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Dec. 30th, 2005
White people are weird.
Dec. 30th, 2005 02:24 amI made the mistake of clicking on a weird looking ad link in the Mark Morford column email from sfgate.com and ended up in this pavilion of what. I spent a good half hour trying to figure out if there was anything going on there.
It is not clear that they have ever done anything.
Looking at the self-submitted biographies of their founders, staff members, employees, and "conversation hosts" reveals that they are all wealthy well-educated Bay Area white people. They take care to mention that they have been to other countries for months or even years and that they speak foreign languages, and that they ride bicycles and use solar and hybrid power. They're all well-off, cheerful, and in fine physical shape.
Anyway they're going to save the world by talking about saving the world. I think technology is involved, and there are certainly oboes and wide, beardy grins. The stages are apparently 1) noticing that history and biology have happened 2) meditating and making your own brain better and ready to evolvulate and conversatify and 3) something they're putting on the web site Real Soon Now that will be a social network.
I've got a better idea. How about all of them stop with the website and the neurocosmology and the self-improving oneness of spirit exercises and just make sandwiches, say, 20 a week, all at once, on Saturday. They all have lots of time and money, so this isn't a big deal. Then, take the sandwiches to a church in a really poor neighborhood and give them a cooler full, and say "Hey, give these sandwiches to people who don't have anything to eat, okay?"
If they want to Create a Space to be Thoughtfully Open or work on their Epic Journeys, that's cool too, but not until the 20 sandwiches are delivered. Deal?
It is not clear that they have ever done anything.
Looking at the self-submitted biographies of their founders, staff members, employees, and "conversation hosts" reveals that they are all wealthy well-educated Bay Area white people. They take care to mention that they have been to other countries for months or even years and that they speak foreign languages, and that they ride bicycles and use solar and hybrid power. They're all well-off, cheerful, and in fine physical shape.
Anyway they're going to save the world by talking about saving the world. I think technology is involved, and there are certainly oboes and wide, beardy grins. The stages are apparently 1) noticing that history and biology have happened 2) meditating and making your own brain better and ready to evolvulate and conversatify and 3) something they're putting on the web site Real Soon Now that will be a social network.
I've got a better idea. How about all of them stop with the website and the neurocosmology and the self-improving oneness of spirit exercises and just make sandwiches, say, 20 a week, all at once, on Saturday. They all have lots of time and money, so this isn't a big deal. Then, take the sandwiches to a church in a really poor neighborhood and give them a cooler full, and say "Hey, give these sandwiches to people who don't have anything to eat, okay?"
If they want to Create a Space to be Thoughtfully Open or work on their Epic Journeys, that's cool too, but not until the 20 sandwiches are delivered. Deal?
Naval Security, South of Da Nang
Dec. 30th, 2005 02:55 amTalked to Trout at length last night. He showed me some of his photos from Vietnam, including him looking 40 at age 18, various sandbags and weapons, and the view of the landscape south of Da Nang that he looked at from his guard post.
I also saw the "welcome back" letter from Reuters giving him his job in Manhattan again, in March 1969. That didn't last.
Bob saw a lot of stuff that stays, even now. Mostly kids. "Those little black-haired kids, I still see them." He told me about an orphanage he and his partner went by a lot, run by a convent. They'd bring food over for the kids every time, huge quantities of stuff from the base. The French nuns would whack them on the head for looking at the teenaged girls, and everyone was delighted at the stolen food they brought.
One time they came by and everyone was dead and dismembered. The VC had made a point, as their guerrilla manual told them to. There were a lot of points like that made, and a lot of dismembered kids. After 30 years and lately, some happy pills Bob can tell that particular story without crying now.
Later on he and his buddy were sent into the jungle, heavily armed but not uniformed, to "fuck shit up" within certain map quadrants. They were dropped by helicopter near some people who needed to be blown up, or by boat near some people who needed to find out how well our new night sniper scope worked. A lot of "heavy shit went down", as they said.
But it's the kids he still sees. When he got back to New York he didn't last too long at Reuters. He got a job working construction because he's a big strong guy who doesn't mind picking up joists all day. And he drank for 30 years, and other things. By the time he came out west in '75, Bob was in full swing as a PTSD poster boy. A lot of other "heavy shit went down" in those years.
Bob has some advice for guys coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan. "Paxil," he says, "therapy. Happy pills and talking. Don't drink, don't smoke. It's hard to really enjoy cocaine and heroin without a drink and a smoke. Mostly don't drink. I spent thirty years drinking and denying, but the kids didn't go away."
Bob's house up in the hills has roses and razor wire around it real tight.
I also saw the "welcome back" letter from Reuters giving him his job in Manhattan again, in March 1969. That didn't last. Bob saw a lot of stuff that stays, even now. Mostly kids. "Those little black-haired kids, I still see them." He told me about an orphanage he and his partner went by a lot, run by a convent. They'd bring food over for the kids every time, huge quantities of stuff from the base. The French nuns would whack them on the head for looking at the teenaged girls, and everyone was delighted at the stolen food they brought.
One time they came by and everyone was dead and dismembered. The VC had made a point, as their guerrilla manual told them to. There were a lot of points like that made, and a lot of dismembered kids. After 30 years and lately, some happy pills Bob can tell that particular story without crying now.
Later on he and his buddy were sent into the jungle, heavily armed but not uniformed, to "fuck shit up" within certain map quadrants. They were dropped by helicopter near some people who needed to be blown up, or by boat near some people who needed to find out how well our new night sniper scope worked. A lot of "heavy shit went down", as they said. But it's the kids he still sees. When he got back to New York he didn't last too long at Reuters. He got a job working construction because he's a big strong guy who doesn't mind picking up joists all day. And he drank for 30 years, and other things. By the time he came out west in '75, Bob was in full swing as a PTSD poster boy. A lot of other "heavy shit went down" in those years.
Bob has some advice for guys coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan. "Paxil," he says, "therapy. Happy pills and talking. Don't drink, don't smoke. It's hard to really enjoy cocaine and heroin without a drink and a smoke. Mostly don't drink. I spent thirty years drinking and denying, but the kids didn't go away."
Bob's house up in the hills has roses and razor wire around it real tight.
