainly longer than most any of us can remember.

But reading the Reporter saddens me at times, too. A couple weeks ago I was so sorry to read the obituary of Phyllis Wyman. My sincerest condolences and sympathy go out to Richie, Jeff Sherry and Mike and your extended families. My thoughts and prayers are with you. To me Phyllis was the quiet matriarch of a Springfield sporting dynasty that is now in it's third generation. Bless her and her family.

In closing, I want to thank Coach Richie Wyman publicly, too. I know the timing is way off, but I want to do it now, while I'm thinking of you and we're both still around. It may not seem like much, but thanks for not cutting me from the varsity basketball squad my junior year at SHS. You didn't have to keep me around at the end of the bench, but you and Chip let me ride the pine that season. In hindsight, I know that the SHS hoops practice was the 'family' group that I needed to belong to, especially then. It was a completely unstructured and difficult time in my home life, and I can only wonder what would have become of me if I'd had all that time after school to myself... Today, I still find joy in playing hoops, but still can't finish with my left, and am still a notorious streak shooter, and have become infatuated with this new thing they call a 'three'. So, thanks for including me. It's not just who starts and plays and wins those games that matters. In the long run, I think whoever gets to suit up and practice every day is quite blessed, as well. Even those of us lost in those six decades between Cosmos gridiron greatness, who never came close to winning anything like a Vermont State Championship.

With gratitude and a heavy heart that will always bleed Green 'n White.
Happy Thanksgiving!

Take care,
--Scott Harrison;
SHS '79

Famed basketball coach Pete Newell Sr.

Perhaps you saw this:
Famed basketball coach Pete Newell dies at age 93
http://www.santacruzsentinel.com/localnews/ci_11012112
11/17/2008

Since we lost Charlie on the day that the Santa Cruz High basketball team won the California State Championship, the SCHS hoops coach, Pete Newell Jr., has reached out to me on rare occasions. That day has inextricably linked us - the worst day of my life - one of the best days of his. He has been sort of a father figure and mentor to me, sometimes giving me some tough love comments that I know I really needed to hear. I gave him the tickets to that game that Simon and I never made it to. Of course, I'll never stop wishing Charlie had been with us that day instead of with his two friends at the beach...

Pistol (Jr) himself has no children. Today he lost his father. Pete Sr. is without question a legend in the game of basketball, and I'm sure his son is a reflection of his intense passion for the game, and deep compassion and caring for people. 93 is a lot of years, and to think the life that went into those years makes it seem even more historic and legendary, and sad to me. My thoughts and prayers are with the Pistol and the Newell family at this time of great loss and grief.

I'm well aware that some of us on this list have already lost our fathers in one way or another. Some I also knew well and they were truly great men in their own right. It is a hard thing to face, knowing that no one lasts forever, not even the best ones, the ones we think will be there forever. But I guess we are still here to carry on their legacy as best we can, so their memories and goodness, even greatness, can live on in us.

Please take care.

Love,
--Scott;

picture is from the Sentinel, 2003

"Happy?" Halloween

"Happy?" Halloween!

I used to say that Halloween was my very favorite holiday. Christmas is too commercialized and too localized to just your immediate family on the BIG DAY when you open tons of presents at home under a beautiful tree that no one else sees but your family. It's too much sharing with too few people. Christmas involves sending Hallmark greeting carsds, too, which I am emphatically against for reasons I'll discuss at Christmastime. Halloween, on the other hand, is postage-free, and is a get out of the house, let your inhibitions go and dress up in a crazy outfit just like everyone else, decorate your house if you want, and prepare tons of sweets and candy for others. You get to see everyone else's costumes and enjoy the pageantry and parade, you get too feed your sweet tooth, and you can even do it anonymously but completely publicly if you're wearing the right costume. The Americanized version is just the best idea for a holiday, even though it's origins lie in All Saint's Eve and the Mexican Dia De Los Muertos.
My memories of Halloween are rich and wonderful. My first memory is my Mom dressing me up as the Jolly Green Giant. A costume based on a mythical spokesman for frozen foods and canned vegetables. Remember the commercial on TV and the jingle?
"In the valley of the Jolly
ho Ho HO
Green Giant!"
In elementary school days, we would run around the village neighborhood and collect tons of candy, filling our pillowcases with pounds of chocolate. Sweet! And then we'd be sure to make it to the Elm Hill School gym / cafeteria by ~9pm to get more goodies, see everyone else's costumes in the area, and watch a screening of classic cartoons such as Woody Woodpecker and the *?* Crows. What a madhouse the school was on that night. One big treat. Those were the days when people gave out handmade cookies, popcorn balls, candy apples and the like and you actually thought those were the best treats. Before the rumors fueled the fear of razor blades and pins in the apples, or poison in the popcorn, and people stopped trusting their lifelong neighbors. Ahh, the good ol' days - am I imagining this?
For many years as a teenager, I remember not really having my act together for a costume until the big day, so I'd always go as a "hobo" or a "bum". Pretty easy to throw together some old ripped up clothes and smudge on some black facepaint. Quick and easy and comfortable, but how lame was that!?
It was good for camouflage when we'd go out and steal jack o'lantern pumpkins and roll them down the steep Elm Hill that led right to the center of town. There were two parts to this annual ritual. One was the days leading up to Halloween when we'd get whole pumpkins, as yet uncarved, still plump and nice and heavy and full of punkin' guts and roll them down Elm Hill late at night. The goal was to have them roll fast, far and make a spectacular mess in the middle of the hill when they 'exploded' when the gourd's thick skin could no longer contain it's slimey contents and the velocity and momentum of the orange orb caused it to disintegrate into bits. Rolling pumpkins was great autumn right of passage like jumping in a pile of raked leaves or throwing snowballs at cars and pogey'ing in the winter.

Egg Throwing - I was never into egg throwing, but knew plenty of kids who were. My own mom got hit driving up Elm Hill one night. Her driver side window was down and she got hit with an egg right in the face. She made it home but was crying and was a mess. I think she went to the hospital. Her glasses and hair were covered in egg yolk. It was pretty scary.

Shaken, not stirred at the door. My scariest Halloween story.
One teenage year I was out Trick or Treatin' with friends. We were right across the street from Mike Davis' house. The house we approached was dark with no decorations. It was a tight squeeze at the top of the steps for all of us at the front door. I was squeezed in the back next to a black iron grate railing. For whatever reason we banged on the door over and over and rang the doorbell many times. No one answered. I moved to the front of our pack to try to peer into the darkened house and, BAM!, the door flew open and a huge old man reached out with both hands and grabbed me by the shoulders. He shouted "God damn you little bastards I'm gonna show you!" Our group scattered, but I was trapped, and he slammed me against the railing over and over again, screaming anger and venom at me. Somehow I ended up over the top of the railing and flipped over the other side into the bushes in front of the house. I was scratched up but FREE and I ran like crazy out of there. It took a long time before our group reassembled in various parts of that neighborhood. I was pretty shaken up, but had hung on tight to my pilowcase full of candy and didn't spill a thing. I never needed to gorge myself on comfort chocolate more than that night, and I'm sure the sugar buzz lasted for a few weeks after that.

I was a hobo that year. A couple of memorable times in later years, I really got creative and daring and actually came up with a cool costume.


Roosevelt Bouie - Syracuse University, Syracuse, NY 1979



At Syracuse University in 1979, my freshman year in college, I had grown 2 inches and gained 20 pounds in the first two months of school (5'7+" to 5'9+", 135 to 155 pounds). This growth spurt was the result of a dining hall card that allowed me to eat ALL YOU CAN EAT for every meal, breakfast lunch and dinner. This included sneaking into the dining hall where the football team ate huge steak dinners on Friday nights before the games on Saturday. I also was not running around playing after school sports every single day like I did in high school. I also worked at the Sadler Snack Bar in the evenings flipping burgers and drinking my specialty milk shakes. I dreamed that I was on my way to growing into a Center for the famous SU hoops team. So my low-budget costume was to go as senior hoop star Roosevelt Bouie. He and Louis Orr made up the famous Bouie 'N Louie Show under coach Jim Boeheim. I had not only met him (really nice guy), but actually played against him - and guarded him!- in a pickup game and what a joke that was, but that's another story for another day. My costume was easily thrown together. A Go Orange t-shirt with a #50 on the back made with electrical tape (stapled on for good measure cause it kept peeling off), hoop shorts with black sweatpants underneath (it's cold in Syracuse on Oct. 31, my friends), and the piece de resistance - black face paint and my curly brown hair all afro'd and fluffed up. I carried my basketball for a prop - and ended up losing it - during a night that was full of scandalousness I'd rather not remember completely or at least not publicly. Yes, it was my ball that smashed the glass Playboy pinball machine in the Delplain Hall front lobby, but I wasn't the one who threw it. Honest. TILT!

.insert pic here of d'land shroom candle.

'Shrooms - 1980 at the University of Vermont, Burlington, Vermont.

I road the psilocybin pony for the first time - and got thrown off. I had blood like pure spring water (see the Coors beer commercials) and even low dosages of drugs had a drastic effect on me. I don't remember much from this evening actually. I was given some dry pieces of mushrooms and put them in a peanut butter sandwich and washed it down with keg beer. This was when the drinking age was 18 - I was 19. I wandered out of Simpson Hall over to a large rock along the side of the parking lot near the tennis courts. This rock was maybe twice my height, but I climbed up it and laid on top and stared up into a starry night sky. I can't remember if I was alone or not. It was cold, but I had this feeling of being outside my body. I'm usually a pretty hyper guy, but everything slowed waaaay down and I felt like I was on that rock for an eternity. I paid attention to every detail. I remember being amazed at how everything worked (who made these perfect shoes for me?!) and was awed by how all the pieces of the world didn't just come apart and crash into each other. Bright lights that I focused on had the effect of turning into negative images of themselves - bright to black, black to bright white. I made the mistake of tagging along with friends to go to downtown Burlington. At Last Chance, a dark basement of a dive bar, I wondered over to watch people play the latest craze - video games like Donkey Kong, Asteroids, Space Invaders, Ms PacMan or Gallaga. When I focused on the fast, bright lights of one of the games, suddenly the negative imaging exploded on me and the brightness completely blinded me - like special effects they show in movies for a nuclear explosion. I remember my head physically snapping back like I'd been hit in the face, and I slowly, but surely lost my balance and started reeling all over the bar. Thankfully I was with good friends (Good Dougie!) who were watching out for me, and I was grabbed and set down in a chair in a corner... TILT! again.


'Damnit Jim' (Bones) O'Donnell, 'Big Doug' (Spock) Parker, 'Little Doug' (Cap'n Kirk) Madden, 'Scotty' (F?!) Harrison, Burlington, VT, 10/31/82. The Klingon shown is actual size after we put our phasers on shrink. Thanks for this pic go to J-O'D who finally figured out how to scan it in with his 1970' era tri-quarter reader.


Star Trek Crew vs. the Klingons - In 1982 at UVM, this was the best Halloween ever.

The pic above really tells it all. This was the year we lived at Rose Street and we were poor and made our own costumes out of yellow felt and tape, toy guns, action figure klingons and the one key costume purchase: Spock Ears for "Big" Doug Parker. I was engineer Scotty, of course, armed with a phaser and keeping a prisoner Klingon. Jim O'Donnell went as Dr. Bones McCoy, and had his old-school cassette player to take triquarter readings. Doug Madden was lady-killer Capt. Kirk, of course, armed with the perfect narcissist attitude to go with it. We were a hit everywhere we went. Late at night we met up with another ensemble costume group - a bunch of guys dressed up as Klingons! Their costumes were awesome, too, and I never did see their real faces and have no clue who they were. But they had cool props, including swords. So, on the sidewalk downtown in front of Rasputin's (or was it Texas - somewhere there), we ran into each other and spontaneously broke out into a mock battle just like in the TV show. I faced off with one Klingon with a sword and as he swung wildly, but always under control and intentionally just missing me, I jumped and ducked and dove out of the way. A big crowd circled around us as we ad-libbed a fantastic fight scene that would've made Gene Roddenberry smile. We just kept going with the flow and it was so surreal. Every move just fell into place and it felt and looked real. People were cheering and oohing and awing and it felt great to entertain so many people. I'll never forget the spontaneity and feeling of being in that zone with the other guy. I never did catch his name, but we can honestly say that we do our own stunts.



Pics - Tammy Farmer and the transgendered me at her aunt's house in Anchorage, AK. The blue dress was later used by some intern named Monica, and I later became mayor of Wasilla, AK and was nominated to be Vice President of the USA. (ok, last sentence is exaggerated).

Nylons and a Nice Blue Dress - Anchorage, Alaska 1983

In Alaska, there's something like twenty men for every woman. Odds aren't good for single guys, but I was lucky and met up with a fellow UVM grad, Tammy Farmer, up in the Great Land. She had an aunt and uncle who lived in Anchorage. I bought their 1967 Plymouth Valiant frozen into their driveway for $500 and fixed it all by my lonesome and put it on the road. But that's another story. For Halloween, Tammy and the aunt talked me into dressing up as a woman. We went to the Salvation Army and picked out a really nice blue dress and a pair of high heels that actually fit me nicely. This was pre-Monica Lewinsky mind you, so we didn't think to embellish the blue dress with presidential stain. Anyway, they gave me nylons and did my afro hair (no wig required) and make-up and lipstick. And of course we stuffed the breasts full of socks and I was built. Dare I say I was hot? The parties we went to were OK, and I had a good time, but check this out. I actually felt the eyes of guys at the parties staring, dare I say glaring, at me. And I remember thinking, I better not get too drunk tonight or I'll do something I'll regret. I had to walk carefully on the icy walkways in my high heels, too. That was rough. One short older guy actually came up to me and hit on me. I'm not sure he was kidding and it was getting really weird. I was thinking, where was my wing-man, I mean woman, when I needed her!? So it turned out to a pretty scary Halloween after all. It took some balls to do this, but I'd do it again. You know, Governor Palin has her Alaskan lipstick shtick, but I'd wear her Neiman Marcus wardrobe and show her who's boss any day, and twice on Sunday.




Pic - Some of the crew at the Waikiki Youth Hostel circa 1984. Greg, me (the mature one), Jenny, Sue W, Bob, Jacky, Andrew, Lisa, Lee. Missing: Sue "Heaps!" Parky. What a good looking bunch before the costumes came on...

Pic - an actual gokiburi hoihoi cockroach trap, as I remember it. Notice the roach waving from the window on the right.



Gokiburi Hoi Hoi- Honolulu, Hawaii 1984

I had the pleasure of spending Halloween in the International Youth Hostel just off Waikiki in Honolulu in 1984. The Aussies, South Africans, Irish, Welsh, Swedes, Canadians and other hard partying world travelers at the hostel were totally stoked to celebrate this uniquely American holiday. We made make-shift costumes and planned to hit the festive Waikiki bar scene. My costume was inspired by the ubiquitous cockroaches that shared the common kitchen area with us. I decided to be a cockroach trap (goki buri hoi hoi in Japanese). I wore a cut out black garbage bag body suit and made a tent shaped hat out of folded cardboard. Then I cut out a bunch of larger than life cockroach shaped pieces of cardboard (old pizza boxes) and taped them all over me. My imagination ended there, but the rest of the hostel gang took it to the next level, embellishing the 'trap' by sticking other random hostel detritus all over me. Real squashed insects and roaches, half-eaten donuts, pizza crust, cardboard shaped 'cocks' and real condoms, cigarettes butts and genuine pre-smoked home-grown Hawai'in 'roaches'. In preparation for the festivities to follow, lots of glue was slathered on the costume so we could add items as the night went on. Bar coasters, bottle caps, toiler paper, sea shells, Budweiser labels and fuzz and fur from other's costumes got tacked on as the night went on. Red face paint came out later and my face was decorated with images of cockroaches, as well as 'cocks' and 'roaches'. At one bar costume contest I actually won a prize which I vaguely remember was free pitchers of more beer for me and entourage. My memory gets awful fuzzy after that... I don't think I have a picture anywhere of this costume, but the image I have in my mind is certainly more elaborate and impressive than what it looked like in reality. It was hilarious (to us, at least) and that's all that matters.


Pic - chonmage wearing me and the crew at San Lucas in Ito.

Chonmage hachimaki bikeman - Tokyo, Japan 1987

In 1987, I was newly married and riding my Peugeot mountain bike every day from my Kawasaki apartment into work on Aoyma-dori in the heart of Tokyo. An easy 30 minute ride through congested traffic that beat riding the 真人電車 (manindensha) over-crowded rush-hour commuter trains that took just as long. I'd stop at a Fitness Center across the street and shower before going into my programming job at Nippon Ashton-Tate. Halloween was not big in Japan then, but when it rolled around I felt I had to do something. I had a chonmage skull cap that someone from the infamous San Lucas bar in Ito had given me the year before. The chonmage (pic above) is a traditional hair style worn by sumo wrestlers and samurai warriors with the head shave except for a very long center piece of hair heavily oiled and stacked up on top. To that I added my 日の丸 (hi no maru) red circle representing the Japan flag hachimaki. The hachimaki is a bandana often worn during times of battle to inspire the wearer to success. It was a staple during the war, of course, and in modern Japan is worn by rabid sports fans as well as high school students studying like crazy for the impossibly difficult Japanese college entrance examinations that will shape their future. My hachimaki had the Japanese characters 必勝 (hissho - 'must win' or more optimistically 'certain victory') printed on it. With the chonmage and hachimaki I wore a really tacky touristy t-shirt with a lavish picture of a Japanese geisha on it. OK, so I by weird stuff. Anyway, you get the picture. With little effort I was decked out and rode my bike into work. I had sunglasses on, too, as always to protect my eyes from the dust and exhaust from the road. As I rode in and passed the cars stuck in the interminable morning traffic jam I could feel the eyes on me. I'd slow down and stare into the cars at the bored but unsuspecting drivers and really enjoyed the looks on their faces. Of course they had no idea it was a Halloween costume holiday and they would gape in disbelief and surprise at the gaijin in the over-the-top get-up. At one stop light, I peered over at an unsuspecting salaryman who stared and then indiscretely reached over for the auto-lock button to lock himself safely in is car. I smiled my gaijin smile and got a kick out of it. But the best was yet to come... When I reached the office I kept my costume on and took the elevator alone up to the top third floor. When the elevator doors opened, standing right in front of me waiting to get on the elevator was a balding older Japanese gentleman I had never seen before. He froze, his jaw dropped open and he started shaking a little bit at the sight of me. I wasn't sure what to say so I blurted out "Trick or Treat!" in English. He obviously didn't get it, and he started shaking more. There were already some of my Japanese and American office mates in the room who glanced over and started laughing. So he laughed nervously, too. I took off my sunglasses and chonmage and shouted out the traditional morning office greeting of "Ohayou gozaimasu!" (good morning) and then added "Happy Halloween!". One of the Japanese employees rushed over and introduced me to the man, the owner of our office building and our landlord. Woops! Then they explained briefly the meaning of Halloween to the shaken landlord. He composed himself and then, with all the courage he could muster and his voice shaking he said in Japanese-English, "W-wo-wo-wondahfuru!" (wonderful) and we all burst out laughing. It was a classic gaijin moment for all of us.



My Kid's Costumes and the Santa Cruz Halloween experience -
- The Open Source Prisoner
- The Rasta WereWolf
- LRRH, Where's Wally in VT...
- cowboy, cop, batman, clown,
- Giraffe
- Ballerina Boy
- Dinosaur Boy
- Charlie Marley...

"Happy?" Halloween!
What a strange greeting. Wishing people happiness on a day that remembers and evokes death. Halloween in 2005 was like re-living nightmare for me.
Skeletons
Tombstones
Decaying body parts
Ghosts
This year Charlie Marley and Pippin aren't going to get to enjoy this 'best of the holidays'.

Related topic: stealing lawn ornaments and FOR SALE signs and decorating other's yards.