Ought

In the movie Shawshank Redemption, Brooks Hadlyn, played by James Whitmore, answers the question, ‘What year did you come to Shawshank?’ 

‘That would be ought six.’

He was saying the year 1906, using the word ‘ought’ as zero, as in the commonly used, 'oh six'.

In shotgun shoptalk people use the expression ‘ought’ to describe the size of shot. British spies, are sometimes called double ought spies, like 007.  Ought used to be an acceptable/popular form of zero.

We as a people; that is, almost the entire planet, more specifically, everybody who uses the Roman Calendar with year one coinciding near the birth of Jesus and who today recognize this current cycle of the earth around the sun as 2009, which is the vast majority of the modern world — WE have only a few short months until it will be 2010. The ought years are almost over. And they will be gone for another hundred years.

We had the opportunity to live through them. We will never see them again.  Our children probably won't either. 
Ought Years, that is.

In the last 9 years; that is, 2001 to the present, October 31^st 2009, Halloween in some circles. In that time, I’ve never once heard anyone refer to recent years as ought three or ought seven, as in the sentences, ‘I was graduated from University in ought 3' or ‘I divorced my wife in ought seven’.

I, for one, believe that the ought numERICal should be re-introduced into the English vocabulary cuz it sounds so cool. Think about it. When speaking of this current year, simply compare ‘two thousand nine’ and ‘ought nine.’ 
There’s really no comparon. 

Plus, the ought years are coming to close.

For the duration of the year, we should all try to use the ‘ought’ numerical expression every time we refer to a year in this soon to end decade. We as a people really OUGHT to bring back the expression OUGHT; that is, use it in everyday speech when talking about the decade that is now ending.

Oh yeah. That’s it.

I was reading a magazine the other day and there was a bit about Best Album of the Last Decade. I don’t remember who was in the running cuz I don’t know by name much modern music, but what blew my mind was that the decade is coming to an end.

In three months.  15, if you want to be technical.  Still, the ought years, which occur for only nine years each century -- they are ending shortly.

We ought to do something memorable. Let’s bring back the word ought as the word zero. 

Brain Drain

In the past, this phenomenon referred to poor countries losing their most talented and brightest minds because of a poor economy. That’s still essentially the meaning of brain drain.

Allow me to be more specific. In the past, countries like China, Russia, and India have produced great minds in the fields of engineering, medicine and computer technology. These individuals would study in America or Europe, earning master’s degrees or PhD’s. However, due to economic factors, a professional, a doctor, a scientist, could except to earn little more 500 dollars a month is his home country, where the average wage compared to Western standards were and sometimes are still a mere pittance. As a result, these talented professionals would almost always stay in America or Europe. Hence, the term ‘brain drain’ – the brightest minds in the country leaving.

These days, this pattern is being reversed. Most recently in Sunnyvale, California, part of what is known as the Silicon Valley, or the center of computer innovation in the world, a think tank symposium was held where some of the brightest minds in the field of computer technology met to discuss matters regarding the future of technology – one of these issues was titled “Reverse Brain Drain.”

Not surprising, nearly 40% of the participants were of Asian descent, mainly India, China, and Taiwan. The consensus among these participants, many of whom have been living in the US for over a decade, many of whom possess green cards and are ‘permanent residents’ in the US, was that most of them planned on returning to their home country in the next few years, as many HAVE been doing over the last few years.

The average age for Indians to return to India was 31 and Chinese returning to China was 33. 

The question presented was – these Indians and Chinese (the largest Asian demographic of the group) received their higher education in America and all possessed high paying jobs in America, so why would they return to their native country? This was one issue that was discussed at the symposium.

The over all feeling among the Asian-Americans present was this – 20, 30, even 10 years ago, the average wage at a high tech job in America, compared to India or China was like 20 to 1. It made little sense to stay in a country where a decent salary could not be earned. The problem, in the past, with many 3^rd world countries, and a problem which still exists today with most 3^rd world counties is that ALL the wealth is concentrated in a few families/companies – a real middle class didn’t/doesn’t exist.

These days, things are very different. A Chinese man with a PhD from an American university, who is a real mover and shaker in the IT field, can do very well for himself in Beijing or Shanghai. The same holds true for Indians, who can return to Bangalore or Delhi or Mumbai and work for a company and sure, their salaries will never compare to that of the US, but making several thousand dollars a month in India, while in America, may not seem like much money; in India, they can live like a king on that salary.

Add to the equation that many of these Asians not only wish to marry women of their own ethnicity, but also, most have close ties to their families and hope to care for their aging parents, and that really puts the dagger in the hope of America retaining these individuals. I’m referring to current Immigration policies. In the past, an American, even a resident alien could marry a foreigner and the spouse was almost instantly given a green card. Those days are long gone. Also, trying to bring aging parents to America isn’t as easy as it once was. And finally, add to it the fact that China and India are two of the fastest growing economies in the world – the choice becomes almost a no-brainer for many foreign born resident aliens in America. They would rather earn their degrees, work for a top company in America for a few years and then return to their home counties, where, even if their salary is slightly less (20 to 1 becoming more like 3 to 2, was the consensus by the panel, when income tax and cost of living are factored in) the quality of life for their entire family would be much better if they return to their home counties. Earning 3000 dollars a month in Delhi would ensure a comfortable life. Earning 5000 dollars a month in Manhattan or San Francisco, after income tax, rent, insurance, etc. does not guarantee a comfortable life.

So, essentially, we are entering a new era; one known as – the reverse brain drain. The major difference is that the country that will suffer by losing its greatest minds is the US.

In conclusion, this is not MY independent thought. I never really thought of it, although I just spent 3 months in India. This is actually a ‘paraphrase’ of an article I read in computer magazine, whose name I can’t remember.

This is not a Spam

There are some fundamental laws of physics that no one can argue. Gravity or inertia need not be argued or debated. They are rules of nature.

There is another. Matter can neither be created nor destroyed. It merely changes form. The sun gives energy to plants. Animals eat the plants and grow and crap, which feeds the plants and we eat the plants and the animals and we grow. We die and our bodies transform into a rotting stink, feeding the bugs. The cycle continues. Nothing is REALLY created or destroyed. Trees turn into fire into ash into gases. Form is merely transferred. This is another law of physics, or rule of nature.

So what about our souls? Is a brain a soul? No. A brain, imagination, identity, purpose – all the things that make you YOU, they are all physical. They can all be explained by some function in your brain and/or body. And they, like your body, will eventually die. So what about our souls? Is possessing a soul just part of our imagination as well? If science is your main belief and rationale your credo (to repeat myself) then yes, you have no soul.

But what if a soul does exist? 

Buddhists believe that EVERYTHING in this world will come to an end. Impermanence is the 2^nd Fundamental Principle of Buddhism. That is, everything in the physical universe will die. Hindus, too, believe everything earthly will die. Everything, that is, except GOD. And we are GOD. We, that is, our immortal souls, are all part of GOD. That soul that lies within every person, animal, living creature, is also immortal. It is part of GOD. 

Therefore, when we die, it is only our bodies and our brains and everything we knew in this world that dies. Our souls come back in the form of another life. The soul was never born; therefore, it can not die. We, that is, our souls have all been around since the beginning of time. But since memory resides in the brain, we have no recollection of past lives. 

Heaven and Hell are Western concepts. Perhaps they are just representations of reincarnation. Good people come back as healthy people – Heaven. Bad people come back as animals or messed up people – Hell. 

Karma is an Eastern Concept. Perhaps it is just a variation on the Western – judgment day concept. Your actions in this life will affect your place in the next life.

Nobody knows for certain anything of this sort. That’s why we call belief in this sort of stuff ‘faith’ because none of it can ever be proven.

Most Western religious concepts require leaps of faith – heaven, hell, purgatory, the devil, etc. The Hindu concept of a GOD centered universe that we are all a part of and the physical world just being a temporary situation with choices that, in the end and with regards to the entire universe, are essentially meaningless – this concept makes sense without any great leaps of faith.  Furthermore, believing that everything is temporal and  that our lives have no real meaning in terms of the universe does not make you a nihilist. 

No matter how chaotic life may seem, there is order.  Find GOD, really find GOD -- not in a church or in a book, but in your heart and soul and you will find meaning. Because only then, will you find yourself – your true self, that is. And when your true self is realized, you will find immortality.  Your soul was never born, therefore, your soul will never die.  That by definition is immortality.

25 years ago, a little independent film emerged from the City of Quartz – a film that would become a cult legend in its own time; much like The Big Lebowski – which also takes place in Los Angeles – would also become a cult legend, years later as the new millennium began in 2001. Before we look at the two films themselves, let’s look at Los Angeles in 1984 for what it stood for in terms of CINEMA – and to prelude understanding why these two films have become interwoven into the lives of so many people. 

It’s 1984. LA is the capitol city of the film industry.  Whatever happens in regards to American cinema happens first in LA. With the digital revolution over a decade away and even video tapes (remember Betamax?) and cable TV (remember the Z channel or ON Subscription TV) still in their infancy, cinema in 1984 was still a limited feast; in that, if you wanted to see a movie, you had to go to a movie theatre. That was your only option, unless you owned a projector and movie reels. Videos and video players existed, but they weren’t standard household items just yet. Only the very rich and knowledgeable of the latest technology owned them. “Straight to video” movies were a very recent thing outside the porn industry, and thousands of people didn’t own their own production companies like now. The result was a relatively limited number of new films being released each month – relative to NOW, that is. As a result, theatres tended to show movies for a much longer duration and there wasn’t that huge a choice as to what to see.  That would change virtually overnight.

Being from LA, I had the opportunity to witness this change first hand. As a youth going with my older brother to see Star Wars or The Spy Who Loved Me (years after) many times over a year long period where they showed continuously for months at one theater, only to reappear at another theater for what seemed like forever; to the creation of multiplexes where a list of different current films would show, concurrently on different screens, many getting replaced weekly. It all happened overnight – one morning we all woke up with VCRs and Blockbuster stores were everywhere. And everybody had 24 hour cable with HBO.  It’s hard to remember a time before infomercials and infotainment. Televangelists were some of the first pioneers of the early 1980s to use cable TV for financial gain: PTL, Tammy Faye and Jim Baker, et al.

The first MULTIPLEX – a new word coined in the early 80’s to denote what had previously never existed – in the LA area was located in the then newly created Beverly Center which opened for business not long before 1984. The Beverly Center is located on that monstrous strip of real estate between 3^rd St. and Beverly Blvd. (which run parallel east-west), and between La Cienega Blvd. and San Vicente Blvd. (which run parallel north-south) in West Hollywood, near an area, known to older residents, as the Miracle Mile district. All 4 of those streets were/are still fairly busy thoroughfares so this rectangular block of land was/is quite huge. And there it is – right smack in the middle of a lot of traffic. Furthermore, over the last 25 years, the Beverly Center has grown substantially, as has everything else around it. Commercial development never stops in West Los Angeles. The Beverly Center has always had nearly 5 floors of above ground parking. And sometimes it’s hard to find a space.

Most people don’t remember what was there on that plot of land before it became the Beverly Center. I remember, because I grew up near there and had spent several birthdays there as a youth. It was two entertainment venues side by side, sharing the same space harmoniously. One side– a sprawling amusement park (large, but nowhere near the size of Disneyland) called Kiddie Land; next to it was a small equestrian village called Pony Land, where adults and kids could rent horses or ponies and ride around a track. Some horses were fast, some were slow.  Some were led around the track by a cowboy (for the kiddies). You got to choose your horse. I liked Pony Land. Kiddie Land had awesome rides like a big rollercoaster and a haunted house and it was quite fun, if you were 9, and that’s how old I was when I spent my last birthday there. A few years later they tore down two side by side landmarks of my childhood. It was my own personal 9-11. After the demolition, nothing remained but an empty lot for a short time that seemed like forever in the mind of a child. Then, construction of this new entertainment venue began, which took a long time, and coincided with my puberty. As childish concerns faded from my life, so did my memories of Kiddie Land and Pony Land. And everybody else’s as well. By the time the Beverly Center finally opened, I was finally able to get an erection.

And to this day, I’ve never heard or seen referenced or mentioned anywhere: Kiddie Land or Pony Land. As if they never existed. As if my childhood never existed, or never ended. I still remember the sign on the large wooden fence behind which the new shopping center was erected: COMING SOON! THE BEVERLY CENTER! No pun intended.

Anticipation and hype took the city by storm. The high octane pomp welcoming and fanfare that this new mall received, bequeathed by the citizens of West Los Angeles rivaled what you would think the 2^nd coming might be like. People were so ‘into’ the Beverly Center when it first opened. The nearest real shopping malls up until that time were located in the San Fernando Valley and nobody from LA ever went to the valley, even if it was only a short drive, less than 10 miles over the hill. It’s like, oh my god, let’s go to the mall. I’m so sure. I didn’t enter the Beverly Center for over a year on principle. I remember mentally boycotting it as a pre-teen adolescent.

I also remember that scene from the Indy film Suburbia, another movie set in LA, where the punk rockers steal that roll up lawn and then break into the mall with it after closing time and laid it out in front of the electronics store and sat on the grass while they watched TV through the large storefront window. It’s a beautiful scene in an otherwise schlockish movie. Punk rock squatter, alive and well in Los Angeles, if only on celluloid.

Cut back to 1984, as if we ever left – my older brother by 16 months worked part time as an usher at the Beverly Center’s ‘Cineplex’, as it is/was called. Cineplex – a new concept in 1984; now a common expression like ‘multiplex,’ or ‘home entertainment center.’

I remember going to see a movie there for the first time, the original Terminator there at the Cineplex, stoned off my ass with Julie Peck in 1984, and thinking how small the screen was. The theatre was very cramped with walls too near, not enough people, and the screen was tiny. It wasn’t a movie theatre. It was a screening room. I was accustomed to seeing films at the Chinese Theater, or the Cinerama Dome, or the Pan Pacific, with screens that stretched farther than your eyes could reach, that made each feature film larger than life. And here I am watching Arnold S. tear the hell out of LA looking for Sarah Conner and it was as if I were watching it on a large screen TV! It was a little disappointing. Still, that was a bitchin’ movie in 1984. Even now. It’s my favorite of the Terminator series because Arnold’s the villain.

The Beverly Center – because it showed so many different films at once, many of them independent; and since it was located in the heart of West Hollywood; and since many people on LA’s Westside work for ‘the industry’ – became a showcase for independent films; and many industry people began frequenting the Beverly Center to watch independent films while sipping gourmet coffee, which the Cineplex served. For this reason, many young aspiring actors would get jobs at the Cineplex to hopefully get ‘noticed’ by someone in the biz. My older brother was tall and fit and handsome, with thick hair and occasionally he would get casually ‘hit on’ by industry people, that is, somebody who worked in any of the many aspects of film making, under the guise of a promising career. I’m sure when my brother realized that many of the ushers and concession stand clerks and ticket takers that he worked with were aspiring actors and actresses and models hoping to get noticed, he was just as surprised as I was to hear that.  I was really surprised the first time I’d heard that. I had no idea. My brother’s friend Steve told me and I was like “Really? No way!” I’m sure someone had to tell my brother too; that he didn’t just figure it out on his own. And when my brother did hear about that entertainment biz ‘perk’ for the first time – probably from his friend Steve, who also worked at the Cineplex – he probably reacted with surprise and said, “Really? No way!” My brother and I were smart, got good grades in high school, but we were slackers and underachievers and didn’t possess any future aspiration whatsoever in 1984.

Anywho, I’d visit my brother at work on weekends in 1984, usually at the time he got off work, with friends and girlfriends and we’d all go out afterward. I basically picked him up from work cuz we basically shared a car. I was 16 years old and just got my license. At those times waiting for him to get off work, standing in front of the Cineplex, up on the 8^th floor of the Beverly Center which was then no more than the theater and a small food court: there was Früzen Glaje Ice Cream parlor where my brother’s girlfriend worked, and Mrs. Fields Cookies where my girlfriend worked. On the big neon Cineplex marquee I’d see these titles of these movies that I’d never see but whose names remained lodged in my head, like they were somehow more TELLING of REALITY than Hollywood’s latest. I would watch some of them years later on video or DVD or late night on cable by chance, or on a computer, and I would remember some of their names: Stranger than Paradise, Spetters, Repo Man. These days, there are so many more opportunities to watch movies than there were 25 years ago. 

Repo Man. It was there at Berkeley in college 2 years later in 1986 that I would learn just how deep Repo Man jargon and culture had dug itself into the collective psyche of young people. ‘Put it on a plate son, you’ll enjoy it more.’ (Otto’s standing in the kitchen, eating out of can labeled FOOD) ‘Are you using a scrambler?’ ‘I can’t hear you.  I’m using a scrambler.’ ‘We’re sending bibles to El Salvador!’ (said while holding in a hit of grass)  ‘Shut up, Rent-a-cop!’ It was 1986 and David Letterman was harassing his guests nightly with witty sass and uncomfortable questions on Late Night and the generation that would later be termed, Generation X, was laughing hysterically in college or otherwise finally on their own, or living at home brooding in their parents’ basement or attic or garage.  The US was funding death squads in Central America and few people in America knew, or cared. Most didn’t really let it affect their lives. Except members of SAICA.  Who’s SAICA? Exactly! Reagan and Thatcher personified what everybody should have been angry at, but most people weren’t angry at all. Most people were happy just to have shopping malls. You couldn’t see all the new homeless people from the inside of an indoor air conditioned shopping mall. You couldn’t ride a rollercoaster or ride a pony in West LA anymore, but you could shop like it was no one’s business and watch Indy flicks and drink gourmet coffee in little rooms on small screens – not very cinematic. And all the while, marijuana crops were being burned in Northern California and longtime growers and small possessors were being incarcerated while cocaine was dropping in price like an old computer. 1984 - 1986. Cheap smoke-able cocaine for the first time hit the streets, first in the ghettos, then all over. Street corners in LA where medium grade Mexican weed had always been safely available became crack corners, where only crack could be procured and the scourged walked the earth in circles. Wealth quickly becoming concentrated into fewer and fewer hands and Ronnie and Maggie were quickly becoming two of the most popular leaders the Western world had ever seen, largely because of corporate controlled media on the newly available cable television, but mostly from apathy on the part of their critics. No movie captured the misplaced absurd stylish nihilistic angst of gen x’ers more than Repo Man. It’s no wonder why so many people starting hanging those pine air fresheners shaped liked trees from their rear view mirrors. ‘Find one in every car. You’ll see…’ And why so many of us remembered so many lines from the movie. They had about as much meaning as anything you heard in real life, and just as much relevance. I mean – just as little reverence.

Things had changed a lot in 2 short years. 1986. My first roommate in college had a VCR and we’d rent movies. He also had a computer. It was a 386 with no hard drive, just a 5¼ inch floppy disc drive, and on a 5¼ inch floppy disc was the ‘dos’ program so the computer would run; and there was an archaic WP program and we could save writing on the floppy. I spent hundreds of hours in my free time over that semester writing maybe a hundred pages of fiction, mostly short stories, only to have it become ‘lost’ on a ‘corrupt’ floppy. My roommate and I had a big fight at the start of our second semester together, after which we were never friends again. It was entirely my fault – the end result was the floppy, my writing, was unreadable. So much for all that time. 6 years later, in order to graduate, I wrote a senior thesis. First, I wrote it long hand in a notebook.  Then I typed it on a typewriter. Then I edited it, and totally revised it analog style, and then only after I’d reorganized the lot and made it read-worthy did I retype it once again on that same heavy electronic typewriter.  It was close to 50 pages each time. And like…20 years later…if I’m with a group of people and I say something like:

‘I can get you a toe. I can get you a toe before 3 o’clock. With nail polish.’

Somebody in that room is going to turn around and say, ‘You’re killing your father, Larry.’ Or something equally as non-sequeterish (sic), something that only makes sense to someone who recognizes the cult reference.

‘I believe Asian-American is the preferred nomenclature.’

The Big Lebowski is by far the most quoted movie of the last 10 years and there are hundreds of thousands, possibly millions of people all over this world (mostly in America and Canada) that would never shy away from an opportunity to pay homage to the dude and Walter. Film books and awards elude certain movies that are re-watched continually because the authors and judges just don’t get it. They are not part of the culture – that is, people who have re-watched a single movie enough times to recognize key dialog and love it when they have the chance to recite lines aloud to others who know the line verbatim and its direct source, and can appreciate the shared joy of a cultural connection. Much like Muslims do with the Koran or Christians with the Bible or Chinese with the Little Red Book.

Certain movies are considered cult movies, and some movies ARE cult movies. Heavy Metal, The Song Remains the Same, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and The Wall WERE cult favorites of the past, but they owed their popularity largely to large screen cinema and frequent midnight showings for people high on drugs with a group of friends, or just in the mood to party with a crowd after midnight in a safe venue that allowed booze and other party-ables (if you could sneak them in – it was easier back then to do that). 

On the small screen, the past popularity of these films can not endure. People may own these movies on VHS or DVD but they will not get the kind of repeated viewings that a copy of Lebowski or Repo Man will get. There is just something about the lackadaisical dude; the crazy, potentially dangerous, but well intentioned Walter; the innocent, simple victim Donny; and ‘a case of mistaken identity’ that takes us from one Lebowski’s world to another; from the simple life of a youthful middle aged herb smoking hippy, into the helter-skelter world of a wealthy, physically challenged ‘overachiever’ with a ‘kidnapped’ trophy wife, a group of nihilists, a pornographer named Jackie Treehorn, the Malibu PD, a stolen Chevy (‘We got ‘em working in shifts!’), and an old Sioux City Sarsaparilla sipping cowboy narrator with a big white moustache and a pleasant voice – there is just something that never gets tired. Plus, we have the dude quoting George Bush Sr. from news footage of the original Gulf War that we see on a TV set that plays in the background of Ralph’s Market during the first scene of the movie, to keep us, from the beginning of the movie, locked in a time capsule of 1991. ‘This aggression…it will not stand.’ Then the dude writes a check for 67 cents after first opening the ‘Half and Half’ carton to smell if it’s not sour. Watching The Big Lewbowski is like visiting an old friend and hearing what he has to say again. Oh, he’s just repeating what he always says, but you love him just the same. He’s family. It’s the things he says. The things they say. ‘The bums lost! Condolences!’ I’d venture to say that somewhere in the world right now, somebody is watching The Big Lebowski. And probably on a computer!

25 years ago, before computers were a household item, there was Repo Man, where our hero was an unemployed slacker named Otto, whose ID says he’s 21, but who is really 18 and who gets a job at the Helping Hand Acceptance Corporation, repossessing cars from deadbeats who don’t pay their bills; where everybody is trying to track down a 1964 Chevy Malibu with a 20,000 dollar finder’s fee paid by Double X Finance, and with 4 dead aliens in the trunk; and a lobotomized physicist, wearing sunglasses with one eye missing, at the wheel. ‘Looks like sausage.’ ‘It isn’t sausage, Otto, that’s a picture of 4 dead aliens!’ Otto laughs. ‘Laugh away, fuckface! That picture’s going to be on the cover of every major newspaper in two days time!’ Everybody wants that car. Everybody, that is, the 4 other Helping Hand repo men aptly named Bud, Oly, Miller, and Lite; Marlene, the hot Helping Hand receptionist who changes sides to work with rival repo men known as the Rodriguez brothers, or ‘God damned dipshit Rodriguez gypsy dildo punks!’ as Bud refers to them. ‘Hermanos Rodriguez don’t approve of drugs,’ Lagarto Rodriguez says to his hermano, Napoleon, as they smoke joints with Marlene who is dressed covert like a Black Panther. She responds to Lagarto, “I don’t either, but today’s my birthday.’ They all smoke their own joints, even Marlene using a flashy roach clip. There’s a secret outfit, a UFO watch group called United Fruitcake Outlet, where Layla, Otto’s love interest works, also looking for the car. And there is another agency pursuing the car, whose agents are all tall, blonde white men – hombres secretos – who all wear dark suits, sunglasses, and who shout ‘Not in my face!’ when fighting. Their leader is an older humorless woman with a metal hand – ‘It happens sometimes. People just explode. Natural causes.’ 

There’s the Reverend Larry, who hosts a TV telethon and promises, with your donation, to wipe out ‘…the twin evils of godless communism abroad and liberal humanism at home.’ He’s looking for the car, too.

There’s the book Dioretix – The Science of Matter over Mind. ‘You read that book I gave you? You better read it, and quick. That book’ll change your life. I found it in a Maserati in Beverly Hills. Know what I mean?’

And of course, like the ransom money seeking nihilists in The Big Lebowski that provide abstract relief with their faux German-ness and funky minimalist clothes, ‘We’re gonna come back and cut off your Johnson!’ Repo Man gives us a madcap trio of punk rockers on a never ending crime spree – the dopey leather clad, mohawked Archie: ‘Dukie wookie hurt his wittle hand’ ‘Fuck you, Archie! Just for that, yer not in the gang anymore!’ Duke is the group’s leader with the shaved head, who just got out of the slammer (juvenile detention), and his girl Debbie with the British accent, whom Duke stole away from Otto at a punk rock party at the beginning of the movie, completes the trio.  ‘Come on Duke, let’s go do those crimes!’ She says after Archie gets vaporized opening the truck of the Chevy, leaving only a pair of smoking black army boots. ‘Yeah, let’s go get sushi and not pay.’

And to top it off, there’s a kick ass soundtrack featuring Iggy Pop, Black Flag, Fear, Circle Jerks, East LA’s own – The Plugz, and Suicidal Tendencies. “All I wanted was a Pepsi. I’m not crazy. Institution! Yer that one that’s crazy. Institution! Yer driving me crazy. Institution! It doesn’t matter. I’ll probably get hit by a car anyway.”

Where did punk rock originate? I’ve had this conversation many times with many educated people. I’ve heard opinions like – It started in 1969 with Iggy and the Stooges. It started in the late 70’s in NYC with the Ramones and other CBGB punk bands. It started in London with The Sex Pistols.

My answer to all these so called brainiacs is this: no one band or one city created punk rock. Punk rock is more than just a style of music.  It’s a lifestyle.  As Cheech says to Chong in Up in Smoke before the battle of the bands, “Relax. It’s punk rock. You don’t have to be a musician. You just have to be a punk.” And that about sums it up – punk rock is a way of life. “It’s a way of looking at that wave and saying, ‘Hey bud, let’s party!’” Wrong movie.

Punk is a mode of expression like a language or culture, in the same way Ebonics is a language and culture. Ebonics is NOT a REGIONALISM. A regionalism is just that – something that originates in one region. Ebonics did not appear in one place and spread. It evolved independently in many urban centers around America simultaneously. You can take an inner city youth from LA, NY, Philadelphia, and Atlanta and put them all in a room and they can all understand each other, even if a white suburban American can’t. That’s beyond regional. That’s culture. There are rules. There is a structure.

‘This isn’t Nam. There are rules.’

Same goes with punk rock. Every urban area in America felt it at more or less the same time – and those who responded to its calling found others who shared similar life views and they started a new lifestyle dressing similarly and squatting in the same abandoned building or garage and expressing their angst using instruments many could hardly play at all. Not all punk rockers were musicians. Some were just punks living the life, doing other stuff. And it didn’t matter from where in the world you were from. If you were a punk rocker, it was pretty obvious, and you were accepted. Even some of the musicians weren’t really musicians. They were just punks with enough attitude and expressive ability to be entertaining. The 80’s were a very conservative time, with mainstream men all wearing short hair and preppy clothes; and Wall Street and brand names going hand in hand with every commodity; and draconian drug laws replacing the long hair, free love, wide collar and lapels, lax attitude about drugs of the 70’s. Skeeball and Slip ‘n’ Slide had been replaced by Pong and Space Invaders. Punk rock, like every social movement was a reaction. Like every product in Repo Man having a plain wrap label.

The music reflected that reaction. Some people adopted the culture long before the 80’s began because they could see where the world was headed back in 70’s. In life, things don’t just happen without reason. Everything is a progression. 

In LA, the punk rock movement thrived on the East side long before people on the West side even took notice – ‘Beverly Hills, Century City, don’t you know yer so damned pretty.’ Downtown, East LA and the industrial ‘warehouse district’ that lies between the two, the area the paved LA river runs through– that was where punk rock was spawned in LA – the Troy Café, Al’s Bar – before it became fashionable, and that is exactly the place where the movie Repo Man takes place.

Alex Cox, director of Sid and Nancy, wrote and directed Repo Man and it is an incredible piece of film that only its fans recognize as genius. I just re-watched it and I could watch it again and still laugh. I just might. 

Not many movies withstand the test of time. Those that do can be called ‘art,’ or just good movies. Emilio Estevez recently wrote and directed and played a small role in a movie called Robert about the ‘other’ Kennedy assassination and I found it to be a wonderful film on many levels, with a superb ensemble cast and script. I saw it on an airplane. Since I don’t live in America, I don’t know what the reaction to the film was, nor if it won any awards, but that definitely was an award winning piece of work. Still, for me, Emilio’s ‘Gilligan,’ that is, the role that he will always be remembered as, is Otto Maddox.   

“Otto? Auto Parts?”

Otto was every teenager, coming of age, becoming an adult, dissatisfied with everything and everyone, having no clue as to what to do with his life and living every moment damned proud of it and regretting nothing. ‘The dude’ was that same person 15 – 20 years in the future finding peace and serenity in marijuana, drinking Caucasians and league bowling with his knuckleheaded friends.

The scene where Estevez, I mean Otto, is driving around with Bud, played by Harry Dean Stanton, and Bud is showing Otto the ropes always makes me laugh, no matter how many times I see it. The entire scene takes place in Bud’s old Impala. Bud is driving and Otto is riding shotgun. The same music plays in the background, but day becomes night becomes day again. Bud honks and yells at a driver, ‘Come on, dickhead!” Then he talks seriously to Otto. It’s night again.

--It helps if you dress like a detective too. Detectives dress kind of square. People think,   

   ‘This guy’s a cop.’ They’re gonna think yer packin’ something. They don’t fuck with

    you so much.

-- Are you?

-- Am I what?

-- Packing something.

-- Only an asshole gets killed for a car. The guys that make it are the guys that get in

    their cars anytime. Get in at 3 am, get up at 4. That’s why there ain’t a repo man I

    know that don’t take speed.

-- Speed, huh?

Cut to them parked and snorting painful lines of crank. Bud starts yapping about the Repo code and then turns his attention to people across the street.

-- Hey look, look at that. Look at those assholes over there. Ordinary fucking people, I  

    hate ‘em.

-- Me too.

-- What do you know? See…an ordinary person spends his life avoiding tense  

situations. Repo man spends his life getting into tense situations. (Looks out window) Assholes! (Looks at Otto) Let’s get a drink.

-- Have a nice day…night…day. Night, day, it doesn’t mean shit.

Repo Man is the quintessential punk rock movie.  It’s like the movie Suburbia, only good. Repo Man combines an engaging story, quality acting with memorable and likeable characters, and themes that really question our connection with eternity in a materialistic age. At the very least, it pokes fun at all that most people hold sacred. The film is so densely packed with dramatic and iconic stimuli, a multimedia mosaic of background noise and subliminal shading all intentionally and tastefully positioned along the journey. Like GB senior’s cameo in The Big Lebowski’s background TV footage, TV backgrounds in Repo Man, other than the Reverend Larry’s Telethon, show news footage of war torn Central America. One would need at least 5 to 10 viewings to notice all the nuances – a lot like a Simpson’s episode. Like the The Big Lebowski, Repo Man is probably the most spiritually invigorating film ever made – for atheists who wish for something to believe in.  

In the end, there’s only one thing left to be said. “Shut the fuck up, Donny!”

Or maybe the cowboy narrator has a better closing, “Do you have to curse so much?”

Bravo

Kashmir, August 2009

 
Gangotri Temple, Uttrakhand, India   Six shots from the same location

Retold Parable from an American POV

In ancient times, the God Shiva and his female companion – the daughter of the mountains, the mother of Ganesh, the fair Parvati – used to take human forms and visit the people of earth. As fit the bill, Shiva sometimes appeared as a wandering Lama with Parvati as his ‘chela,’ or protégé. In ancient times, a Lama was considered as close to God as humanly possible and people would offer a Lama food and shelter and comfort since, due to their complete devotion to an acetic lifestyle, a Lama lived a life of poverty without home or family. A Lama wore a cloak of the most inexpensive material and walked the earth carrying nothing but a small silver pitcher and a walking stick. It was believed that to offer what you could to a Lama was like making an offering directly to God.

One day, Shiva and Parvati, appearing as a Lama and his chela, approached the house of a successful merchant. It was a stone house, with several rooms and a yard. The merchant was, on the one hand, happy to have been blessed with a visit by a Lama and his chela and he invited them inside for a cup of hot chai, but at the same time, he was at that moment deeply immersed in the day’s totaling of accounts.

“Sit sit, I won’t be a minute. Just make yourselves at home there on the sofa and I’ll bring you your chai in just a sec’,” the merchant said as he returned to his calculations in the next room, trying quickly to finish up and serve his guests.  All the while Shiva and Parvati sat and waited. “The water’s just boiling,” the merchant kept calling out and after 20 minutes or so Parvati began to get a little annoyed. Parvati, in her simulacra of a young male assistant, looked over at Shiva, looking like an old and wise Lama, content with life’s simplicities.  Shiva sat unperturbed as Parvati spoke low, not to be overheard by the merchant.

“Imagine the gall of this man to have us wait for so long. If we are to represent ‘GOD,’ and this man has the opportunity to sit face to face with ‘GOD,’ and all he can do is tend to his petty business, what does that say about this man?”

After about 30 minutes Shiva rose. At that same moment, the merchant came running in with a tray of steaming chai and choice biscuits and placed the tray down on the fine wooden table. “My sincerest apologies. My cooker is always a little bonkers. Please accept these offerings.”

Shiva spoke. “Thank you so much for the tea and cakes but my companion and I really must be moving on.” They left and the man stood for a moment before grabbing a cup of chai and a biscuit and returning to work.

Outside, Parvati asked Shiva what would be done with that man. 

Shiva spoke. “That merchant has made a lot of money. That man loves his money, much more than he loves God. I’m going to curse that man. And his curse will be that I will increase his wealth ten-fold.” Parvati’s mouth dropped, but she knew better than to question the work of Shiva. They walked on. As they walked, Shiva looked straight ahead occasionally glancing to the approaching ground to make sure the path maintained its integrity. Parvati continued to think about why Shiva would curse this man with MORE money.

Later in the day, miles down the road, the two wanderers approached a 3 walled shack with partial roofing and dirt floor. There lived an old crippled man and his cow. Other than a large flattened sack on the floor for sitting and a few pieces of crockery chipped with age, the man owned nothing.  The man had nothing, except a skinny cow.

As the two approached the dwelling, the old man hurriedly dragged his creaky rheumatic legs as fast as he could move them and upon reaching the Lama standing in front of his ramshackle residence, he fell to his knees and touched the Lama’s feet, as was the customary sign of respect in those days. Still is, in some parts.

“Oh Lama, bless you for visiting an old cripple’s house. I have not much, but my cow can give you a cup of fresh milk if you would please to enter my home.”

“Thank you.” Shiva said and entered with Parvati following closely behind.

The two wanderers sat on the sack mat while the man sat in the dirt. The entire time, 30 minutes again, that Shiva and Parvati sat on the mat on the man’s floor, the man’s eyes were on Shiva. Even as he milked his cow, he kept one eye on Shiva and nodded and responded to every last thing the Lama said. They shared a few laughs and pleasantries, spoke of better times, the Lama gave the man a blessing and after the two had drunk their milks and were ready to depart, the man once again fell to the Lama’s feet and thanked him for the visit.

Outside, Parvati had only positive things to say of the man. “Now that was hospitality. That old man didn’t have much to give but he gave everything, even all his time and attention, to you. Not like the first man who barely gave us the time of day, even though he possessed a lot. How are you going to reward the old cripple man?”

Shiva stopped walking and stared, face unmoving, into Parvati’s eyes before speaking. “Tomorrow, that man’s cow will die.” Parvati could not maintain eye contact. She was again completely flummoxed by Shiva’s decision. This time, Parvati had to ask. “Lord Shiva! I don’t understand. Please explain.”

Shiva spoke: That rich man, he loves his money. He loves his money much more than he loves God. For that reason, I will give him what he loves and next week he will be that much further away from God.

That old cripple, he loves God more than anything. The only thing that is standing between himself and God is that cow, so by taking the cow, I am bringing him closer to that which he really loves: God.

I heard this story one time and one time only. It was told to me by an American guy some weeks back. There were three of us, and three of us alone, all from California, in India, in Manali: Bryan, Rhythm, and myself, all sitting in the Yeti Guesthouse courtyard café in Vashtish at the same time on the same day, drinking tea and smoking a chillum. I was in a hammock. Rhythm and Bryan shared a nearby table. Other than the stone tables, the entire place was wicker. Large colorful tapestries adorned the outdoor wicker walls. The top was covered in case of rain, but occasionally drops fell on one of the 2 hammocks – mine. It was raining. Bryan was filling his chillum and sharing with us as he told the story. My tea was lemon, honey and ginger with the tea bag on the side. I left the tea bag unused in the saucer. I’d never heard nor read the story before and I haven’t heard of it since and it was difficult to remember it so I may have reinterpreted it. Still, I don’t know what inspired me to write it out but it seemed relevant to something.

Related to what?

Success is relative. The more successful you are, the more relatives you have.

Bravo

Manali, India

August 2009

June 19, 2009

Swayambu, Nepal

Catholic Celibacy

Here’s something interesting thing to think about.

I’m Catholic, like many people from certain countries and nationalities like Irish in America – Irish Americans. Lots of American Catholic priests of Irish descent.

Irish Americans were known for having big families in the past. No birth control. Six, seven children – that’s a lot of sons. Irish tend to be a very robust, physical people. Lots of young men playing football, getting married, having kids, becoming priests.

Mathematically, the chance of homosexual males in the mix is very high. Add to it, the perfect opportunity to never have to come out of the closet, to live without a wife and not look ‘weird,’ to make your parents happy (they have 3 other sons to carry on the O’Brien name), and be more or less set for life in a position of respect. Priesthood offered a unique opportunity for many young Catholic men during the 19^th and 20^th centuries. And not just those of Irish descent.

Being a Catholic priest involves a vow of celibacy.

Celibacy is a good thing in small doses. Self control needs to practiced to be perfected. However if a man wants to devote his life to that vow, he’d better be prepared to deal with the weight of that commitment. And just because a man is ‘homosexual’ does not make his libido any less demanding.

Sex, like food and water, is a need, although its absence will not kill you, as will denying oneself food or water. 

It will kill the race, however, so there’s a certain life force contraction in a celibate lifestyle that a person must mentally accept and embrace, and in that state of denying oneself a very basic human part of life, the accepter of this vow becomes a better spiritual leader, more accessible to the populace due to the absence of his own family and the denial of his own needs.  I believe that this is the general theory, a sacrifice for the greater good, a personal offering to the spiritual well being of a society. It is a choice that is practiced in many different religious ‘clergy’ throughout the world. And it is a practice that many religious clergy do NOT practice.  

Let’s look at this practice for what it is exactly. It’s not just that Catholic priests are not getting any. They can never have any. Yet, they are still men.

All’s I know is I’m a 41 year old man. I’m a heterosexual. In my last job, I taught at an all girls’ high school. Now, if I were forced celibate by some VOW that was thrust upon me and I was not allowed any sexual release with a woman or by myself, and me being who I am; that is, not fully committed to a celibate lifestyle, it would be dangerous for me to work at an all girls’ high school. I can work there now no problem because I can control myself.  I allow myself sexual release with partners or by myself. I’m a functional adult and a professional teacher. Plus, I would never have sexual relations with a student of mine, much less a high school student on principle. Be that as it may, I’m not going to deny the fact – there was some physical attraction.

One university in Boston did a study – you can look it up. When a man is hungry, the smell, sight or presence of food triggers an impulse in a man’s brain taking center stage in his consciousness, telling him to pursue and obtain that food. Salivation and other physical responses may occur. It is a physiological response and can not be ignored, passively. There is a specific area in the brain that is affected by hunger with a food sensor that triggers an impulse as strong as instinct. What the study proved was that this same impulse area in the brain is triggered when a heterosexual man sees a beautiful woman or if there is sensory evidence of a desirable female’s proximity. Even a picture. Physiological reaction.  Same area of the brain as hunger.  Essentially, the same ‘pursue/obtain’ reaction.

The study was done solely on heterosexual males, but we can deduce that conversely, a homosexual man would get the same response from same sex stimuli. So if a person were gay and say cut off from any sexual relationship with any other person his entire life and he was NOT 100% committed to the vow, I think that working around boys of varying ages would be asking for trouble as well. But that’s just me.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Unlike the Catholic clergy, many Christian ministers are allowed to have a wife and children. Catholics are one of the only Christian groups who force their ministry to take this vow of celibacy. I don’t remember ever reading about Jesus telling his disciples to abstain from pleasuring their wives or having children. Rumor has it that Jesus married Mary Magdalene and had many children with her. And her former job was prostitute! Perhaps Catholic priests should be allowed to marry.

Would that stop priests from molesting children? As a heterosexual male, if I were married and had children, a daughter perchance, I would never be able to look at my students in a sexual way. Not that I do. I don’t. But sometimes in the presence of certain 3rd year high school students, a flash of lust would come over me, especially during stretches without female companionship, as often plagues the life of a single man. I never acted on those impulses, but I’m not going to deny that they were there. Evidence would show that a man having a wife and kids is a LOT less likely to molest some boys. Or even girls for that matter.

If Catholic priests were aloud to take wives and have families, would the Catholic Church continue to exist without losing a share of its membership? That remains to be seen. The real question is: if priests DID become allowed to take wives, and a homosexual priest wanted to take a male partner, would that be allowed?   ‘It’s for the sake of the children’ is usually a very persuasive argument.  And let's not forget the 'WWJD' argument.  What Would Jesus Decide (sic)?

This is just something to think about.

You're on summer vacation I take it, perhaps in Canada for your brother's  wedding.

I've been in India about a week now.  I don't understand the attraction. It's hot, noisy, dusty; flies are everywhere, and the people are not that cool.  Really nosey and intrusive.  And they stare much more than Koreans do.

This PC bang dude does nothing but pace and look at what people are doing.  And if there's a free computer (there are only 3) he looks at porn.  If he touches my keyboard one more time, I'm going to smack him.

That said, I can add smoking cigarettes to my list of vices that I no longer do.  I don't really miss it.  Perhaps its all the diarrhea.

50 days sober!  Where's my chip!!!

Tomorrow morning I plan to go to a place called Gangotri, which is the glacier where the Ganges river starts.
It's almost 4 thousand meters up so it'll be cool (not 40 degrees) and hopefully quieter than it's been everywhere else I've been.

I don't know when my aversion to noise (cars honking excessively, etc) began, but it's pretty intense.  My aversion that is.

 My return flight to Korea is Aug 16.   Beyond that I know not.  Seems like a long way from now, but it's really not.

They say it's 40 degrees here in Rishikesh.  I think it might be.  As for the "ashram" stay I was considering, it all seems very cult-like and creepy.  Lots of these dudes dressed all in orange walking in groups.  Orange tee shirt, orange shorts and sandals.  And with their Freddy Mercury moustaches, they look like some gay cult.

Rishikesh, like Haridwar, is a pilgrimage town where people come from all over to bathe in the Ganges.  It's much cleaner up here; that is, the river is much cleaner in Rishikesh than it is down in Varanasi where they throw dead bodies.  Also, R & H are both vegetarian communities.  You'll see pigs and cows in the street, but you won't see any on a menu or on a plate or in a market.

India's a funky place. I always hear from people how "amazing" it is. I just don't see it.  I guess a lot of people come here for some "spiritual" purpose.  I don't get that either.  Every white person I've seen in the last week (all two of them) have looked like they were on their way to a Grateful Dead show.  Stinking hippies.

God is everywhere.    All's you gotta do is believe.  God will find you.  Peace.

And why would anybody name their group after the most f'd up person in the 20th century.  Yeah, let's do like Mao.

Things move really slow  here.  And part of that is really nice.

Justin and his gf Bimala and I share an apt, here at the Benchen Vihar Monastary guesthhouse.  Sounds funny, I know.
Just about all the residents are students of Buddhim from all over the world.  Mostly Europe.  Some of them are yogis
and other such ranks in the Buddhism echelon.  Everybody here is really mellow.  Here at the monastary.
Down in the city, it can get a little sketchy.
 
We're heading for Kashmir at the end of this month.  We'll be there a while.  As for Electric Pagoda, the bar/rest? 
I got my money back, Justin's having a moral dilemna running a place where every other night there are fights,
broken bottles, broken windows, cops coming.  And his partner is quite the tool.  It's actually his partner who's the
biggest thorn in this venture.  Me, I don't really like Thamel.  Something about NOT being drunk that makes
downtown nightlife NOT as appealing

Justin was advised by this visiting Rimpoche who is just visting our center for a short time. 
He is like some real heavy weight in the Buddhist world, like the Pope or something -- I guess the Dalai Lama considers him to be #1 in the world.  All the high Buddhist people in the world, like the Dalai Lama are reincarnations of the first Buddha. 

Justin's had several private meetings with this old glass eyed holyman (the meetings aren't really private cuz there's a translator and helpers cleaning the glass eye with cotton swabs while it sits in his face as the man advises Justin.

His advice:  Just wait...don't do anything.

We're gonna wait in Kashmir.  Spend the hot summer up (it's over 40 degrees in Delhi right now) at 4000m in Ladakh and surrounding areas in Northern India like Rishikesh, where the Beatles wrote the White Album and where John Lennon wrote that famous lyric, "You made a fool of everyone.." (Sexy Sadie) about the Maharishi, cuz of his demands for money and his attitude towards the female disciples.  The Beathles had gone to visit him and stayed in his Ashram for a few months.  Ringo and his wife left after a week cuz they missed their children...and cuz of the vegetarian diet.  THAT Maharishi died earlier this year. 

The first time I ever heard the name Kashmir, I was stoned listening to Physical Graffitti.
Now I'm stoned and getting ready to go there. 

It's the circle of life.