Centralities

Peace

Beauty

Abundance

Water

Plants

Food

The Call of a Mockingbird

One of those idiotic and intrusive car alarms went off a while ago, you know the type that breaks into a series of signals that must have been originally based on the call of the mockingbird.

I photographed this mockingbird earlier this morning from my back garden. It is a lovely creature with a wondrous range of songs -- much more impressive than the stupid, mechanical version emitted by parked cars in our big cities so regularly that they amount to nothing more than noise pollution.

Paranoid Americans worried about protecting their possessions care nothing for the quality of life of those around them. Anyone sensible disables these stupid devices. In Taipei, BTW, people get so angry at car-owners with car alarms that they attack them (and their vehicles.)

Now, I understand that auto theft is still a problem in some areas and that when it occurs it is an invasive crime. But most new model cars have automatic shut-off systems that make it essentially impossible to steal a car.

Thus, why should we be forced to endure all of that noise pollution any longer? These devices need to be banned.


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Family Albums

"That is really strange for an American, to have so many kids," said a Latino friend when I told him I have six.

It does sound strange, especially because for some reason, when people hear about my career as a writer, journalist, educator, author, screenwriter and new media entrepreneur, they often seem surprised to find out I am a father at all.

Yet, as proud as I am of my professional accomplishments, they are just that -- accomplishments. I don't display award certificates or posters of my book covers or lecture appearances in my house. What I have on the wall, mainly, are family photos and pieces of art my kids have drawn or painted.

That's because in the mirror the person I see is a father, first; and a writer, second. That's the way it is; that's the way it's always been. I write because I have to. I'm a father (and now a grandfather) because I am fortunate.

Period.

Love Isn't About Something Else

I do not pay much attention to celebrities. To me, a celebrity by definition is a person famous for being famous. But I will admit to feeling very sad when I learned of the death of Michael Jackson.

As a journalist, I'm trained to be skeptical. In that sense, I always remained skeptical about everything I heard or read about this man -- good or bad.

But, as a human being and a father, I have learned to trust my feelings when a child speaks. Today, at the memorial for her father, the words of his 11-year-old daughter truly broke my heart.

How awful to lose your father at that age. How magnificent to be able to share your ineffable loss on a stage in front of 20,000 people. I suppose it's in the genes.

But be that as it may, I cried. You will too. Click on the headline of this post and scroll down to see the clip. Or just cut and paste this link:

http://new.music.yahoo.com/blogs/stopthepresses/54003/buzz-log-the-most-memorable-moments-from-the-michael-jackson-memorial/

You may wish to have some tissues at hand before you view it, and that is a good thing.

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He Who Died on the Fourth of July

When a friend sent me the sad news this morning, my heart sank. A sinking heart yields waves of helplessness, hopelessness, and then, finally, beat by beat, pure anger.

First the news, Eric De La Cruz passed away on the Fourth of July. He was the young man whose plight inspired people all over the world to send money to help him surmount the insurmountable barriers placed in his path by the corrupt U.S. health care industry.

Eric suffered from a rare heart condition that, by the age of 27, was slowly but inexorably killing him. Thanks to "Eric's Army" on Twitter, roughly a million dollars was raised and the De La Cruz family was able to finally able to get him admitted to a hospital and placed on the list to qualify for an upcoming heart transplant.

Unfortunately, as doctors eventually explained to his family, they were two years too late. A mechanical heart was inserted to prolong his life, but he never regained a healthy enough status to actually go through the rigor of a transplant operation.

He died on Saturday afternoon, as the nation was celebrating its independence.

The truth about Eric De La Cruz's case is that this country has a huge blot of shame on its very name -- the United States of America, and that is the abysmal state of our health care system. Every person I know who has immigrated here from any country overseas is shocked at the absurdities and cruelties -- not to mention the costs -- imposed by our system.

This is a society that apparently doesn't care about the health of its own people. The shameful capitalist free-for-all in this corrupt economy respects only money. If you are poor, you are to blame. If you are sick, you are to blame. We are so brainwashed that our favorite phrase in all walks of life is "help yourself."

Help yourself. That phrase alone makes me sick.

The only way this gentle soul, Eric, shall not have perished in vain is if all of us answer the call to fundamentally reform our health care system from the bottom up and the top down. We need to surgically remove the greed and corruption that layers every level of health care, from doctors who accept free drugs and other gifts from pharmaceutical companies, to insurers who reject people like me on the basis of a non-existent "pre-existing condition."

Neither of my adult daughters were allowed to qualify for health coverage when they were pregnant. Pregnancy is a pre-exisiting condition! Don't talk to me about risks, and how insurance companies need to limit their risk. Only a society that hates its own people would demonize pregnancy itself, the basis of continuing life.

The fact is this is not a great country or a great society at all. This is a shamelessly bloated, wasteful society that has its priorities dead wrong. Accordingly, all of us are as helpless as Eric De La Cruz, should calamity strike.

In his name, and for all of our children and grand-children, we must do better.

Please read Eric's sister Veronica's lovely tribute on Twitter.

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Mid Summer Holiday

The City's temperature range this weekend is 40 degrees, from the high 40s to the high 80s. I find it hard to believe that yesterday, on a hot, windless afternoon near the top of that temperature scale, I actually played soccer barefoot on the turf with my kids.



When my flat is filled up with my kids and grandkids and their friends are coming and going, I'm probably at my happiest. I slow-cooked boneless thick pork ribs in a pressure cooker; they turned out so soft you could pull them apart with a fork.



We've been harvesting plums, dozens of them, but the tree is nearly finished with this year's crop. Lettuces, broccoli, tomatoes, green onions, basil, cherry tomatoes and several other edible vegetables and fruits can be gathered daily.



My 11-month-old grandson with the impossibly huge, bright blue eyes particularly likes sweet peas right out of the pod. The flowers, fish ponds, a few young trees, grape vines, morning glories, sunflowers, and several large rose bushes and herb bushes (rosemary) are all thriving. There are a few specialized exotic plants here and there hidden in our sprawling, chaotic yard.



Every visitor loves it here, especially whilst eating my tender pork with garlic, olive-oil-roasted baby white potatoes. After yesterday's heat peaked, a massive wave of white fog swept in from the Pacific. It rolled in over Twin Peaks and looked like it was a half-mile high. I imagined a real wave of water pushed by a tsunami. If that happened, of course, that would be my last memory.



I feel certain that along with mortal fear, I would think to myself, "God that is beautiful!" The Mission did not disappoint last night. This is one of the best neighborhoods in America for the 4th of July. Latinos, Asians, African-Americans, Pacific Islanders, Europeans, Native Americans, and Middle-Easterners alike lit fireworks on every corner.

Today, fog blanketed even our end of town, and strong winds kept sending more from the west. We were cold as we pursued a reprise of our soccer match; this time, no dehydration! This time, of course, I took a water bottle! This time I wore shoes.

I still can't believe I played soccer. Of course all three of my young kids out-maneuvered me.