Salad Days, A Shrinking Future

A frigid north wind swept through San Francisco today. This town is seven miles by seven miles, which echoes the gold miners of 1849 to yield the "49er" label that defines this place, at least until climate change kicks in.



But we know that as the sea level rises five feet over the coming decades, this city will lose a bunch of land to the Pacific and the Bay.



Thus, it's nice living in a city where the false "debate" over climate change is over. The fools who deny the inevitable are not numerous enough around here to matter one whit. Our city is way out front in the mitigation work that will help us save the parts of the Bay Area that need to be saved, by a combination of levies, restoration of wetlands, reduction of energy consumption, increase in energy consumption, and all of the other proper steps.


Elsewhere, of course, the hate and fear mongers still hold sway -- the Limbaughs, the no-nothings, the idiots and the crusaders who stockpile their guns, listen to their fear-filled echo chambers, deny reality, and go on driving their fiendishly obese vehicles as if they have a God-given right to do so.

"America do or die. America love it or leave it. Assholes!"



Half a century from now, all of them and their filthy vehicles, and all of their wasteful lifestyles will lie rotting in new deserts that will make Death Valley an oasis by comparison. You can bank on that!

And my ghost will be dancing on their graves.

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Letter From Lancaster

As they say in Japan, "A frog will always give birth to a frog," but also, "A hawk sometimes gives birth to an eagle."

That's my parenting advice for today.

The Japanese also have a useful way to describe a person with the social skills to handle every sort of personality type she might encounter: "Eight-direction facing beautiful smiling person."

Very nice.

My own Japanese beautiful smiling person is in Amish country tonight, researching an upcoming documentary for NHK, the public television network in Japan. She's sent me these photos.




Photos by Sasaki Junko san.

I also have some personal breaking news. For the first time in my entire adult life, I am actually single! Yay! Actually I have been legally single since January 28th, but the court needed some five weeks to get me the news. Here in San Francisco, they probably still use Wells Fargo (the stagecoach, not the bank) to send out the word.


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For Uncle George

May he rest in peace, finally, secure in our love, not only for him but for our country.

Colors

A Final Tribute to a Very Good Man: Always Listen Carefully to the Dying

Today, the deeply sad news arrived via email that my lasting living uncle, and the last living member of an entire generation of blood relatives older than my own has passed away. George Anderson died last night at the age of 83, with his family at his side, at his home in Ohio.

I last spoke with him on Christmas Day, now two and a half months back, and I was frankly shocked at how vital and alert he sounded over the phone, even though we both knew, and acknowledged to each other, that he was lying on his deathbed, the place from which he would never rise again, except, perhaps, on a supersonic flight to heaven, which is truly where his soul deserves to land.

Our conversation was so energizing to me that I urged him to fight on, and believe in the possibility of a miracle, and to never give up. As if he needed me to give him advice! He confided to me his deepest worry about his two surviving sons and his wife of over six decades, "I only hope I am not a burden to them, Dave."

"I know that you are not, Uncle George." And, I am quite sure I was right.

Demographers, who earn their money working for marketing firms, like to classify us by generations. Here is what they consider those of us older folks, as opposed to the younger Generations X, Y, etc.:


Baby Boomers (1946-1964)
Silent Generation (1925-1945)
G.I. Generation (1901-1924)

Uncle George was a leader of the "Silent Generation," by this account, much as his son Dan and I are leaders of the "Baby Boomers," all by virtue of when we happened to be born.

Tonight, in mourning for my uncle, I want to reprint two of my posts from last year, in their entirety:

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

AN AMERICAN HERO

Many people don't bother to read the "comments" that readers may post to this and other blogs, so I want to re-post my cousin Dan's description of the astonishing corruption his Dad encountered inside the Chrysler Corporation in the late '50s. Of course, I was clueless about all this at the time. As a son of Motown, I followed everything the auto companies did, which is to say I drank their public propaganda like Kool-Aid.

Uncle George, meanwhile, was clearly a thoroughly good man. Through my child's eyes, I observed a patient, unassuming, kind man, who worked hard and loved his family, Aunt Reta, George, Jr., Dan, and Gordon.

As his parents' only son and youngest child, George moved his family to Florida to be close to my grandparents as they approached the last years of their lives. I knew about that, but I didn't know the following, though I do now, courtesy of Dan:

"If it is higher level collusion and intrigue that interests you, exploring Dad's early experience at Chrysler Corporation might fascinate. The same qualities that propelled his early automotive career at Fisher Body came squarely against the corruption at Chrysler in the late 50s.

"As the youngest General Superintendent at Chrysler, heading up skilled trades at the then new Twinsburg Stamping Plant, he uncovered a scheme involving a corporate vice president who was getting kickbacks from a sham business operated in his wife's name. In spite of attempts to threaten and bribe him, (Dad) exposed what he knew, leading to a corporation wide shake up in 1959 and 1960.

"A well known Detroit based attorney, Sol Dan, moved legal action which eventually blew the lid off and ultimately changed the Chrysler board. At one point, Dad threw a corporate rep out of his office when the rep told him it would be a shame if anything were to happen to his young family.

"On another occasion, Mother called him at the plant to say there was a strange man attempting to leave an expensive shop tool at our home. He had her put the man on the phone and told him that if he and the tool did not leave immediately, he would call the police to have him arrested."


***

There are lots of people who've done fine things and become quite famous as a result. They are the ones who run for President, or hawk brands, and have PR and marketing agents to repackage their stories.

Real heroes, to me, are like my Uncle George Anderson. He did the things he did out of a personal sense of honor and principle.

I'll be his PR man any day of the week.

***

Oct. 22, 2008

Entering the Night Kitchen

I woke up this morning to the sight of a distinctly unsightly purple blotch beneath my right eye. Damn! A capillary had burst, disfiguring my already aged face, turning me not only old but ugly.

At times like those, all I can perceive are the shadows of life, not the active forms that make up its essence. Maybe this is a sign of a more serious health problem? Maybe the bell finally is starting its toll for me?

Alas, any such thoughts or fears of "stopping by the woods on a snowy evening," as the poet would put it, were erased by the comforting voice of my long-time doctor's trusty assistant, Cassie.

"It's a random event. There's nothing to worry about."

Good, now where did I put my makeup?

***

My family is dispersed across the continent. Tonight my hopes and thoughts are with my Uncle George Anderson, who is gravely ill back home in the Midwest of my youth. He is the sole remaining living blood relative from my parents' generation.

Previously, on this blog, I've shared stories about Uncle George, courtesy of my cousin Dan, whom I know is at his side as I write these words.

All I can do is wish and hope that my uncle is resting peacefully, secure in the knowledge that he is a good man, one deeply loved by his family, respected by his peers, and emblematic of what a truly decent American can aspire to be.

I do not know how much longer he will be here with us, but I do know that I, and many others, are far better people for having been touched by his presence in our lives. Rest easily, Uncle George. We love you and we will never forget you.

***

Amen, Uncle George. Rest in Peace. I love you.

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The Day The Readers Digest Dies

Working on my media industry blog today, I was sorting through the list of 283 companies that Moody's has placed on its Bottom Rung list, which is the equivalent of a corporate endangered species list.

I was most of the way through this terrible list when, to my shock, I spotted the name of The Readers Digest Association, Inc.

Suddenly, I was lost in the '50s again. This magazine, as well as the books that serialized its content, were constant companions in my youth. We didn't have a lot of magazines or books around us in those days, so much of what I knew about the world beyond the small town where we lived was courtesy of the Readers Digest.

My other source of knowledge was the local library.

It's probably about time we all started returning to our local libraries, isn't it? Meanwhile, as for magazines, if Moody's is correct, we will not be able to access the Digest much longer. On the other hand, I'm not sure that I know any of its subscribers (10 million in the U.S., 40 million overseas), so as it passes, this may be a moment for Google to move in, and preserve digitally, the magazine that perhaps more than any other helped define the mainstream of the 20th century.

And, Googlers, please save a place for Popular Mechanics as well.

-30-

What the World Needs Now...

...is simply the ancient instinct to imagine a better future.

It was my privilege to meet this artist, and his muse, right around the time he recorded this song, almost four decades ago.

Thank you, John, and thank you, Yoko.

-30-

Spring Back

The time change has given us light at night. Plus, it's getting warm again. So, I've planted tomatoes, onions, parsley and basil.



The bees love the rosemary flowers.



Oliver returns to the yard.

***

Every conversation with every friend turns to the economic distress that more and more of us are feeling. But most of us are strangely hopeful, too. We have a great man as President, willing to try anything, no matter how controversial with the "head in the sand" crowd.

That Limbaugh is paid some $38 million a year, and then attacks Obama for igniting "class warfare" lacks any irony to people not capable of perceiving irony if it hits them in the middle of their own best interests.

Precisely two percent of Americans would pay more taxes under Obama's plan, which indeed means this would be class warfare. Fat Limbaugh, the ugliest man on earth, would suddenly owe $1.1 million more in taxes.

Yes, Obama (and all of us) need to join up in class warfare against these pigs rolling in the mud, like Limbaugh the Hun. Take it to them, Mr. President. In fact, given that this hate-filled, obscene, fiendishly obese monster, Limbaugh, has acquired his wealth by trying to tear down everything that is decent about this society, I suggest seizing his assets, arresting him, and try him as a traitor. If convicted, execute him.

***

We consume such a massively disproportionate amount of the planet's total nonrenewable resources that we can scarcely even imagine what the daily life of an average homo sapiens consists of. That's because the great majority of us have a roof over our head, enough food to eat, all kinds of material possessions, and access to more credit individually than entire villages or towns have throughout the half of this world that is going to bed hungry tonight.

But we are Americans, and (if you are reading this blog) you, like me, are at least middle class, or above, in global terms. So we've developed certain expectations and, dare I say it, a shared sense of entitlement.

It is time to lose that.

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