When eating too much Isn't enough.

Food has always attracted me, but as something more than a means of sustenance. Sweet foods especially have been this way. I was raised, practically, on sugar food. I ate candy bars, donuts, pastry and pancakes.

A daily habit I had when in high school was to buy a cinnamon roll and eat it before the first class. It didn’t take long to discover by doing such eating I could sooth myself. Sweets produced a relief that felt like amelioration. I could depend on the feeling if I ate sweets. And always, the pleasure of eating sweet tasting food itself was a primary factor in the simple quest to feel better.

I was never overweight until I reached my thirties. When I got a job as a newspaper reporter, especially, I found the pressures of reporting and writing under deadline hard to handle. Everyday I’d eat big lunches at McDonald’s. I may have seemed ravenous on account of hunger, but this eating was not a response to hunger. I was eating to cope with the stress of the job. My stomach expanded into a pot belly.

What emerged with food in my life became troublesome. I didn’t want to be fat, but simultaneously, I wanted to eat without restriction. I could lose weight. I went to Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Herbal life; I always lost weight. The catch for me was I couldn’t maintain the weight loss over the long term. I began to feel discouraged and said to myself, “Well buddy, get over it, you’re just going to have to be fat.”

So for years I ate in the clutches of what I now call an eating disease. It’s an addiction like the other addictions we hear about---alcohol, drug, gambling and sex addictions. This is food addiction and it causes food binges---eating for the sake of eating.

I still struggle today with eating. But I’ve found a solution that is always there for me. It’s to associate with people like me who have the same condition. It’s a program developed by people with the condition to arrest it with the use of spiritual aids. It works to achieve long term, lasting weight loss. It’s also a trek into the self to determine and to have the root causes of the illness healed.

I’m not going to disclose the name of the program in which I’m involved. However, if you are troubled by the way you eat, I encourage you to google something like “ways to solve eating problems.” Do some browsing about the matter---this thankfully is a problem with solutions.

About the existence of Israel.

I don't agree with every policy enacted by Israel. I don't like it when Jewish settlers occupy disputed territory. It's as important for the Palestinians to have an independent state as it is for the Jews to have an independent state. Statehood for Palestinians is a crucial determinent to ending violence in that region, but it must be a state that recognizes the right of Israel to exist.

What has it meant to be Jewish throughout most of history? It has meant being hated. It has meant being vulnerable and without rights. It has meant being excluded, banished and subject to pogroms throughout the middle ages. Throughout Russia and Eastern Europe well into the modern age, being Jewish has meant being regarded as having a malignancy. The Holocaust was an eruption of anti-Jewish hatred without parallel. Despite this, Jewish people in Israel and all over the world have secured and maintain a vibrant and lively culture of intellectual pursuit and study. In their books of religious literature and practical lessons on how to live, the Jewish people have offered wisdom to all.

Since the establishment of Israel, Jews from throughout the world have had a country where they can go to escape penalty for being Jewish. That’s why I support Israel. It’s a democratic country with a free press. It’s a modern secular state. It has fought wars to defend itself, sure. It has captured Arab land. This captured land is a sticking point in peace negotiations and does contribute to violence. It is also a carrot Israel holds in its hands for peace.

Israeli leaders say they would return land in exchange for a settled peace with a Palestinian state. U.S. Secretary of State John Kerry says progress is being made in current peace negotiations.    

I frankly doubt most Arabs in the Middle East are now prepared to accept Israel’s right to exist. I've read so much venomous verbiage against Jews and Israel by prominent Arab and Muslim leaders. The roots of animosity between Arab and Jew supposedly go far back into the history of that region. According to Genesis, God gave the land of Canaan to the descendants of Abraham, i.e. the Jews. That's at the beginning of recorded history. It may be that's the pot where Jewish/Arab animosity first kindled.

But King David and King Solomon ruled a Jewish kingdom in that region. Rome centuries later made Judea a province. The Jewish claim to Israel can no more be rightfully rejected than the Palestinian claim to a state in the region.

There are instances of mutual accord between Jews and Palestinians. These instances are sometimes hampered by inequality. It is the Jews after all who have a state. “Putting oneself in the other person’s shoes” is an all too human stumbling block. Contact between Jews and Palestinians and collaborations which do occur in educational conferences or mutual business or environmental projects are bound to help alleviate tension.
   


  
   

Something about filters and perspective.

Filters in faucet heads keep water clean. Filters in people do the same in the waters of human contact, but they’re not uniform---not mass produced. Although everybody agrees we need filters for ourselves, people don’t agree on what needs filtering. Some people allow into the pool of public interaction what other people filter out---there is no one size fits all filter.

A friend recently told me my filter has big holes in it. She said I have privacies that need preservation which I’m willing to advertise on billboards. I do have an inherit dislike of hiding the forbidden and secretive. I generally want to expose, not hide. I want to talk about subjects not usually discussed. I want out in the open honesty. Still, some matters I fully intend to keep secret.

Filters have something to do with perspective. When you look at a wood finish from one perspective, the color and shade look dark---from a different perspective it can look way light. The same finish when looked at from different places appears different.

Democrats are inclined to favor the poor. That doesn’t mean they can’t run a business or feel the importance of profit. Republicans are inclined to cut and limit taxes. That does not mean they don’t give to charity. But both have different filters. The Democrat won’t agree to cut Social Security payments to balance the budget---that doesn’t get past his filter. It does get past the Republican’s filter because his perspective is fixed on cutting taxes. Perspective and filters are part of the way  ethereal flows to the substance that's unique to us.

What happens when WHAT many people filter out is dropped into the pool of consideration?  Usually discord I’d say. Contention. Disagreement. Unkind remarks. It’s too different. Too odd. It wants to have a discussion about sex---but that can't happen. Most people filter the subject out and feel everybody else should do the same. If you don’t--- you’re considered a troublemaker. Argument ensues over the admissibility of the subject. It’s “Inappropriate.” “Not fit for discussion.” [Back and forth]  “Why isn’t it?” “No censoring.”  Argument and tempers flare.

Before the Judeo-Christian world view replaced the pagan world view---sex and love were openly celebrated. Venus, the Roman goddess of love, had a public festival held every April 1st called the Venus Verticordia.

My theory is two thousand years of Western culture tempered into the minds of even modern man an unconscious bias against sex. Sex is not considered a fit topic for discussion by many, if not by most, even in a secular internet forum consisting mostly of baby-boomers.

If you introduce such a topic, you will spark a nasty argument between those who feel it's inappropriate and those who feel it's appropriate. Even though it made sense to introduce the topic and though you may believe in Freedom of Speech, doing so will stir up a hornet’s nest that accomplishes nothing but to confirm the inability of people to talk about the subject in a rational manner.

How the Computer is replacing TV

With Netflix and other streaming view sites, watching TV is more like watching Computer.

One reason? Well, at Hulu you can go back to the late 50s and early 60s to watch multiple episodes of Bonanza or Rawhide on your computer. I’ve wanted to re-watch the 1981 German sub war movie “Das Boot” for years---but not until I joined Hulu this week at $7.99 a month did I find a way to do that---same with the “I Claudius” BBC series of the late 70s.

Kevin Spacey and Robin Wright in House of Cards

I don’t have a TV and that’s no bother. It insulates me from an overload of news. Yet with Netflix and Hulu, I indulge for the sake of enjoyment, and keep up with news by selecting online articles to read that fall into areas of personal interest.

The web is replete with news and differing opinion about “binge watching.” People talk about the phenomena and the dramatic series that spin the phenomena into life. I wondered if chat forums exist geared to discuss specific shows---yes, at AMC for the “Breaking Bad” series. Comments and insight about that slam dunk compelling show would most likely interest the assiduous viewer.  At Television without Pity, before it ended, viewers could discuss a variety of series shows on Netflix including “Game of Thrones,” “Mad Men,” “How I met you’re Mother” and “Orange is the New Black.”

The word “Binge” has an unhealthy connotation---a binge ipso facto harms. It doesn't have an antidote called setting limits. I know watching “Breaking Bad” from 8 pm until 6 am will screw with my sleep pattern. But when I'm hooked on a show, I'll do it anyway.

What makes it hard to detach from a good episodic Netflix series?  The suspense! Meanwhile, the high quality of the program itself---the attention to detail magnetizes you into intent watching. You want to know what’s going to happen next but you don’t.

The "Walking Dead" series is graphic and uncannily realistic seeming…each character displays personal substance. You know how they act and enjoy watching them develop. At the end of an episode, you’re amped to watch more---the “cliffhanger” affect. The end of an episode is an end with a hook of curiosity that reels you into watching the next. All it takes is a click on the continue button.

Rico from Gate 5 in Sausalito---Part Three.

I barely could see my boat. Howling wind and driving rain churned the water into surging waves that bucked, pitched and rocked every boat in Gate 5. I was going to skull out and board my boat, but before doing that, Rico and I had talked. I had a World War 1 German Army rifle. Rico and I agreed on a signal. If I needed help, I would fire two shots to alert Rico. He said he would then come out to do a rescue.
I reached my cabin cruiser, the waves pitching my dinghy and cabin cruiser so much I had to wait until the right time; then I leaped aboard the boat and tied off my dinghy.

I felt the boat moving strangely and clambered to the deck and pulled on the anchor line until I see the rope torn in two. My weight had been enough to add sufficient strain to tear apart the rope. My cabin cruiser now with no anchor was being swept towards Tiburon in this major storm at night, and I went for my rifle.

I fired two shots into the sky. I remember my cabin cruiser passed a 30 foot steel hulled lifeboat. I was holding on to the anchor line and maybe I should have jumped. I could maybe have made it. But I hesitated and the moment passed.      
My cabin cruiser eventually lands on the beach at Tiburon. There are rocks around but none close by the boat. I stand on the beach and think I hear Rico screaming. I’m not sure. I don’t know what it is I hear except something human and agonized. I aim my rifle into the hillside and fire four or five more rounds.

The morning brings broken, grey clouds with its dawn. Everything is like steel metal and wet, the rain has stopped and I’m walking on the beach when I see Rico’s “canoe boat” on the sand. I stand at the water’s edge and watch and hear a Coast Guard helicopter hover not far above the water. So close the rotor wind frisks the water. The sound is noisy as it searches for Rico's body.

I later construct a stay for my boat because I want it even for sleeping and I might as well scrape the hull.

I want to stay on the beach for a while and be alone. One day I see a barefoot woman I know from the Heliport jogging towards me. I forget her name, but she was remarkably pretty, and she spoke only gibberish that never made sense. We were friendly anyway. I remember. She was wearing a red dress that went down to her ankles, and as she jogged towards me and my boat, her black hair bounced from side to side. And when she spoke, for a moment, she spoke words I understood.  

Rico from Gate 5 in Sausalito---Part Two.

Rico was readying to set sail for middle earth. I don’t remember what he called it, maybe Atlantis. I didn’t understand. He talked like there was a homeland at a set of coordinates under the ocean, at the center of the earth, and he was going to get there.

He said he needed a generator to take on the journey. I didn't know for what. But we went to a Marin County hill overlooking the entrance to San Francisco Bay. I saw an opening carved out of the hill that led to a large cave in the mountain. The whole structure was obviously built by the military. I don’t know if to protect San Francisco with cannon fire against Japanese ships during World War II, or to direct short range missiles during the Cold War. But inside, Rico pointed at a sizable, square steel machine with dials and switches over the face of it, and said that was his generator.

Rico claimed he was going to set sail for his destination in a Chinese Junk. I remember it was a sunny day.  Rico and I had motored from Sausalito to the water front at Bay View Hunter’s Point in San Francisco. We were walking in a parking lot and Rico pointed to a moored Chinese Junk so big its size astonished me. The hull was built of logs cut lengthwise.  It was as big as a small galleon, except Oriental. Rico said “that's the Junk” in which he was going to sail for “Atlantis.” It seemed out of nowhere, while talking, a stunningly beautiful red haired woman appeared walking towards us. Her green eyes sparkled. She plopped a black cat into Rico’s arms and walked away without saying a word.  Rico was taken aback, but then smiled and, petting the cat, said he’d finally found his familiar.

My memories about Rico have been rusting. He may have invited me to set sail with him. It seems he implied I had dark powers myself. All I knew was I wasn't going to have anything to do with magic myself.

I’m anchored out in Gate 5 water one day and see Rico rowing towards me. His boat bumps the stern of my cabin cruiser, and Rico starts talking. “Dolly left me” he says. He’s devastated. “I’m going to kill myself!” he laments. “Rico don’t talk like that,” I reply. “You don’t go killing yourself over a woman!” Somewhere in the dialogue, Rico also explains his coven has selected him to be its supreme warlock. He says rare is the man who long survives the bestowal of this position.

To be continued...

   

Rico from Gate 5 in Sausalito

Rico sported a mustache and goatee, and leaned towards the serious side. Actually he had somewhat of a menacing presence. At the least he exuded an air that warned people not to mess with him. He was little less than average height, with long hair to the neck, and had a packed, solid build. Rico was a generation older than most living in the Sausalito Houseboat Community circa 1971. He was building a wood boat when I knew him. It was a 30 foot double ended boat on stays off the swaying wood dock leading to his and Dolly’s flat bottom houseboat in Gate 5. I’d see Rico working and knew he was building a fine boat because I saw that for myself. Dolly had cascading red hair and alabaster skin. She was about 30 years younger than Rico and the love of his life.  

I lived anchored out on the water in my wood 25 foot cabin cruiser. I’d anchor out at different places at different times, maybe off the Heliport or Gate 3. Or maybe off Gate 6 or Gate 5. At any of these designations of waterfront location among the houseboat people, I’d anchor where ever I wanted. Nobody charged rent on the waterfront. I had paid $700 for the cabin cruiser with the anchor and chain thrown in for free.

I liked to move to one Gate for a time and then to another. I'd visit neighbors who anchored out, but I had friends who lived on docked houseboats to visit and a frequent need to land for food or to shower or do laundry. I’d skull my dinghy from my cabin cruiser to a dock and tie it up. Gate 3 was not as protected from the open sea as the other Gates. The Heliport, so named because it had a working heliport, along with Gates 5 and 6 generally had much calmer water. If there was a storm all bets were off and the wind and rain turned the water into a thrashing sea that amply demonstrated the power of nature. 

I anchored quite a bit off Gate 5, thus running fairly often into Rico working on his boat. I’d ask questions. Rico eventually felt he liked my company enough to invite me to his houseboat.

We probably smoked pot. We were talking, and at some point Rico claimed to be a Warlock. At that I instantly scoffed but he retorted “I could stop your heart now!" I shut up. I felt if he feels that way it might be true and I’d better just take him at his word. I didn't question his claim after that exchange. And we stayed on good terms.

Rico started to build a new boat. It was a long, slim boat that reminded me of a high end canoe. When it was painted and complete, I was impressed at how expert a craftsman Rico was. It was a splendidly built boat and Rico was justifiably proud of his work. But when he boarded it, I became aghast. The gunnels of the port and starboard sides lowered to hardly more than an inch above the water line. 

To be continued...