Today's MOZEN: A Cruel Reality 10/17/2014

Photo: Woodstock Animal Sanctuary Words: F LoBuono

The decision to stop eating meat is an intensely personal one. After all, we are what we eat. And we've been conditioned since the very beginning of our existance that our diet must include some type of meat. In point of fact, science has shown us that the increase in the size of our brains (and, therefore, intelligence) is directly correlated to our learned ability to injest large amounts of ready protein through cooked meat. It has been argued (and disputed) that our teeth are that of an omnivore, or an animal that can chew all types of food, vegetable AND animal. The great majority of medical doctors recommend a balanced diet that includes items from all the so-called food groups, including meat.

Then there is the cultural aspects of eating meat. Most of us associate our best meals with the finest cuts of meat we consume. And the price of those items reflect the value. I think that you would be hard pressed to find a a menu item at any high-end restuarant that is more pricey than a good filet mignon. Who doesn't enjoy a good barbecue, filled with good friends and food, i.e. cooked meat?Thanksgiving is a virtual orgy of eating meat. Yes, turkey is meat. Walk past any restaurant and who would not be taken with the aroma of roasting meat? The smell of bacon cooking in a frying pan is often associated with a peaceful, blissful breakfast. And I'm Italian, whose cultural is probably the one most often associated with good eating and fine food. So, for me, as with most others, the choice to stop eating meat was not taken lightly.

I had been thinking about it for some time. My entire family are animal lovers. Both my parents loved dogs and our household was rarely without one. I had a particular affinity for animals, all kinds of animals. In addition to the dogs, I kept sick birds, abandoned rabbits, wayward mice, and tropical fish. As long as it was living, it was OK by me. As I got older, cats were added to the mix. I have had the responsibility of some type of animal my entire life. About three years ago, I was expanded by quest for understanding more Eastern philosophies, including Buddhism. I was particularly interested in the Buddhist concept of "do no harm". It is a simple one. It asks us to be conscious of our presence in the world and our connection to all things. With this awareness or mindfulness we understand that, since everything is connected, our actions affect other beings - always. If we KNOW this, then it is our duty to do our best to do RIGHT. This includes the elimination of cruelty. And I KNEW that the way we raise, slaughter, and consume our meat products was just plain brutal.

It's called FACTORY FARMING and it is BIG business. In fact, food processing, as it is also named, is the biggest of the big with a handful a gigantic corportations like Tyson and Smithfield controlling the great majority of the industry. There are very few family ranches and farms that are still producing meat in a more humane fashion (although some hard-core vegans would dispute that). Because our meat is produced by such large corporations they are run like any other large corportation, i.e. the bottom line is the bottom line. Therefore, they practice a form of food processing that is driven soley by profit and cares nothing for the animals that provide the very basis for their industry. Animals are raised, shipped, and slaughterd in the most brutal fashion, all in the name of profit. There is no debate here, only fact. And the fact is these animals, even under the best conditions, are ill treated. You've seen the photos. You've watched the videos. You can choose to deny it, but it is fact. Not dealing with it will not make the cruelty go away. In addition, to keep the meat cheap and plentiful, these companies often use antibiotics to keep their animals going despite the deplorable conditions in which they are raised. These chemicals then, in turn, enter our systems when we consume them. The detrimental health risks associated with this practice are well know.

I remember the exact moment when I went from thinking about stopping to eat meat to actually doing it. I was in a hotel in DesMoines, Iowa. I was on assignment covering the Iowa Caucus. While relaxing and watching TV, a PETA commercial came on. I will spare all the horrible details (and it was literally that - horrible) but let me say that it was sufficient for me to think, I've seen enough. How much MORE cruelty do I need to witness? How much longer must this suffering continue? It's time to stop thinking about it and actually begin doing it. I made the commitment. That was over two years ago.

Now, let's be clear. I am not vegan. At this point, that's a little too extreme for me. And I'm not "fantatical" about being a vegetarian. For example, I still eat fish. Afterall, I am Italian and I cannot COMPLETELY deny my heritage (LOL!). Plus, it provides me an excellent source of lean protein. Also, if I am in a situation where I am offered meat and the only alternative is to throw it away, I will eat the meat. To throw it away is a bigger sin than eating it in the first place. At least it is in my book.

Look, I'm not some tree-hunging ,vegan crusader. I'm not that strong. But what I am trying to do is to reduce the cruelty we find every day in the world, wherever we may encounter it. This is just one way that we can. So, they next time you bite into that big, juicy burger topped with four inches of crispy bacon, think about where it came from and how it got there. It did through an almost an imaginable amount of cruelty. I will not judge you if you do. I get it. But I will ask you to think about it - and do what you can to change it. It's easier than you think. If it's no good for you and no good for the animals, then who is it good for? I think you know the answer.

Today's Guest Artist: Paul Tappenden with his story of "The Purple Man".

TalkFrank was created to be a voice for artists - artists of all types. We call the blog a repository for a reason: participation is not only encouraged, it is essential to our growth. Recently, we have been fortunate to have contributions from two such artists: Conductor Robert Debbaut wrote of an encounter with his idol, Leonard Bernstein. Musician Loren Korevec contributed an epic poem, "Leaves". Now, we have the great prviledge of including Mr. Paul Tappenden, a.k.a. The Rockland Forager. Paul is a man of many talents. He is an accomplished painter and his mural of Nyack graces the town hall. And, in his Rockland Forager guise, he teaches all of the wonders and health benefits of natural plants, herbs, spices and the like. Today, he is an author and here is his story "The Purple Man". Welcome, Paul, we are so fortunate to have you - in every sense of the word.

Words and photo by P. Tappenden

                                                        The Purple Man

A few years ago I was working in Manhattan's Greenwich Village and began to notice purple footprints meandering around the sidewalks. I noticed that they appeared in several places around the Village. One day, I decided to follow one of the trails. It ended up at an empty lot on Houston Street. It was closed in with a chain link fence that was covered with morning glories. I noticed while I stood there that other purple footprints trails also led there.

At the time I was working in the Puck Building. I got talking to one of the residents who told me the story of a man they called the Purple Man, who took over the unused lot and planted a garden which contained only purple flowers. One day, the City realized what he was doing and came in and bulldozed the whole garden and left it as a deserted lot once more. It was shortly after that that the footprints started appearing, all leading to the empty lot. All that remained of the garden was the morning glory that returned every year.

Once I heard that story, I stopped by the garden once more and helped myself to seeds from the pods that hung on the fence. I sprinkled them over my front yard and they've returned every year since. Some years they are all a blue/purple color and sometimes they bloom in an array of colors from whites to pinks, to reds and even rich purples.

Every fall, I am reminded of the Purple Man, and feel pleased that I have played a small part in helping his legend live on.

Today's MOZEN: Feeling Blue 10/14/2014

Words and photo by F LoBuono

I strive for balance in everything that I do: mentally, physically, spiritually and, yes, even politically. You may have noticed that I am outspoken in my opinions. It would also be fair to say that most of them tend to be "left leaning". However, in an effort to maintain balance, I do my best to be objective in my approach to everything - even politically. In fact, as I a voter I am registered as an Independent. And, for me, that has great significance. I THINK and VOTE independently.

Still, with that said, the more I try thinking RED the more I feel BLUE.

And you may take that anyway that you like.

Guest Author Loren Korevec's epic poem "The Leaves".

TalkFrank was established as a depository for the creative output for all artists and those who aspire to be (like me). It encourages participation - participation through comment on existing entries but, also, by sharing your thoughts and creative process directly. Some of you have graced this blog with your thoughts and with your art. I always yearn for more!

Today we are pleased to share our space with Loren Korevec. A long-time friend, Loren is a master musician who, as the piano player at the legendary New York institution "Elaines", has entertained some of the greatest names in our culture. But he is so much more. A man deeply committed to his craft, his acerbic wit is second to none. I believe that these things will become very evident when you read his epic poem. We are damned proud to have him!

In the Summer of 1813 four year old Edgar Allen Poe wrote a poem depicting a maritime battle he had observed one early morning over Baltimore harbor.                                                                                                             Imagine his horror when attending an Oriole’s baseball game, he heard his poem set to a poorly crafted English drinking song.  He was further aghast to learn that his poem had been plagiarized by Francis Scott Key, a woman he’d disliked since they were in daycare together.                                                                   Thus began a darkward descent which would shade his work henceforth commencing with this early draft.  He is believed to have composed it while indentured to a cruel abusive landscaper who forced him to rake leaves endlessly each October. Thus:

                                                                            The Leaves

 

See the dewdrops on the leaves

Spring leaves

What a world of promise their rustling conceives!

How they whisper, whisper, whisper

In the balmy air of night!

While the vesper breath

Caress the boughs

With an herbaline delight.

Declaring Springtime, Springtime, Springtime

In a sort of rhyme, rhyme,

To the chlorophilabulation that so lyrically weaves

Through the leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves,

In the stirring and the purring of the leaves.

 

See the lovely wedding wreathes,

Olive wreathes!

What a world of happiness their woven ring fortells!

Through the balmy air of night

Bursting out in their delight!

From the basil greenish scent,

And an in tune.

Where the wafting pollen went

To the turtle dove that coos

While she gloats upon the moon.

Oh, from out the crowns of trees

What a gush of green.

Gold, yellow, red, euphony, equinox thieves

Begin to fall

On the future it believes

Of the rapture it believes

Of the rapture the bereaves

To the falling, falling, falling

Of the leaves, leaves, leaves,

Of the leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves

Leaves, leaves, leaves,

To the spilling and the killing of the leaves.

 

See the brightly glaring leaves

Blazing leaves!

What a tale of terror, their turbulancy shows!

In dazzle daylight glows

With silent scream afright! Too much horrified of height,

With silent scream afright!

They can only sink, sink, to the doom

 

In a bright appealing to the mercy of the fire,

In a gawdy garish groaning with the blind raging fire

Piling higher, higher, higher,

With a desparate desire,

And a resolute endeavor,

Now, now to sit or never, by the side of the pale-faced moon.

 

Oh the leaves, leaves, leaves!

What a tale their terror weaves

Of despaire!

How they drop, and crash, and roar!

What a horror they outpour

On the bosom of the palpitating earth!

Yet the senses fully know,

By the crunching,

And the choking,

How the danger ebbs and flows,

Yet the heart distinctly knows,

From the covering,

And the smothering.

How the danger grows and weaves

By the growing and the weaving in the

Anger of the leaves

Of the leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves

Leaves, leaves, leaves.

 

See the crashing of the leaves,

Mortal leaves!

What a world of solem thought their monody reveals!

In the silence of the night.

How we shiver with afright

At the melancholy menace of their tone!

For every leaf that floats

As fingers on the throats

As a blade

 And the people, ah the people

They that dwell in woods atumble

All alone

And hear tumble, and rumble, stumble

Smothering in that stifling Monet tone,

Fell a glory in so rolling,

On the human heart a stone.

They are neither man nor woman,

They are neither brute nor human,

They are ghouls and their king it is who wills

That like confetti fall that kills

And it fills, fills, fills

A curse upon the hills

With the paean of the leaves!

And he tosses and he heaves

Dropping red, red, red,

In the blinding colors wed o the paean of the leaves

Of the leaves;

Dropping gold, gold, gold

In the blinding killing frost cold,

to the dropping of the leaves,

Of the leaves, leaves, leaves,

To the wilting of the leaves;
Dropping yellows, yellows, yellows,

As he swallows, swallows, swallows,

In a silent gallows mime,

To the falling of the leaves,

Of the leaves, leaves, leaves,

To the pounding of the leaves,
Of the leaves, leaves, leaves.,

Leaves leaves, leaves

To the crashing, and the gasping of the leaves.

 

 

Today's MOZEN: The Power of the Vote 10/4/2014

Words and photo by F LoBuono

In a recent conversation, a friend expressed his frustration with his perceived inability to affect positive change in the world, at least in a broad sense. He felt that the key to success in life is to concentrate on the small, personal stuff, i.e. the things you can truly control, and not worry about things you have little chance of changing. To my surprise, this included voting. He felt the so-called power of the vote was a misnomer and that the individual vote was insignificant. He claimed that there is no REAL power in it. I adamantly disagreed. He argued that, when viewed in its totality, the voting process tends to make a single voice virtually pointless. I countered that there within lies the problem. If everyone felt that way (and, unfortunately, many do) the already pitiful voter turnout in this Country would dip even further. However, if you dig deeper into current voting patterns, he may have a point. This is evidenced most vividly, on opposite ends of the spectrum, in two very distinct and different areas: Ferguson, Missouri and Rockland/Orange Counties in rural New York.

A suburb of St. Louis, Ferguson has been very much in the national news in recent weeks. When a white police officers shot and killed unarmed black teenager Michael Brown, the city erupted in racial violence, pitting the mostly black residents against the mostly white police force. Many leaders from around the Country, both black and white, condemned the violence and slowly began to address the issues that may have caused such animosity. On the surface, the answer would appear obvious. The city's population is overwhelmingly African-American. The city's power structure, including the town council, the police, and fire departments is overwhelmingly white. However, it was not always like this. Ferguson, which had been a middle-class, white suburb as recently as the 1960's, saw it's demographics change when mostly disadvantaged blacks were forced by gentrification in St. Louis to move there.

So, if the population changed to mostly African-American, why didn't the power structure, as well? It's not really hard to find the answer. African-Americans in Ferguson simply don't vote. They haven't in the past and they still don't. In the last local election, only 12% of eligible black voters actually did. 12%. How can you accumulate ANY power if you have no base? Where is your voice? Why is this happening? You can make the case that too many African-Americans have become disenfranchised from so many years of election laws that discourage their participation in the process. And there is validity there. However, to effect change you must make the effort TO change. Sometimes, it may even take a herculean effort. But it must be made. Otherwise, it becomes a Catch-22, i.e. you spend endlessly amounts of time complaining about the fact that nothing ever changes so that no change can ever occur! You must take action, not make excuses. Even the Rev. Al Sharpton, the de facto spokesperson for African-American causes, attempted to shame Ferguson's black population to action by saying "if you do not vote your children will be ashamed of you". Think about it. If Ferguson's African-Americans could mobilize to vote with the same passion and intensity that they recently took to the streets to protest the death of that young man they could wrestle enough power back to change of their own community. Remember what Gandhi said: Be the change you would like to see in the world.

On the other end of the spectrum are the Hasidic and ultra-Orthodox Jewish communities located in Orange and Rockland Counties, New York, particularly those at New Square and Kiryas Joel. Both of those communities, along with a host of others, are populated exclusively by members of their particular Jewish sect. They are insular, if not isolated, mimicking in many ways the shtetls of Eastern Europe. That is they dress the same, pray the same, talk the same, and VOTE the same. Yes, members of these communities vote as one. And vote they do - often by the thousands. They vote in their own self interest as guided by their supreme leader. And they are effective. In fact, they are so effective with their so-called block votes, that they often usurp the voting process and overwhelm any opposition. The POWER of their vote is validated by the fact that virtually every candidate for State or National office makes an official visit to one of, if not all, of these communities. Why? So they can secure the thousands of votes they will assuredly get for that single visit (should the Grand Rebbe give his blessing).

What they do is not illegal. In fact, it may even be brilliant. They use the system, as it was designed, to effect change on their behalf. However, even though it is not illegal, many now also see it as immoral. Since these communities are so insular, they do not participate in other town activities or encourage others to participate in theirs. Often, the needs and desires of the ultra-Orthodox communities are in direct opposition with those of the rest of the town. But, using the power of the block vote, they often overwhelm any dissenting voice. By voting together, they can dominate local elections thereby eliminating any competing interests. This is particularly detrimental in local school boards. Orthodox communities do not send their children to public schools. Their children are educated in yeshivas. Therefore, when elected to local school boards, they tend to vote against any improvement in schools that they do not send their children to. This, of course, causes the local public schools to decay, sometimes, to the point of closure. The same thing happens on local town boards, as well. Candidates from the ultra-Orthodox community are elected by block vote and use their position to advance the cause of their own community, often to the detriment of the community at large. In response to these actions, many towns are now considering establishing voting districts so that each segment of the population may be properly represented. THIS is the power of the vote.

The symbol of power in ancient Rome was the Fasces. It was a bundle of reeds lashed together. The message is sublime and powerful: a single reed can easily be snapped. However, tie a bunch of the them together and it's a whole different story. From this, the US took the slogan from the Latin, E Pluribus Unum - From Many, One. When it comes to voting, we may look at it yet another way: From One, Many. Use your power. Vote. It's only wasted if you don't use it at all.

Today's MOZEN 9/27/2014

Words and Photo by F LoBuono

Late one night, at a favored watering hole, the conversation flowing as easily as the cocktails we imbibed, I asked a friend, how do you define love? Without hesitation he answered, there's a thousand facets to that stone. I nodded my head in silent agreement and ordered another drink.

Today's MOZEN: The Right Stuff 9/26/2014

Photo courtesy MLB. Words F LoBuono

Generally, when it comes to so-called hero worship, I'm not given to hyperbole. In fact, I can be quite acerbic when it comes to elevating any individual to such lofty status. That label, hero, is far too often misplaced. For example, I was very critical of the response to basketball superstar LeBron James' reception upon his return to the Cleveland Cavaliers. I was actually even critical of the ENTIRE city of Cleveland for it! So, I may be described as having the prototypical New York indifference to such matters of little importance. We simply don't have the time.

Now, with that said, I have to add my voice to the tens of millions of others who are singing the praises of Derek Jeter. It is not everyday that any individual can bring a City, a Nation, and people from around the world to their feet, much less a New York sports figure. But that's just what he did. For a brief, shinning moment, Derek Jeter embodied everything we hope that sports would be - wholesome, dramatic, and deeply emotional. A skinny kid from Kalamazoo, Michigan would, for twenty years, rule the greatest City on the planet. And on his final day in the Bronx, retiring after so many years, in his final at bat, in the bottom of the ninth of a tie game and with a man in scoring position in his final game at Yankee Stadium, he comes through with a yet another hit. YANKEES WIN! THEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE YANKEES WIN!!!! Yes, it's much better than a Hollywood script.

Some will still ask, why - he's just a baseball player? But, that would miss the point of sport and the role it plays not only in our culture, but in those around the world, as well. Like it not, sports are inseparable from everyday life - and that includes kids from the inner- city playing on a broken basketball hoop to those in rural Brazil kicking around a cloth soccer ball. Sport cannot be avoided. So, we tend to elevate our athletes to a lofty status and expect Herculean efforts from them on, and off, the field. It is often too much to ask and many fail miserably under the pressure. When you add trying to live up to this ideal in the most competitive market in the world for it's marquee franchise (as is Jeter's case), the pressure might be unbearable.

But, this is exactly what Derek Jeter did. He achieved remarkable success in his endeavors -all of them - on, and off, the field. He embodied the ideal of what we would want in not only a ballplayer, but a son, as well. And, he did it for a franchise and a City that DEMANDS excellence. Jeter did not disappoint. His statistics are excellent, if not the best of all time. Certainly, two stand out. One is individual, and a testament to the man. The other is team oriented and gets to the real root of the issue. Jeter ranks 6th on the all-time list for most hits in the game of baseball. Think about it. I asked a sports producer how many men would he estimate have played the game of major league baseball? His response was about 50,000. So, Jeter was more "successful' than 49,993 of them. Phenomenal. But, perhaps, the second is more important because it gets to the heart of Jeter's and the NY Yankees' success. With Jeter as Captain of the team, the Yankees won five World Championships in his twenty years with the club. Five. Winning was as much Jeter as it is the Yankees as it is New York.

Look, it's no mistake the NY Yankees wear pinstriped uniforms. They were designed to mimic the look of a typical NY businessman going to work. THAT is what New York is about and what the New York Yankees are about - the business of successful baseball.  They are inseparable. As is Derek Jeter. He went about his "business" with class and professional and never gave anything less than his absolute best. We all strive for that. Derek Jeter was lucky enough to apply it on the greatest stage in sport. And he did not fail. We New Yawka's like that.
Unfortunately, the Yankees, for the second year in a row, failed to make the playoffs. I think that Jeter would be the first to tell you how much that sucks. Fall is just SUPPOSED to have Jeter and the Yankees as part of it. It just doesn't feel right. But, somehow, we'll just have to find a way to live without both! In the meantime, rage on you crazy diamond. Rage on for a few more days. You've earned that. Yes, thank you god for making Derek Jeter a New York Yankee.

Today's MOZEN: Keep The Faith 9/24/2014

I was in a bit of a funk today. I'm always a bit melancholy when Summer ends and Autumn begins. Yes, Fall is a spectacular season in the Hudson Valley. The whole region is alive with breathtaking color. It features warm, dry days with plentiful sunshine, and nights that are crisp and clear (GREAT sleeping weather). Wonderful. What's not to like? But I'm always sorry to see the Summer, my favorite season, go, too. I'm fortunate to have the Sicilian genes that make Summer so manageable for me. I tease my friends that I get dark merely from looking at a photo of the sun! For me, it is also my most productive season. I love the outdoor activities most frequently associated with Summer. So, I'm ambivalent about the change: I love the fall but hate losing summer to have to get it. It was getting me down.

So, I decided to take a walk in my old neighborhood. It was a beautiful morning and I had to drop something off with a friend in the area anyway. A brisk walk can usually be quite effective in aiding me to change my mindset. However, on this day, it was not working. In fact, it had an adverse effect. Being in my old neighborhood was actually making me feel lonely. Like the summer, I found myself missing what was gone. It was pretty depressing. After stopping at my friend's, I was making my way back to my apartment when I noticed the glass door from one of the houses that I was passing was ajar and had a sign on it. I felt it unusual for the door to be open like that. I thought, perhaps, the sign would explain it. I came closer to read it. Here is what I found:

No matter what happens in life, be good to people. Being good to people is a wonderful legacy to leave behind.

This is what I mean when I tell people to keep the faith. It has nothing to do with religion. It has everything to do with the belief that if you keep an open mind and an open heart, peace will come to you, sometimes in the smallest but most effective ways. Messages of faith, hope, and love are all around and come to us, often in the strangest ways and in the oddest places.

Todays MOZEN: R E S P E C T 9/16/2014

Words and photo by F LoBuono

I have been blessed with the good fortune to have powerful women figures in my life. In fact, virtually every woman that I have ever had a relationship with has been one of strength and character. I suppose that it is a matter of simple logic. If I could not respect her, why would I be involved with her for more than a minute in the first place? And this goes across the board for me - familial and romantic. My mother, my sister, my girlfriends, my wife, all of them, are, or have been, powerful figures to me. My aunt had her Masters in education long before it was fashionable for Italian-American women to have a college degree. My sister is a successful businesswoman. All of my cousins are mothers, educated, and successful. And, Stella, the matriarch is, well, almost legendary for her strength and wisdom.

Every relationship is built on respect - mutual respect. I think that I learned this lesson most deeply from my parents. They did not have a perfect relationship. They both had strong personalities and that was bound to cause conflict. If EVERYONE is saying, "hey, be reasonable, do it MY way", tensions are going to exist. And they did. Still, with that said, there was love and, when they clicked, they made a wonderful team. In the most important ways, there was perfect harmony between them. I believe that the root of  that harmony was a tremendous amount of mutual respect they had not only for each others strengths, but for each others weakness, as well. They allowed each other to express what they did best and aided the other when they were not as capable. It was beautiful.

Despite there outward conflicts, they had a deep, abiding faith in the what is right and what is wrong. It was clear, concise, and, in a sense, non-judgmental. And it was shared - unequivocally. By this they meant certain truths are fundamental and inalienable.  One of those truths concerned violence towards women. Both so strongly believed that violence towards a woman, in any shape or form, was unacceptable. And both expressed this statement on an regular and consistent basis. My father would often take me aside, especially at times when he was most angry with my mother and say, "Frankie, women will make you mad. Really mad. They will challenge you. You will want to strike out. Don't. NEVER strike a woman. Never raise you hand to a woman. No good can ever come of it - not for her, or you." He was never more right, in every sense: women have made me angry. I have wanted to strike out. And I have done my best my whole life to live up to that standard.

However, perhaps the strongest lesson on this matter came from my mother, the one and only, Stella. Whenever I was about to leave for a date, she would call out to me:

"Frankie, remember, you have a mother and a sister."

"What the hell does THAT mean," was my snide, standard reply.

"You know EXACTLY what that means."

And I did. I still do.

Respect. R E S P E C T. Always.

In Our Memory. The Tribute Part 2

All photos property of F LoBuono