Today's MOZEN: Stay Hungry

F loBuono

When young children are frightened, they draw inwards. They are less open to people, ideas, and, therefore, learning. If a child was to grow up to live his or her entire life in some type of fear or mistrust, it is obvious that they would be "less complete" as adults. However, as we mature, we (at least most of us) begin to open and experience life without (or with less) fear, leading to a fuller, more productive existence. We learn more. We do more. We live more.

So it is with the government.

I think that we may see government as having a personality. That personality is shaped by the people who form it. They set the pace. That is a good thing - that's (supposedly) why these folks got elected in the first place. And, so is the case with the Trump administration. To their credit, they are creating the society that they promised they would. To simplify, at least in my mind, what that society represents is embodied in the President's America First platform.

On the surface, what's wrong with taking care of one's own first, right? But, when you look at it more deeply as a philosophy, you see how short term the thinking is. It's mostly based on fear, not strength. Like a frightened child, the Country is being drawn inwards. We are becoming less open to people, ideas, and, therefore learning (see paragraph 1, sentence 2). This may provide temporary comfort but it also stifles positive growth. Unfortunately, it seems that virtually every action by the government, be it Executive or Legislative, seems to be taking us in that direction. And, for better or worse, the world is taking notice.

There is a wonderfully obscure movie called Stay Hungry that stars Jeff Bridges and a very young Arnold Schwarzenegger. Bridges plays the rebellious heir to a Southern families dynasty and is fascinated by the sub-culture of bodybuilding. It is within this environment that he meets Arnold. Bridges is amazed by the intensity of Schwarzenegger's workouts and tells him so. Arnold responds by saying:

well, you can't grow without burning!

So, it is with America - you can't grow without burning.

To achieve the greatest results we have to do difficult things with open minds and hearts. To draw inwards is to live in fear and that has NEVER been the American way! And, that's another thing that I don't quite understand. The America that I know has always been fearless, open, protective of not only its own people and our best interests, but those of the world at large, too. THIS is leading. But, there is always an element of risk in leading. And, there always will be. We have always been willing to take that risk. So, why do the people who profess their tenacity about America and American values fail to see the weakness in the current approach of isolationism?

Bold people, bold nations do not live in fear. They do not cower. They do not look for excuses. They keep open minds and hearts. And, they lead.

The Peg-Board 4/5/2017: Menopause

Gentleman, its not our fault....its really not.......I once read a quote that said "Middle age is a unending insult"....and not until now did I get it.......although unless I'm still kicking at 96, I'm past middle age, it's happening now....right now...as we speak.....this thing called Menopause.....When i was a kid, my mother used to keep frozen hand towels in the freezer for her "hot flashes".....and she was always screaming and yelling...and 5 seconds later laughing at Carol Burnett..........she would just break down, or go for a walk by herself........I always thought it was because she had 7 kids (could of been part of it)....but she was going through "The Changes".....back then mothers just suffered in silence.....but I'm telling ya...the struggle is real.....never in my life did i know my thighs could just break out in a sweat.....or I would cry because my kid broke a "jelly jar", and I guess we just cant have nice things........and what the frig is with the weird increase of hair growth?....why do I suddenly have Madonna Poppa Don't Preach eyebrows?........and sleep?.....Yes, I can totally fall asleep......and sleep like a baby......until 4 a.m........What is that about?.....I'm not Amish.....I don't need to churn butter..........Menopause.....Change of life....whatever you wanna call it.....it blows ......I totally get it now Mom......

Today's MOZEN: No Substitute for Experience

F LoBuono

In the Academy Award winning film, Platoon (1983), one of the main characters is Sgt. Elias, played brilliantly by actor Willem Defoe. Elias, in a sense, is the conscious of the platoon, fighting for survival in the dense jungle warfare of Vietnam. He is a fierce and accomplished warrior but, at the same time, never loses his compassion. This is in direct conflict with the more brutal approach of the platoon's leader, Staff Sgt. Barnes, played with chilling effectiveness by Tom Berenger.

As is noted in the film and supported by statistics, most casualties in that war occurred within the first few weeks a soldier spent "in country", when raw troops were first exposed to combat. This, of course, makes sense: inexperienced soldiers make rookie mistakes that are often fatal. This fact was complicated by the attitude of the more seasoned soldiers who made little effort to share their own experiences with the younger ones. In a way, they were isolating themselves emotionally from the new recruits whom they felt were mostly doomed anyway.

Elias confronts Barnes, charging that if they made just a little effort to share their experience about survival in the jungle with the new men, more of them would live past the first few weeks in the bush. Both of them had survived long enough to know all the tricks of the trade - not just the ones taught in the Army field manual and basic training. Both knew that only the knowledge that comes from practical experience would help them to survive. There is a wonderful scene from the film where Elias puts his theory into practice with a new arrival, Chris, played most capably by Charlie Sheen. After a grueling hike through the dense jungle, Elias notices that Chris is exhausted from hauling all of his gear through the bush. He goes to Chris and asks to see what he has in his backpack. Elias, handling each item one at a time, distinguishes what is essential and what is not. What is not necessary is discarded, lightening Chris' load and, therefore, burden, considerably. This, of course, could prove crucial in a firefight. Without the benefit of Elias' intervention, Chris would simply continue to struggle, attempting to find his own way through the fog of war.

One of my father's favorite slogans was, "there's no substitute for experience". He repeated it constantly. In fact, he lived by it. I always wondered if it was cemented into his psyche during his time as a combat engineer in WWII (he survived 2 years of heavy fighting). Wherever it came from, it was burned into my own ethos. And, I use it in my own career as a teacher.

I am not "formally" trained as a journalist. I was a microbiology major in college with dreams of attending medical school. When that didn't work out, I went searching for a new career and found it working in television. I started on the ground floor and worked my way up. In a career that has now spanned nearly 35 years, I have experienced virtually every aspect of TV News and production: from assistant to manager, from studio to field, there a few aspects of TV journalism that I have not been exposed to. And, THAT is what I share with my students. Just as Sgt. Elias prioritized the essentials from Chris' backpack, I do the same for my students. I use my extensive, PRACTICAL experience to inform them of what is important to know and what is not. I use traditional texts and computer websites for the basics but, just like Elias, what I have actually SEEN and DONE  determines what is necessary to know and what can be "discarded".

Teaching - and, LEARNING - can be accomplished in many ways. But, in the end, the best way, in my opinion, is the use of personal, practical experience. There is NO substitute - indeed.

Today's MOZEN: Ergo Ego

F LoBuono

There is little doubt that I have a healthy ego. Some might find that an understatement, claiming it's FAR more than just healthy. In fact, I've heard it described as enormous. This may be true, but I would tend to disagree. I have a strong sense of who I am and what I am good at. BUT, I am also cognizant of what I just plain suck at - and, that's plenty! I am never falsely modest - I AM good at many things, but not all. This gives me a sense of balance. That's why I say that my ego should be seen as healthy, not YUGE.

I would counter that our President, Donald J. Trump, is the one suffering with ego issues. In every word, every deed, and, seemingly, EVERY thought, Mr. Trump trips all over his. And, this should not be a surprise to anyone. He has exhibited this behavior long before he even considered running for President. Every interview before, during, and since, especially if it personally involves his deeds, is filled with self-aggrandizing accolades like (H)YUGE, GREAT, ENORMOUS, FANTASTIC, and the GREATEST EVER. Furthermore, you must BELIEVE him simply because he says so. THAT is an enormous ego and he falls all over it all of the time. And, it will prove to be his downfall.

Without balance, there can be no compromise. Without compromise, nothing of value can ultimately be accomplished. And, this is exactly what is happening in Washington. Mr. Trump's enormous ego drives every decision that is now being made in Washington. And, this is creating even more of the dysfunction that he promised to eradicate. EVERYTHING done by this administration seems to be calculated to increase Mr. Trump's power, visiblity and status, regardless of whether it seems to be good for the majority of the Country or not. If it's good for Mr. Trump than it's good - PERIOD. The President can SAY that he wants to help YOU, but it is his ACTION that says ME, ME, ME.

Well, what you see is what you get - a man who's very presence SCREAMS look at me; the hair, the girth, the spray-on tan, the attitude of I'm better than everyone. THAT, my friends, is an ENORMOUS EGO - a trait that, in the end, makes for poor leadership. Until he finds that balance, he is doomed to be a legend in his own mind only. . .

The PEG-BOARD 3/29/2017

                   
THE PEG-BOARD

I believe in being honest with my children... so when they asked me where babies come from, I told them the truth.... drunken moments of weakness

The Peg-Board

Welcome to TalkFrank's newest feature: THE PEG-BOARD.

Every Wednesday, our resident imp and inspirational slogan meister, Peggy, will brighten your day with words to live by, like today's gem:

The PTA meeting would have such a better turn out if they had an open bar . . . . don't ya' think?

Look for her wit, charm, and outrageous humor every Wednesday, at TalkFrank, where the Talk is always Frank!

Today's MOZEN: Veracis

F LoBuono

This NOT a political post. No. Really. I swear! I know. Crazy. Right? Me? But, at the heart of the matter, it's not about politics at all. It's about the truth.

If you have been gracious enough to follow this blog, over the last few weeks you may have noticed that I have made a conscious effort to avoid overtly political posts, both here and on my Facebook page. No. I have not given up taking a stand. Never that. It's more a matter of taking a step back and letting the scenario play out. I believe that I have made myself and my position perfectly clear. So, in a sense, I was letting things take their own course - at least for a while. I believe that it helps to provide perspective. It did.

Well, I'm back!

When the truth is challenged day after day, it's time to speak up.

The President's grasp of it seems more tenuous on a daily basis. And, it's becoming dangerous. In its most recent issue, TIME magazine features an exclusive interview with President Trump. Its cover simply reads: Is Truth Dead? with no photograph. The crux of the article questions not so much the President's actual veracity as much as his understanding of what is truthful. In other words, it's not lying, at least in the traditional sense because he BELIEVES it.  One way or the other, it sets a dangerous precedent.

The reason that I maintain that this is a non-political post even after making what appears to be a very political statement is that it's not about the policy making of the President. As I've written previously, many of these issues are SO complex that I simply do not know enough about them to comment with any great deal of certainty. However, this does not apply when ascertaining whether someone is being totally honest or not. The truth is just that, the truth. It cannot be massaged. It cannot (or, at least SHOULD not) be manipulated - certainly, not on the level of the Presidency! There are no such things as Alternative Facts. That's why we look to a person who is exceptional in almost every way to become our Leader. They must be capable of handling the most intense pressure and the most complex of issues. And, we must BELIEVE that this person has the ability AND the temperament to understand and HANDLE the truth.

The buck stops with the President (ask Harry Truman).

Without the ability to know and understand the truth, our credibility suffers. Honor and truth are synonymous, virtually symbiotic; one cannot exist without the other. This is true for ALL of us. None of us like hanging out with liars - even those who believe their own shit when we know differently. When this occurs in the Leader of the Free World, we MUST be concerned. Mr. Trump may believe in what he claims but there is more to it than that. That's why the responsibility of being President is so enormous. He must use every bit of the considerable means at his disposal to ascertain what is truthful AND accurate. This President seems to use what he is most comfortable with - pundits with questionable, if any, legitimate sources.

I do not have the answers. I don't believe, at this point, impeachment is practical or productive - the alternatives suggest even more chaos. The Republic must, and will, remain intact. The rule of law must be observed. However, I think that we must remain vigilant and ACTIVE. A friend of mine, a woman, just decided to run as a progressive candidate in her home town and encourages others to do the same. As a member of the Press (when I am working in that capacity*), I pledge to continue to do my job and hold the President not only to his word, but to the truth, as well.

That's not politics. It's reality.



* the opinions expressed above our my own and do not necessarily reflect those of any other entity.

Today's MOZEN: A Matter of Perspective

F LoBuono (photo AP)

I heard the screaming roar coming from the direction of the river long before I saw them. I looked up and over to the source of the sound to see 8 French Alpha fighter jets, zooming down river, trailing a huge A400 Airbus. The site gave me the impression of a bunch of peregrine falcons pursuing a fat goose! It was certainly unexpected and awe inspiring. They were fast and furious - sharp as flying razor blades. I read afterward that it was done to commemorate the United States' entry into WWI and celebrate the tight bond between America and France.

It was one of those serendipitous moments that can bring a smile to your face. It did to mine - certainly not something you see every day. But, then I started to think about it from a different perspective. I realized that while it might bring pride and joy to some, it could trigger fear and anxiety in others. For those of us at the top of the food chain, if you will, there is shock and awe in their presence. They represent the powerful tools we use to keep us not only safe, but also in charge. Woe to those who lie beneath that thunder when it is meant to destroy instead of merely show off. Yes, it should strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. It's meant to.

But, how about those without any political power - the poor innocents who after an air raid conducted by one of these modern marvels are often referred to by the rather innocuous therm of collateral damage - like the children of Syria? When we look up to witness those fighter planes, we are filled with pride and awe. A Syrian child might experience the same scenario as a moment of abject terror. To them, there is no place to hide from these spectacular machines that represent the height of human technological achievement. They represent not pride or power but death from above.

The irony was not lost on me. Some countries are fortunate enough to have the ability to fly million dollar war planes simply to celebrate, while others struggle just to remain whole and viable. Something just ain't right about that.

The world is a strange place, indeed.

Today's LESSON IN SARCASM: Stella.

Happens all of the time. In fact, did again just the other night with a co-worker. They'll hear me talking to (or about) a woman named Stella - who also happens to be my mother - and, say:

you call your mother Stella?

Yes. I always have, is my invariable reply.

Don't you think that's weird, calling her Stella?, is the almost invariable response.

And, I always answer: No. Since her name IS Stella, what would be weird would be to call her Margaret or Donna.

That is all.

Today's MOSTLY TRUE SHORT STORY: Kissing God

F LoBuono

Growing up in the late 60's and early 70's and living where I did meant you were fully indoctrinated into the so-called Drug Culture of the time.  It was the zenith of the Tune In-Turn On-and Drop Out generation. Most of us subscribed to that philosophy in one degree or another. It was a time when experimentation ruled and I, for one, was willing to try almost anything, often simply for the sake of saying that I did. I was young and fearless - death was inconceivable. It seemed so far away. But I was reckless and foolish, too. I was living life on the razor's edge - bullet proof - indestructible.

I wasn't looking to use drugs as some did, i.e. to escape reality or just to "party", but much more for the experience it might bring. I was a big fan of Aldous Huxley's seminal work, "The Doors of Perception". In the essay, Huxley describes his experiences using mescaline, the psychedelic ingredient in the peyote cactus. He believed that using mind-altering substances like mescaline would bring him to an alternative state of reality - one that existed only deep within the recesses of our unconscious minds. Some of these materials could provide the key to that lock. He would break on through to the other side (by the way, The Doors took their name from Huxley's work). With that in mind, there seemed to be few drugs that I would not experiment with- except HEROIN (until I did. More later).

Pot, LSD, mescaline, peyote, Quaaludes, uppers, downers, and in-betweeners were all on the menu. All could be be used in the name of experimentation - all except heroin. That was the devil's drug. It could do no good, only harm. It was an evil substance that was a blight on our inner cities. Nice white kids from suburbia didn't do heroin; gang-bangers and minority kids did. It seemed to never leave the ghetto. And, as long as it stayed there, no one seemed to care.

Well, that's not the case today. Heroin addiction is now no longer restricted to the inner cities. It has seeped into virtually every bastion of white privilege - like Cambridge, Mass., the home of Harvard University (see: https://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/07/us/heroin-epidemic-increasingly-seeps-into-public-view.html?_r=0). I have been approached by a number of women who have lost their children at young ages to heroin overdoses. They are all wonderful women who are great mothers and also devastated by their losses. They did everything they could to save their children: interventions, arrests, repeated trips to rehab. But, to no avail. In the end, the heroin proved even stronger than their love.

But, why? How? What is it about heroin that makes it so insidious?

I'm not sure that I have the answer, especially in light of my one and only experience with the drug.

I was in my mid-twenties and fresh out of graduate school. I hadn't quite settled into a professional career and, so, was just driving a taxi to get by until I figured it all out. During my time with the cab company, I was befriended by a regular passenger. His name was Mike. He liked my "style" and regularly requested me to drive him into NYC to conduct his business. A ride into the City with Mike could make your whole day. He always left a generous tip. And, he was a most unusual man. Extraordinarily tall (about 6'7"), he came from a very wealthy Jewish, New York family. His father was the largest importer of Teamo tobacco products in the City. His mother owned the 4th largest private collection of Tiffany Lamps in the world. Mike also claimed that he was a fighter pilot during the Vietnam War, the veracity of which I can not verify. And, he was also incredibly intelligent. On our trips into town, we would have long, deep, detailed conversations on the meaning of life. One day after riding in my taxi he told me that he would need to go back into the City the next day and he wanted me to drive him. He wanted to make the trip more interesting and, so, challenged me on my lexicon. That night, he wanted me to to look up any three words from the dictionary to question him as to their meanings when I drove him the next day. He said the more obscure, the better. When I picked him up at the predetermined time the next day, I was ready. I had found three words that I had never even heard of before, much less knew the meaning of, confident that I could stump him. Well, not only did he get the words IMMEDIATELY, he chided me for bringing him ones that were so obvious!

Yes, he was remarkable. But, he was also very troubled. He had two major addictions - gambling and heroin.

Driving him to an illegal betting parlor on the lower East Side of Manhattan one day, I saw him take a brown paper bag filled with about $10,000 in cash that he had withdrawn from his father's bank account and bet the whole thing on a NY Knicks basketball game. I believe that he lost that bet. I would also take him on his frequent trips to the Alphabet City neighborhood in lower Manhattan to purchase his heroin. I was not afraid to drive him. In fact, I found the whole subculture fascinating.

I was also mystified how this brilliant, wealthy, friendly man let his life get so out of control. During our trips together, in an effort to understand, I would pepper him with question about his life and how he had gotten to that point. When I pressed him as to why someone with so much talent would waste it all by being an addict he answered, "because doing heroin is like kissing god"!

Of course, this piqued my interest in him and heroin even further. Every time that I drove him I barraged him with questions as to how and why he did what he did. Finally, one day, after one of our forays into the City, I was dropping him off at his apartment when he pressed something into my hand as a "tip". When I opened my hand to check it out, I noticed that it was a small, cellophane packet containing a small amount of a brownish-white powder. It also had a graphic of a blue locomotive stamped on it. I asked, "what the hell is this"?

"What do you think it is? Time to put your money where your mouth is", he replied.

I looked at it again as said, "you're out of your mind! I'm not shooting this shit into my body".

Mike responded, "you don't have to. You've snorted cocaine before, right? Well, you can use heroin the same way. There's enough in this packet for about 4 lines. Cut out 2. You can always do more if you want to but you can't do less once you've begun. Wait until you have a time when you don't have to be anywhere and find out for yourself what it's all about".

He left my cab, I placed the packet in my pocket, finished my shift, and drove to my apartment. It was a Friday night. I took the packet into my bedroom to open it. I found my "cocaine kit" (a small mirror, razor blade and straw) and emptied the contents onto the mirror. As Mike said, the brownish powder was enough for about 4 small "lines". I cut out 2  as he had suggested. My roommate wasn't home yet, so I had the privacy that I needed to conduct my experiment. I snorted the two and waited for my roommate to get home. He arrived about a half- hour later.

I greeted him but made no mention of what I had done. Since he was an intrepid experimenter too we had often discussed the possibility of trying heroin - at least on a temporary basis. He was familiar with Mike and had also been intrigued by what it was all about. But, I said nothing. I wanted to be the first to find out what knowledge it might offer. Perhaps, afterward we would discuss what I had experienced. Since it was a Friday he suggested that we go to the nearby grocery store to shop for something to eat before we headed out for the evening's festivities. I agreed and we walked to the corner together.

When I first snorted the heroin, I felt nothing. There was virtually no sensation except, perhaps, a little burning in my nose. That all changed shortly after we got to the supermarket. Suddenly, I started to get nauseous. At first, it was just a little uncomfortable. But, after a few minutes the nausea started to get severe - so much so that I was afraid that I would vomit in the middle of the store. I made some excuse to my roommate explaining that I had to go outside for a minute but that I would be right back. I felt like I desperately needed some fresh air or I was in danger of passing out in one of the aisles. I stepped out into the store's parking lot and began to breath deeply. I was desperately trying to get control of myself. After some time, I started feeling a bit better and returned to the store and found my roommate. He asked how I was doing and I replied "fine".

We finished our shopping and headed back to our apartment to put our groceries away and begin preparing for the night. We started loading the stuff into the kitchen cabinets while discussing our plans for the evening. Suddenly, as before but only worse this time, I started to experience light-headiness and EXTREME nausea. I fought the feeling as best I could but after a few more minutes I was getting overwhelmed with this sickness. I called over to my friend and said, hey, if you don't mind, I'm not feeling very well. Would you mind if you finished up alone so that I could lie down for a bit? He looked over at me. His jaw dropped and he replied, "holy shit - you're fucking GREEN! You'd better go lie down"! And, that's exactly what I did.

When I got to my bed, I laid down on my back, with my clothes on. And, I was acutely ill. I found that the only way I could avoid the feeling of overwhelming nausea was to lie as completely still as possible. Even turning my head slightly nearly paralyzed me with sickness. So, there I lie, fully clothed and as motionless as I could possibly make myself. And, there I stayed - ALL night. My roommate and other friends who had come by for the normal Friday night revelry came in to check on me from time to time. I responded as succinctly as I possible could, not moving my head at all and whispering, "I'm OK". Of course, that was a lie. The fact was that I was not even sure that I would make it through the night. Still, I told no one and suffered in silence.

The night finally passed and when the morning came, much to my relief, I had survived. I was actually able to lift myself off of the bed and stand. After a few minutes, I realized that the worst was over and that I was gradually returning to some type of normalcy. My roommate woke a short time later and we sat together to have coffee. Of course, he asked me if I was OK and what the hell had happened to me the night before. I came clean and told him exactly what I had done. Instead of being angry, he was quite impressed that I had been so bold. And, we both wondered what could have gone wrong. It certainly was NOT like Kissing God! We called a mutual friend who had some experience in these matters to ask. He explained to us that my experience was not unusual for first-time users. He went on to say that there are certain precautions to take, like protecting your stomach with some type of anti-nausea medication, that will protect you, at least somewhat.

My roommate asked me what I wanted to do with the rest of the heroin. I told him that he could have it if he wanted. I was DONE with THIS experiment. That night had told me everything that I needed to know about heroin. My body had punished me for my insolence. How dare I allow this poison into the temple that is the human body. The message was VERY loud and clear - this shit is DEATH. If that's the price for Kissing God, then I'm not interested.

We flushed what was left down the toilet.

I know that heroin has infiltrated our society in a way that it has never done before. It is accessible and it is cheap. But, take it from me, it is also DEADLY. I was lucky to have survived a foolish experiment. So, young people, LISTEN to your parents and those who love you enough to tell you the truth - find another way to KISS GOD - his lips cannot be found at the point of a syringe.

Epilogue: My friend, Mike, who had given me the heroin in the first place, made me watch him shoot it into his veins one day. And, he did it on purpose - whatever "romantic" notion that I may have once had about experimenting with that poison was completely dashed by the vision of that filthy needle sticking in his arm. I have not seen or spoken to him in over 20 years. But, I'm sure that he, too, was taken by the needle.

I miss my son. Mornings are so hard. I cry here at my kitchen table while the world still sleeps just about every morning before work. I will never understand why after years of prayer and intervention after intervention we still lost this battle. After over 3 years clean we had begun to breath again finally. We had begun to think he had made it. This disease is cunning, baffling and powerful. It robbed us of everything. It is the devil's drug no doubt. I carry you with me Zach Ziehm. All day every day. I will love you forever. 

Tami George, who lost her son to a heroin overdose.

https://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/07/us/heroin-epidemic-increasingly-seeps-into-public-view.html?_r=0