My journal, adjusted, format

I just want to see if I'm  afflicted with

a wide, wide format forever.

 

Barry

LIFE, and death..............

Aiming for a parking space beginning near approaching end of the red painted gutter I came across a horrendous accident. All morning afterwards I was shaking from sadness and apprehnsion. I was en route to the doctor's office (the surgery is tomorrow morning) and running slightly late but i HAD to whip out my cheapo Polaroid digital camera and take some snaps. The accident happened on Burton Way in Beverly Hills near Cedars Sinia Hospital, mthe office buildings of whioch I was about to walk to, one block.

First pix almost standing up; Vincent positioned his brother Mark, and is standing just out of frame, in case!

Mother and child. Leonardo I ain't, but my love the same.

This is one of two fire engines that came to our building the night of the fire. To get there cooperation I asked politely and added that BACKDRAFT the movie wass the children's fav., which is true next to CRASH. (To my critics on the subject of what children should watch, I say, 'You bring up your children and I'll bring up mine.')  The tallest of the enormous firefighters confided that BACKDRAFT was his favorite movie too!  Ha ha.

Bought at Goodwill for a song. Unsigned, but my wild hunch is that the original hangs in the National Gallery in London, and was painted in the late 1800 about the time of the introduction of electricity. The style might be French imprsssionism taken indoors at night, a la Van Gogh - who wasn't an Impressionist, ha! Ol' Vincent was a law unto himself.

I tripped the self-timer, then couldn't see if it was running and it was too bright to see the image on the back of the camera, and there was too much light to see the self-timer light, or to hear it. The baby was accidentally cut out!?  Groan. But, I thought it does show the locale, Venice Beach walkway a visit to which is worth a whole college credit in Soc. Rel (Social Relations).

-----------------   Barry

I'll Find Out As I Type

Arrived at the scene of an accident today before the fire engines, two, had left, and after the ambulances had left, while one of the vehicles involved was upside down, half on the sidewalk, and the other vehicle sat in the middle of Burton Way with its front smashed in. I might, Vincent willing, post two of the five shots I took before going in to see the doctor, I think I'll post two here so you won't think I'm making it up, ha, and of course if Vincent is available. I have two other snaps I want to post, Mark kinda standing up eating the remote, and the other 5/6th of the family taken at Venice Beach walkway. The baby accidentally got cut out. Too bright sun to see the composition; I ran back after tripping the self-timer as usual.

Lot of chat about God on the Do You Believe? message board based on Biblical quotes. Curiously enough, that almost never leads to constructive interaction. It should be possible to talk about God with no Biblical references. Yearning for closeness to God doesn't need writing of any make or size to justify our quest, IMO.

Better stop before I get on the subject of movies again, ha ha ha.....

 

Barry

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'll find out, maybe, as I type.

In America, UK friends, pro football - you know, the version of football in which you can actually throw the ball forward, ahead of you!  Madness, right? Well, it's wanting one's cake and eating it too, veddy Americaine.  (In Australia I played Rugby Union at boarding school. I was lousy, but I did tackle well, so well that against St Josephs I was allowed to play on the A-Team, once.  I tackled freight trains! Nuts, ya know, but otherwise I stank.

An American famous for being able the throw the ball forward, in his position as quarterback, Vick is about to be jailed, let go from his lucrative football contract, and otherwise despised, for fostering dog fights for money, then killing the losing dogs.

Now, I'm a bit upset about that on two grounds: I still own a pitbull, the noble dog 'Tyson', who I love but have given to the care of my friend Arturo in Mexico. (Tyson was named after boxer Tyson the bighter. He bit opponent's ears.) In addition, dogfighting has a long history in England, and my prejudice is that if it was done in Britain, it simply must be A-Okay. My dog comes from breeding Bull Dogs, with Terriers. Something like that, resulting in Bull Terriers. Or, whatever, hence Pit Bulls.

The other objection I have is that football in America has sunk so low players actually try to injure each other on the field.  'Piling on' - diving on the just-grounded player, can earn a penalty, light, but usually goes ignored, unpunished, and applauded. Dog fighting doesn't seem quite as serious to me as deliberately injuring another player.  I guess there's a limit to my love of dogs. 

I'm dreadfully afraid that there's a racist element to this persecution of Mr. Vick the promoter of dog fights. This Vick, Englishmen and women, is drop dead handsome, strong, tall and skilled. His walk sends shivers of envy through opposing white football players, hence the fury with which he is piled upon when tackled.  A White Baseball bigwig years ago was fired for blurting out to the press that Black athletes got that way, Big-strong-handsome-virile and highly talented, because slavery bred them that way. Gulp.  But, if that was true where is the shame in speaking the truth? Hybrid Vigor! The offspring of disparate parents tend to be superior in brains and brawn.  Which of course is one of oodles of reasons why I thrilled at having interracial children.  (Have you ever seen lots and lots of photos of Peruvian women? I did last night on TV, a documentary. Spanish and Indian mixing in Peru seemed to have produced beauty beyond description due perhaps to the addition of South Sea island genes, and Oriental genes. The enormous Olmec head outside in copy at the Anthropology Museum in Mexico City, is clearly Asian. I'm not saying Olmecs were in Peru. I don't know where they were/are. Peruvian women came from God. I'll leave it at that!

Have you stolen a peek at Iranian women in newsreels? I have a flash for Muslim violent men: if they really truly believe they can keep those women all for yourselves, they oughtta think again: it ain't gonna hoppen ploppers, not in the modern age, it ain't, no matter how brutally they insist women cover up head-to-toe tip, and bow to stern (Ooooooo that 'Stern') because the cameras will do them in. Truth will out. Ha ha ha a ha ha........................Remember the ghasly hideous scenes secretly photographed at a football stadium in Afghanistan showing women being shot in the head from behind for showing some ankle in the marketplace? Those women will be avenged. History will do the job. And biology, and hybrid vigor, and God's love for all his children.

Barry

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Foot Ware

"I thought that was a great family snap, you all look so dapper especialy Dad. Then I scanned down to your shoes.............. Oh Baz,what have ya got on yer feet mate? You look like the captain of your family ship, but flip flops???????
Gaz ;-)"

Dear Gaz;

The "flip flops???????" were strenuously objected to by a, my-same-age Senor, in the men's room of McDonald's. On the inside 'flop-holder' of each Flip is the word MEXICO. The color scheme of each 'shoe' is red, white, and green, the color of the Mexican National flag. My antagonist, fortunately for me, was unarmed. I should add here before I get to the real drama, that we lived for nearly five years, retired, in Guadalajara, Jalisco, and Puerto Escondido, Oaxaca. So, in short, I'm familiar with Mexican rackets, and tired long, long ago of being accosted as a 'Gringo.' The McDonald's old guy, my age, was pissed that I was "Walking" on his country, and, on top of that, with dirty feet!

Since then I keep the flippers clean: the chief benefit of the slippers for me is that I wear them to the pool, whether indoors or outdoors. The concrete surrounding most pools is rough to help one from slipping on one's keyster. I wash them in the men's room shower, along with myself.

As you know, I'm proudly old, and win swimming races in my age group. My God, I better get back to meets and pick up some more medals 'cause by rule I am now eligible to swim in the 75 - 80 age group and just might win in the Medley too, in spite of having virtually no 'Dolphin' AKA in USA as 'Butterfly' stroke.  The rule is that each year your age-group is determined by age beginning with your birthday anytime in that year. I'm 75 in September, so this year I'm in the 75-80 age group.

In age, there isn't quite enough circulation in my legs to satisfy me, so I avoid wearing shoes as much as possible. Nobody objects to my flip flops provided, apparently, nothing is written on them. Language, ya know, is "violence" to quote England's academician Jacqueline Rose. And, remember, my photo was not taken in Hyde Park(which I walked through more than once, shod, and wearing a suit looking for a soapbox to stand on and showoff my fine English shoes) but casual California, in a cemetery. The dead didn't mind.

Barry

Luv ya Sport!

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/

The Whole Gang

 

Dunno why this isn't sharper. The camera was on a tripod, and set off by the self-timer.  There was a better frame, taken with all of us standing at another location in the cemetary over the wall from where we live.  But when Vincent set it up the faces were too dark. Only during this being set up in the computer did my son lighten the faces, something he could have done on the better shot. I didn't know it was a computer option. But, he'd finally given the okay for his likeness to appear, so I didn't make him go back and lighten the better frame. There was an empty space on the right (stage left, heh) which Vincent, age 12, cut off at my request. In bright sun it sure is tough seeing what you're shooting with a cheap digital camera. For one thing, you can't trust the eye-piece at all, only the picture on the back of the camera. Not used to that at all. Oh well, it's a 'brave new world,' ain't it?!

Barry

Hoping for your indulgence.

 

 

Mark's Bath Time

Couldn't resist taking Mark's picture since he was having such a good time.  He's so good tempered I've started to wonder if the presence of his older brothers calms him, makes him laugh, and overall be more relaxed. If he were an only child his temperament might be crabby, which presently is hard to even imagine.

Barry

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/

 

 

My Operation NOT at LA's Cedars Sinai

To get operated on I must change my medical insurance back to MEDICARE from where it had lodged, unknown to me, with an insurer I thought was for prescriptions only, but which effectively cancelled my Medicare. My hernia operation was scheduled for last Friday. Got a call from Cedars Sinai hospital (Donna Reed died there; onscreen I loved her, but we never met, groan, ha ha ha; maybe Cedars did NOT care for her right!)  Cedars, private, has oodles of old ladies as volunteers unpaid, old and dizzy. One of them called me jubilant that she could announce to me that my Friday appointment had to be cancelled and that it would take me 30 days to reestablish Medicare. Rats! Now I spend most of my walking around time pushing my guts back into my stomach. Medicare can be reinstated retroactively! How I'm gonna love exploding Cedars' smug volunteer program. The over-eager volunteer shouted at me - she's deaf, not me - that my hernia repair cost "Twenty thousand dollars!" a sum my Screen Actors Guild, Blue Cross medical insurance, would not pay. Three of my children by a previous marriage were delivered via C-section at Cedars Sinai solely because the physician wanted the exrta money, not because my then wife couldn't deliver all on her own; she was healthy as a horse! but loved to be fussed over, so went for it. SAG did pay for that, all three of them. Two years ago I had a lump taken off my left lung via keyhole surgery at Cedars Sinai. Afterwards I was told the removed lump was cancerous; a biopsy done during the operation made the same discovery. Ah, but ten days later I was called in and the surgeon announced that the biopsy was incorrect and that I did not have cancer. Sentiment overcame me and I hugged the surgeon. I believe that what had happened was that on July 3rd of that year the chief of the biopsy lab went on vacation for the July 4th weekend. An underling had made a mistake. I do not know if he too was a volunteer.

All hospitals in America are in trouble. What used to be called King - Drew (That's Martin Luther King Jr) hospital and is now called King Harbor hospital has just been closed down. That is, even the ER (Emergency Room) has closed. Within days, I predict, there will be riots to rival the Watts riots of some years ago when angry mobs burned down over 800 buildings in South Los Angeles. This time I might join them. This time I WILL join them.

I don't want this to sound too much like a joke, but because of her expertise on the subject of Medical care, and its absence, we really do need Hillary as President. Universal, democratic health care is imperative. Medicine for the rich only is anathema.

This is the God's honest truth: if it hadn't been for labor unions in my life I'd have been dead long, long ago.  The Sailors Union of the Pacific kept me alive and afloat on the oceans blue, and the Screen Actors Guild and Medicare kept me alive in age. I wanna go on living, and I do, oh do I want to not have to hold my guts in much longer.

The Bob Hope Medical Center, who sent me to that surgeon, has "Promised" all will be set right this coming week. We'll see. But, I'm still gonna declare war on Cedars Sinai.  (Bob Hope is dependent somewhat on SAG.) 

In short, Cedars Sinai, like nearly all hospitals in America at the present time, needs an overhaul. I'm the guy for the job! Oh oh oh oh the hystrionics I will uncork! I've already begun. I started when I screamed, while driving, at the contrite-sounding, sweet mannered hernia surgeon on the cell phone that he oughta get a life and stop doing penny ante patch up hernia jobs for $20,000 and do something honest by which to make money. He pleaded I didn't know him well enough to make that charge. What? he'd been doing surgery in darkest Africa?! Not bloody likely.

Well, I got that off my chest. Now I have to get a tummy tuck, ha ha ha ha ha ha.....maybe I could do it myself, no?

Barry

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/

 

 

 

 

Roots, and their value

Lovely daughter Diana is back from Australia with heaps of family news, so much it will take me many months to absorb it all.

Most-impact items:

1. A photo of my grandmother, now long dead, taken when she was about 40. I'd seen a photo taken when she was in her 20's, playing games on the grass wearing an ankle length skirt, but her face was indistinct. So, I'm floored by her beauty. When I knew her, beginning at about age 6, she was cranky and sick from severe diabetes for which there must have been none of today's treatments. I do remember with gratitude however her many, many kindnesses to me.

2. A photo of a movie theater in Sydney Australia suburb Collaroy, designed by my father when I was five years old.  Not only is it still screening movies but has been officially dedicated as a monument and cannot be demolished. The poor old guy, my father, he was a drunk, and it's a shame he didn't live to enjoy the honor. I suppose my brothers, and their children, get to enjoy some of the reflected appreciation.  My father ignominiously abandoned us when our mother died. My younger brothers, then 8 and 5, went to an orphanage, and I went back to California. The wounds are still healing. Diana had guts and determination and strength to go 'home' and in a metaphoric sense shore up some of the damage. Women handle such healing chores, I believe, better than do men. In any case, it took a woman to handle this job. Brava Diana!!

3. Diana got to read some of the letters  I wrote from America to my brothers in Australia, and to see photos of Diana as a child kept by my brother's widow Beryl who made Diana's visit not only possible, but plausible. So I owe a heap of thanks to Beryl.

4. Diana has posted 167 Australia photos on a website that I have access to. The brave new world department, ha ha; Does away with having to secure and mail copies. There must now be over 300 Australia photos I have access to. 

At the risk of my phrasing it incorrectly, I'll nevertheless venture a guess that Diana will probably be able to more easily get on with her life now that she has created a way for her to view her greater family.

Thanks for listening.

Barry

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/

  

 

 

 

 

 

Addendum/Acknowledgments

THE NEXT DAY:

Gaz, Comment #1, hit the nail square - the two following Comments agree, the very clean windscreen, aka windshield in the U.S., truly is amazing given the rest of the vehicle. So, I'm making up that the clean window signifies that the owner of the vehicle very likely is clear-eyed about something important, and more than just safety on the highway. It might be in the domain of not being overly concerned with how we appear to other people, friends or foe.

By an accident extraordinary Elsa this morning just happened to read out loud, as she reclined, random entries from Thomas a Kempis, his Immitation of Christ written in either the 1300's or very early 1400's. I did a rare thing: (for me) I Googled. A whole page of references re Thomas a Kempis, and then some. I've had the book for years but never read it!?? The good cleric, I'm totally positive, would completely understand the vehicle owner's method of travel through life. Ha ha ha ha ha ha....

It's nice to get help. Thanks Gaz!  Thanks Bea! Thanks Ally!

Barry

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/

Symbol of Independence?

This is the same modified (heh) VW mini van from the other side. Note the garden growing on the left side of the front bumper, and the two-stage exhaust painted yellow. You can see the drooping American flag flown from the roof.

Tomorrow I'll add some kind of cockeyed personal interpretation of the owner's motive in driving such a vehicle. Btw, there is a nearly lifesized angel attached to the front. The coil of rope at the driver's window is for a so far unknown purpose. Rounding up dinner?

Manana.

Barry

THE NEXT DAY:

Gaz, Comment #1, hit the nail square - the two following Comments agree, the very clean windscreen, aka windshield in the U.S., truly is amazing given the rest of the vehicle. So, I'm making up that the clean window signifies that the owner of the vehicle very likely is clear-eyed about something important, and more than just safety on the highway. It might be in the domain of not being overly concerned with how we appear to other people, friends or foe.

By an accident extraordinary Elsa this morning just happened to read out loud, as she reclined, random entries from Thomas a Kempis, his Immitation of Christ written in either the 1300's or very early 1400's. I did a rare thing: (for me) I Googled. A whole page of references re Thomas a Kempis, and then some. I've had the book for years but never read it!?? The good cleric, I'm totally positive, would completely understand the vehicle owner's method of travel through life. Ha ha ha ha ha ha....

It's nice to get help. Thanks Gaz!  Thanks Bea! Thanks Ally!

Barry

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/

 

GETTING TO KNOW YOU

 

Truly, I don't want to inflict these family snaps on all of Blogsville, just a few indulgent friends who have been so helpful to me offering good cheer and the privilege of being able to have a peek into their lives.

First I must acknowledge son Vincent, age 12, for doing all the clicking to get these pix onscreen. I've had a computer since 1996 but I barely know how to operate the beast. Also, Vincent took the shot of myself and his mother. (Shhh, Elsa was adamant, "No Photos Online" but a few kind friends here were so sweet about my showing Baby Pix her heart melted. Abruptly, out of the blue, she changed her mind. Not so Vincent: he's adamant. We'll negotiate.)

Michael, the child playing ape, or sumthin', next to the TV screen is five, and, obviously, a clown. Have no idea where the clowning came from. Cartoons maybe. Not from me: I'm unfunny to a serious fault, ha ha ha.

We were married in Cebu the Philippines 11/11/92. Yes, we've been married for 15 years. One day I want to write an essay on the subject of my wife. The process of writing will probably teach me something or other important for my future, like writing a novel.

In other words, being here via blogging has turned out to be a much richer experience than I ever imagined. I appreciate more than I can say the obvious protections offered by AOL (I suppose I should specifically thank our Editor John Scalsi [sp?] for his behind the scenes leadership.)

What's available here is being 'gotten'. I suspect that everyone wants to be 'gotten.' (The absences of judgment must be the key I think, suspect, hope.)

Barry

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/

 

 

What to talk About?!?

Elaborate courtesy is probably a good long term strategy in getting along with friends Online. I find that hard to maintain, frankly. In the morning I must quickly go to the doctor again to schedule surgery on what's apparently a minor hernia. Ardently I thanked God over and over for my long life apparently going to be allowed to continue. Wisely I didn't ask for a contract in the matter. I already figured out that one can't haggle with God. She gets upset. That's not clear: I went to The Bob Hope Clinic for a diagnoses, then I was given papers to take to a surgeon at Cedars Sinai, tomorrow (which is now today).

Yesterday I bought my wife a guitar. It was on sale. Tuning it up a string broke. I was mortified. The only 'music store' I could find nearby, in Glendale, was a piano store. I've never seen so many baby grands all in one place in my life before. I asked directions to a music store. Cut to the chase, the owner put in new strings and tuned the guitar. He was "Persian" (shhhhh, Iranian) and joked with my two boys having a fit because their Mom got a guitar and they did not. I will not, and can not, buy five guitars in one day. The owner asked me what I paid for the guitar. I told the truth, peanuts. He had guitar strings on hand. Don't ask I don't know. I asked him how much: he said "Five dollars." The packet said "$2.29" but I gave him five dollars. He gave back the five dollars, and, put in the new string, and spent maybe ten minutes or more tuning the instrument. "How much?" I asked. He brushed that aside and like two rich merchants we agreed to do actual business on another day. Home we went, the boys and I, mission accomplished. Yesterday was my lucky day.

I'm intrigued by the success of an apparently fairly new AOL message board called DO YOU BELIEVE? In the last several days that one board has received, again, over 100,000 posts. Educated people, as well as religious well-educated people, post on that board. Don't know what to make of it. Reading every post is for me out of the question: some of them are long, passages from Scripture are sometimes included. Literal, thumbs up, thumbs down, voting takes place as I mentioned in my Entry about "Meeting Jesus."  

All the fiction writing message boards have failed, IMO. One reason, of many perhaps, is that writing per se is inherently a tussle. Oh of course the use of stronger words has been tried.

The other day someone expressed Online their contempt for the renaissance stage play Hamlet. It was judged "over-rated." Ha ha ha. So, I scratched my head and puzzled out what was the essential ingredient of the play that makes it so important in the history of writing. Tentatively I put forward now the opinion that the primary reason the play is so important is that for the first time a character's most private thoughts were spoken, solo, onstage. Furthermore, characters have scenes together that would take place in life, only if the characters believed they were speaking privately. The scene in which Hamlet overhears his wicked, murderous Uncle praying, helps emphasise how Shakespeare seems to glory in his new writing toy: private thoughts. Shakespeare must have loved 'stealing a march' on his theatrical competition.

How well do we do with private thoughts in our writing here and elssewhere? In letters it can be disasterous. Not everyone will forgive. Writing is hot stuff. Wear gloves. Shade it kind. Hide your private parts.

Barry

Isn't there a song, or poem, or play or novel called Private Parts!? Oh, isn't that the name of Howard Stern's movie? Pretty good movie, funny as all get out. Of course don't bring it up in good company, ha ha ha ha ha...........................zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Barry

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/