Guy Asked Me for Advise...

Someone wrote to me asking for advise on how to become an investigative journalist. I really don't have any, so instead I told him the story of how it happened and I hope it helps him somehow. Here it is:
Dear X: I'm not sure what to tell you here. That's because I didn't start out as an investigative reporter. I started out writing plays, poetry and finally short stories. I got a book called the Writer's Market (I think) about 30 years ago and went through the listings of journals and such to figure out who might print my stories and such. I used to send out 5 every week. They were often the same story, just photocopied and sent out. And the first year, I averaged about 1 sale for every 50 stories I sent out. And that sale was usually for either nothing or $25.
The second year I sold about 2 for every 50 stories I sent out.
Then I had a breakthrough: I was normally taking about a month to write a story. Way too long. So I made a deal with myself: I was going to write one story a day for 30 days, and that meant write it completely so that I could send it out at the end of the week with the other stories I'd written that week.
It was crazy impossible but I did it: At the end of the month I had 12 short stories, three or four opinion pieces and a 160 page novella. Amazing. And armed with that supply I was able to start getting sales about 1 out of every 10 places I sent stories to. And one of those places, a non-paying music weekly paper in the Village in New York, had an editor who called me to ask me to write him a non-fiction piece. He'd already printed four or five of my stories and wanted to try me at non-fiction. So I did. And it was okay.
About a year later, I was headed down to the Amazon for the first time and I told him I'd write a report every week on what happened that week. Which I did. I spent a lot of time on those reports.
Unfortunately, I discovered when I got home that he hadn't printed them. All of the hand-written stories were in my apartment mailbox. Seems he'd gone out of business while I was away.
But I looked at those stories and thought they were good. So I went to the Writer's Market and looked at the non-fiction category of magazines and papers. And then I started sending those stories out. And damn if High Times didn't buy one, then a magazine called Overseas Living bought one, and then Walking Magazine bought one and someone else bought one. Of the seven pieces, I think I sold 4 or 5. Better yet, I earned about $1,700, from those sales, which pretty much paid for the whole trip.
So I decided to concentrate on non-fiction--since it apparently paid so much better. And High Times asked me to do another story on the Amazon, which I did, and then another. And then finally the bosses called me into their offices one day and asked if I could do an investigative piece. I said I'd never done one but that I would try.
They said they wanted me to get an interview with Dave Foreman, the head of a group called Earth First!, a great environmental action group. The problem was that the FBI had put the key members of Earth First! on their most wanted list and so nobody knew where to find them or how to get in touch with them.
So there I was being asked to find this guy whom the FBI couldn't find. Sure.
I thought about it for maybe a week. How the hell could I find Foreman? I read anything I could about him from before he was on the list and then got this: He came from either Montana or Wyoming, or at least had lived in those places. And he looked big. So I suddenly got the idea that he probably played high school football, since most big kids in the midwest do, and I thought I might call all the schools in those states to find out if he had ever gone there. That didn't go anywhere because schools wouldn't give me the information. So I thought about it again and it hit me that maybe he liked to have a beer and watch football...
So I decided to call every bar in both states to see if I could find him. I picked Wyoming first and I don't know why. I call information--this was long before computers--and asked the telephone operator for the names and phone numbers of the first three bars listed in alphabetical order in Wyoming. I would have asked for more but three was the limit per call. So I called information again and got three more numbers, then again, and again until I had some two hundred or so drinking joints in Wyoming. Took about two weeks to collect that information.
Then I began making calls, in alphabetical order. At each I would say: Hello, this is Peter Gorman, and I'm with High Times magazine. I'm trying to reach Dave Forman of Earth First! and if you know him can I give you my number for him to call me?" Or something like that. Of course no one admitted knowing him. That went on for a couple of weeks.
And then, while I was working somewhere in the middle of my list, I got a call one day. "Hello, is this Peter Gorman?"
"Yes."
Click.
That happened again the next day. And then the next day and maybe two more times until one day when I said "Yes," the person at the other end said: "This is Dave Foreman. You want to talk with me?"
And I did and I got the interview and right then, I knew I was going to try to be an investigative journalist. All it took was coming up with a way to get information that no one had thought of. Imagine how I felt knowing that the FBI had Foreman on their most wanted list and couldn't find him and here I was in my little apartment in New York City and I got to him. Incredible feeling.
After that, I took every hard story--and tried to come up with some of my own--that I coudl get my hands on for High Times. And then other magazines started calling me, sometimes for regular stories, sometimes for investigative pieces.
So what advise can I give you on becoming an investigative journalist? None, really. Just keep your eyes open, keep trying to sell stories somewhere, anywhere, and sooner or later an editor will cal you and you go from there and see where it leads. And if you can get in with a weekly alternative paper--I'm with the Fort Worth Weekly here in Texas--there is plenty of investigative stuff to work on. How to do that? Just keep trying, even when you're only selling one story out of 50. The key is to keep sending material out. I was sending out 250 pieces a year for four or five years before enough editors knew me that I didn't have to do that anymore.
I hope that helps.
Peter G

Easter at the Gorman's

Well, it's Easter at the Gorman's. I was hot under the collar last night. Started off good: I had a meeting with someone coming on my July Jungle Jaunt and she was great and will be a great addition to the trip. Then I raced home for a radio interview about ayahuasca that was scheduled for 5 PM. Or so I thought. It turned out to be scheduled for 9 PM, which was when Chepa and the girls were due over to color eggs. Now that is a tricky one because Chepa's boyfriend comes in from out of state to have Easter with his daughters Sierra and Alexa. Nonetheless, Chep generally brings them, and Sara and Italo tag along and Marco comes in as well.
This time, it didn't work that way. With the late time of the interview, nobody came. So it was just Madeleina and I and she was the only one coloring eggs as I was making us a very late dinner. And that was just so so sad. I know Madeleina is capable of entertaining herself, but I'm afraid I've got her doing too much of that. She really ought to be around her sisters and brothers more. Unfortunately, she's attached to me and pissed off at her mom--for not making her spend more time at her house--so she doesn't want to be there too often. Actually, she loves being there but wants her mom, Chepa, to drag her over there and pay attention to her. Which doesn't happen enough.
So I thought it was sad my girl was coloring the eggs all alone. But she did a gorgeous job. Everything the girl does is art.
This morning was different. The easter bunny got here early and made up baskets for everyone, then hid the 18 eggs and then while I was out for the corned beef I'm making for dinner--okay, I know it's not lamb, but then the kids don't like lamb--everybody showed up. Now that's the way I like it: Pure mayhem looking for those 18 eggs. And 30 minutes later they were still short two. Those guys have never found all of them. Not once. And the eggs are always in the same living room. And that bunny still makes a couple of them invisible.
And now, the corned beef is on. Italo is here. little Taylor is here. Madeleina's here. Sara and Marco will come by later. Laundry is on. I'm working a cover story.
It ain't perfect over here. Hasn't been for a long, long time. But for a broken up family, we still do okay.

Well, Earth Day, Good Friday, Good Evening

Well, today was/is Good Friday. For catholics--and I was an alter boy who considered the priesthood for a couple of early teen years, until I discovered that girls had, you know....things that were nice to touch but incompatible with being a priest--it's the holiest day of the year, the day Jesus was crucified. I don't know that it really was the day, but that guy was something special, that is for sure. As were Krishna, Buddha, Mohammed and some others. So I'm all for taking a day of reflection to consider what real love, real forgiveness means. Or three, or 10.
It was also, this year, Earth Day. Another reason to reflect. What are we doing, how well are we interacting. Let's face it: By now, even those who have not dropped acid or had ayahuasca or magic 'shrooms have to see that we're not living on a planet in the middle of the universe, but that we are being permitted by the benevolent spirit of the earth to stay here. She shrugs her shoulders, we're all gone. She knocks her plates together, we're finished. Not her. She'll be fine. "Got along without you before I met you baby, I'll get along without you when you're gone," goes the old jazz number. So I think it's a good day to stop and reflect on what we each are doing here to help or hinder, to better or worse, both to the planet and to each other. And we could probably use another 10 days a year for that reflection as well.
In that spirit, I sang today. Not just rock 'n roll, but some good, deep notes that come out of the medicine I've been served over the years. I hope you all felt the resonance. They're not my songs or notes so no ego here: I was just lent them for a little while and couldn't repeat them now if you begged me. But for a minute, they were in my mouth and heart and soul and needed to come out and so I opened my mouth and out they came. And I hope the Earth, and the spirits, and all of you felt them. Not even on this level, just in your soul singing a little. And I felt songs from others as well. So thank you.
And now I'm off to cook dinner. It's simple tonight.
While it's cooking I'm gonna cut some grass in the front lawn.
And reflect.
Not on killing grass, just on giving it a haircut. Just on trimming the nails, so to speak.
Have a great night, everyone. And a great Passover or Easter or whatever else you call this time of breaking into Spring and welcoming the warm air and the start of the growing of the fruits and vegetables.

Car Trouble

Okay, so this isn't a typically bouncy post on healing or Madeleina. This is a stinky post on car trouble. Specifically, my 1994 Oceanic Green Ford Ranger pickup's car/truck trouble.
The beautiful think has 299,271 miles on it. I'm watching because I want to be there when it hits 300,000, and 400,000 and half-a-million.
Marco has been using her since his car got totaled. Sometimes he uses my 1998 Ford Ranger--dark green--but lately I've commandeered that one since it's been playing better on the highway and can hit 70 mph without a strain, while the older beauty only hits 65 on a good day or downhill run.
But in the last week or two, Marco has been charged with eliminating a 10-foot pile of cement and old wood from his mom, Chepa's back yard. So he traded trucks as the newer Ranger has a little better pulling/carrying capacity and much better tires.
So I'm back to the oceanic green and loving it. She's my pal.
But today, after driving to Walmart and Fort Worth and Two Bucks, she started to smoke on the way home. I pulled onto the shoulder of I-35, the major drug running route from Mexico into the US. No problem, as I had/have no drugs. But I also didn't have a phone, so I had to run across the interstate, jump a fence, walk a wet gully, hit a factory and beg the use of the phone to call Italo to tell him I was stranded, had groceries, and needed a wrecker to pick the truck up and take it to my mechanic, Rick's.
I also told him to have Marco pick up Madeleina from school as I wasn't going to make it.
Italo decided not to call a wrecker till he reached me, about an hour on a 90-degree day. No big deal. He arrived, we called one, they said they'd be there in an hour. They were and brought my truck to Rick's. Then Italo brought me home--me slightly upset because I'll need a new/rebuilt transmission for $1400 on a truck with 300,000 miles, but don't have a choice as I need the truck--to Chepa's, where I secured my other truck, the one Marco has been using.
Darned if I didn't find that the bed of the pickup is loaded with about 3,000 pounds of cement pieces, more than enough to wreak the truck. Damned if I don't have to go to the dump first thing tomorrow so I don't lose another transmission. Damned if I have not figured out how Marco destroyed the transmission in the older ocean green truck--with 3,000 pound loads of cement in a pickup meant to carry half a ton, plus passengers.
I decided not to rail at Marco. Instead, I took my dark green truck and drove home. It was about 6:35 PM.
There I was met with a scowling Madeleina.
"Dad! I told you I had a concert tonight at 6 PM! Why didn't you pick me up? I missed it!"
"Honey, I'm sorry. I was stuck out on a highway waiting for a tow-truck. Why didn't mom take you?"
"Dad, mom went out Saturday to Jessica's, then went out Sunday to Monica's and she hasn't been home since."
"Why didn't Marco take you?"
"You were supposed to take me...."
"I know, darling, but I was sitting on a highway at 3:45, on the way to picking you up at 4."
"I doubt that..."
"Ask Italo. He came and saved me."
"Well, I missed the concert. Thanks a lot."
"I'm sorry. What else can I say. I was 20 miles from here on an interstate."
"But I had faith you would make it here..."
I smiled.
"Thank you baby. But in the future, if I'm with a broken truck 20 miles away and you have an hour to get somewhere, ask your brother to take you if mom's not home. Even if I could have walked home I had no way to get you back to school. And I was not going to abandon a truck and groceries on a highway..."
"The older I get," she said, "the more I realize you're a long way from superman..."
I didn't say anything. I know I'm not superman. I'm just dad. And when she was little, it seemed I could do anything, get her anything, fix anything. Now that she's becoming a woman/a person, she sees the limitations. I've always known they were there but for her to see them is a letdown.
I'm sorry baby. Your daddy is just another person. I'm working in your corner, but even my best isn't always good enough. Welcome to the world, little girl. I'm sorry you have to be here. Cause it's a much nicer place when you think there is someone who can, in a pinch, fix it all.

The Amazing Hypocracy of the Far Right

Okay, now that I got my personal feelings about abortion out in my previous blog (see: The Abortion Issue), I want to just take a look at that issue again for a moment. But this time not from a personal point of view. This time not from the heart of someone who has contributed to abortions. This time from a simpleton's view of the spoken word.
In these hours leading up to a possible federal government (temporary) shutdown over the budget--it's 6:07 PM Central Time as I write this--I'm thinking about several of the riders the far right wing of the republican party tagged onto the budget. There was, of course, several abortion items: No more federal funding for Planned Parenthood, no funds to any country that might use some of those funds to fund abortions; and particularly no more money to or involvement with the United Nations Population Fund, which supports family services.
Those are three of the vitally important riders that the far right wing of the republican party cannot live without and which must be attached to the budget in order for them to vote to keep the government open for business.
Okay, so those people, those congressmen--and their counterpoints n the senate--need those changes because of the value of the fetus. Save the fetus at all costs. Don't give a government anti-malarial pills (which I don't like either) or help with fresh water in a cholera-plagued country if ANY funds given to that country might pay for abortion. Not if the cholera funds are being misdirected, mind you, just if ANY funds given to a country might result in abortions, then NO FUNDING for that country, even if it happened to be in the middle of a nuclear meltdown or a cholera outbreak.
But here is simpleton me. I'm just a kid from Queens, New York who went to catholic school, was taught all sorts of nonsense about the church and christianity--along with the very very good stuff about taking care of your neighbor and treating others like you would like to be treated, or better--and now looks at these riders to the budget and shakes my head. Maybe I'm missing something. Tell me if I am. But the riders don't end with abortion. They go on to insist that the budget won't be passed unless the EPA, the Environmental Protection Agency, the agency created to monitor and help protect our environment, is no longer permitted to regulate how many tons of greenhouse gasses a factory is permitted to emit. Let's face it: We're talking about the Midlothian, Texas cement factories burning tires to generate electricity and poisoning whole communities. That's what not regulating by the EPA finally means, I think.
And then the far right wing of the republican party is saying in another rider that they won't pass the budget if any funding goes toward health care reform.
And then the far right wing of the republican party says they will not pass the budget unless there is a commitment that no monies will be spent on the new consumer protection bureau.
So simpleton me, the kid from Queens, who used to play in Dupey's field before it was developed and was an alter boy at St. Mels o 154th street, starts thinking: And when I do I'm thinking: Wait a minute! You don't want abortions. Okay. I disagree but okay, you're entitled to your opinion.
But after you want to force women to have babies they don't want, you want unlimited smog, no health care reform and no consumer protection from preying credit cards, banks and other lending agencies.
So I'm thinking, let me get this straight: the far right contingent of the republican party is insisting that a fetus be carried to term to become a human, and then they want that human sick from unregulated greenhouse gasses, with no health care, and in debt to uncontrolled credit agencies?
Do you see what I'm seeing?
I'm not seeing the logic here.
But then maybe I'm missing something.
When I grew up in Whitestone, Queens in the 1950s and 60s, the mafia was all around us. Maybe half-a-dozen players lived right on our little block. Dozens lived within a few blocks. But they way they worked was this: If you needed money and went for a loan, they warned you against it. They said they were bad men who would hurt you if you couldn't pay it back. They tried to convince you not to take the loan. Same with everything they did: They always tried to talk you out of illegally gambling, looking for girls, drugs and so forth. Finally, if you screamed enough, they'd provide the vice you wanted.
Those were good bad guys. They were upfront about the deal.
These people who want to say it's a sin or wrong, or insane to have an abortion and insist that women who conceive by accident then carry the fetus to term as a human baby, are the same people asking for unregulated atmospheric gasses, no funding for good health care and no control of the predatory lenders when they reach out for help.
Tell you what: My mafia was always cleaner than that. Much much more upfront than that.

The Abortion Issue

This is a very personal blog that I put up on the huffington post today. It probably won't be approved until tomorrow. But I thought it needed to be said and so I've said it there and will say it here. For those who don't want to hear about the abortion issue on a personal level, just skip this one.

It's Friday, April 8. A government shutdown looms tonight if a budget can't be hammered out in the next 15 hours. At issue isn't budget cuts anymore it seems; at issue is abortion, primarily, and greenhouse gas regulation. The New York Times ran a wonderful editorial this morning pointing that out. The far right wing of the Republican party is demanding that to pass the budget it will have to include riders promising that Planned Parenthood will receive no federal financing, that the U.S. will not provide any aid to countries that might use some of those monies for abortions, and that the U.S. not provide any support for the United Nations Population Fund, which supports family planning services. Also, there is a rider that prohibits the EPA from regulating greenhouse gasses and another that prohibits any funding to health care reform. Oh, and then one more, according to the NY Times, that no monies be spent funding the new consumer protection bureau.
I've a mind to go off on each of these assaults on humanity, but I'll restrict myself to the abortion issue because that one is one I've been personally involved with. On numerous occasions.
When I was young, I lived with a beautiful woman. We lived together for a long time, about 10 years. During that time she got pregnant several times. Not because we were careless or didn't care about her body: she got pregnant on the pill, with condoms that broke, while using the diaphragm. We were a couple of Irish kids from large families and were both born to make a lot of babies. We were just built for it.
The problem was that we were not ready to raise them. At least I was not ready for a family. And if I had chosen, or if we had chosen, to let those spirits take on flesh, I would not have been a good father. I would have been a resentful father. I would have seen those spirits in flesh as humans and thought they held me back. So rather than make them suffer, she had abortions. Was it selfish? Yes. Should we simply have abstained from sex? Possibly. But try telling that to people in love at 20-25-30. Should I have simply been more mature and decided that my dreams, and her dreams too, were unimportant and should be sacrificed to the spirit we'd invited to her womb? Maybe, but I wasn't mature enough then, so that wasn't an option. Should I, we, have just had a bunch of babies and lived with it the way you live with a hand of cards you're dealt? No. That would not have been in those babies interest. I would have minimally been passively-aggressive, toward the woman I loved and toward the babies she bore.
In the end, after about 15 years together altogether, we broke up. She found a new man and had a beautiful family. Seven years after we broke up I fell in love, married, inherited--gleefully--two children from a previous marriage, and then my wife and I made our own beautiful baby.
Fatherhood didn't come easily: They boys were a handful and I found that I not only had a stern "dad voice" but that I used it more often than I should have. But I caught myself and tried to corral that. And I've been, I think, a good father, a good dad.
The reason was maturity. I just grew up a little by the time I was 42 and becoming a father.
Back to the abortions: We took them seriously. We knew we'd inadvertently invited a spirit who wanted to experience tactile sensations--have a body that could feel, taste, touch, hear, talk, make love, get ill, play sports--into the initial steps of having that body. It's a nine month transition and we stopped that transition from spirit to flesh with each abortion. And we cried over it, mourned some, and prayed that that spirit, those spirits, would find another home in which to grow a body, a home that would welcome them and be open to all that was entailed.
And when my own daughter was born, when the doctor had me pull her free and she opened her eyes while halfway out and in my hand and looked up at me and said "hep, hep"--which I swear sounded like "help, help"--I looked down at her and told her that it was too late. She couldn't go back in; she'd made her choice to go from spirit to flesh and that as long as she was here I would do all I could to make a place for her that was warm and full of love.
And I have. And my now-ex has as well.
If I, if the first woman I lived with and I had allowed those other spirits to take on a body, the reception would not have been as welcoming. And so while I wish I hadn't mistakenly invited those spirits into that beautiful woman's womb, setting them free to find a warmer reception was, in my opinion, the best thing to do for them.
Selfish? I'm sure. It was still the right thing to do. Giving spirit flesh is a wonderful job, but one best done with the right partner at the right time, I think.

Getting Old, Unhappy Camper

Okay, so I'm getting a little older. I turned 60 in February--don't worry if you missed it, I'm still taking gifts--and feel about 34. I'm strong as an ox, won't flinch from a fight--though I was never very good at winning them--and still have a heart/mind/soul of a kid.
Nonetheless, in the last few years, I have suffered some physical setbacks. Mostly, I had that damned intestinal ulcer that I had no idea I had until it burst and sent 3 liters of really awful junk into my innards, buring my organs. My doc saved me, but then I had to have it sewn up again, and then a third time. Not good. Then there was the flesh eating spider bite that left holes all over my legs and arms. Then there was the septic infection that ate the flesh from my calves and ankles. Then there was the broken ankle that I was sure would repair itself without interference--which it did after two years of pain with every step I took. Plus, it took San Pedro to actually do the fixing, but I only got that by walking up to near 9,500 feet at Machu Picchu, from a base of 7,500, with each step a very very painful move.
Then this year the damned flesh eating infection came back--not so strong, just in about 16-20 places on my legs--and I decided to treat it by ignoring it. I suspect it came back from the original spider bite and that it was time to just beat it on personal power. HA!
Okay, plus, I got the damned dengue in Iquitos.
Which leads me to this: While I've always been a 120/80 guy with blood pressure, when I was tested with dengue and the infection in my legs, I was suddenly a 170/105 guy.
My doc, someone who is a genuine emergency room doc and who has been on two trips with me, suggested that the infection and dengue caused the increased pressure.
Now he's not sure.
Cause I've been back in the states for six weeks, dengue long gone, and the infection nearly dormant--except for two sores that really hurt a lot!!!!!!
And I took blood pressure twice a day for two weeks, same time, same bp machine. And I was about 160/105 the first time each day, then 151/100 the second time, half an hour later and 1/2 mile walked between readings.
So doc sent me bp medicine. He knows I feel strong and don't want no damned medicine.
And then last week, my second reading for the last three days dipped to 96, 93, 91. So I told doc that I didn't want his medicine, that I wanted another week to see if having lost about 13 pounds--an estimate--in the last few months, and having added riding my bike--with a stationary machine--plus walking an extra couple of miles of fast walking daily might not bring it down into the 80s on the dyastolic.
Well, yesterday and today were both at 178/110 and second readings were about 161/104 and doc said it didn't matter how I felt, that those are bad numbers. Bad numbers.
So I at a damned pill.
We'll see what happens.
I am not a happy camper. I don't take pills unless they are for fun. Or basic ibuprofin.
And now I'm old and fat and bald and taking blood pressure medicine.
I'm on the way out.
I'm a goner.
\ I'm useless.
HA! I am going to be walking the Amazon in 10 years!
If I were you, I'd bet on me.
Even if it's a Peter G who is taking freaking blood pressure medicine.
UGH!

Fast Birthday Dinner

Okay, so I left at 2 PM after a good interview with Erik Davis about ayahuasca on the radio and an apology to my boss that I was gonna miss this week's meeting, and then out the door. I had six errands to run and had to get back by 4:45 to pick Madeleina up from school. I hit the post office and sent Chepa and her babies, Sierra and Alexa, a stash of fariña, roasted, fine ground yucca, without which the babies scream all day. Then on to Office Depot to send a fax; a contract for a couple of grand that I really need. Then onto HEB to buy some veggies that Walmart has not had recently. Then on to Walmart to get my blood pressure taken--I've been averaging about 165/105 for the last month and that's not nice, particularly since I've always been a 120/80 guy until I got Dengue Fever a couple of months ago. So I ain't happy and I've been losing weight: about 12 pounds so far and another 20-25 to go to get to 170. I haven't looked at a scale in four years but today I walked around with my shirt tucked in, so I know I've lost some, at least.
From Walmart it was gas/cigarettes and then on to Two Bucks, a liquor store for my two mini Wild Turkeys and two mini Jim Beams, my alcohol for the day, and the it was a race to get Madeleina from school without being too late.
I was late. I ran into a 6-minute train: 120 cars of petroleum that took 5 seconds each to pass. Six minutes. So I was late.
Home, I went to the phone messages and one of them was Italo saying his girl, my daughter in law, had a birthday today. Heck, I didn't know that. Moreover, he said they and a couple of friends were coming for dinner.
I still don't have a good present for Sarah, my daughter-in-law and the mom of my granddaughter Taylor Rain, but I did make a good dinner.
First: I cooked two ears of corn, then cut the kernels off them and broke them up. I put them in a mix with diced red pepper, thinly slices red onion and cucumber. With vinager, white, plus a bit of olive oil with garlic, black pepper and sea salt.
Then I marinated sliced chicken breast in garlic-infused oilve oil, white vinegar, onions, ginger, a bit of teriyaki; to go with similarly drenched asparagus, cauliflower/ and broccoli. Add to that nice sweet barbeque beans, basmati rice with garlic, roasted pork with homemade barbeque sauce and a little roast beef short ribs.....
That was a cool meal to come up with in less than an hour, just with what was in the house.
Now we're gonna serve a german chocolate cake we made while peoploe were having dinner.
Next time please tell me it's you're birthday, so I don't have to sweat about the menu....

I'm Just Saying it Ain't Right, Okay?

So my son Marco brings me something called a Surcharge Notification a few weeks ago. That's something dreamt up here in Texas--and it may exist elsewhere as well--whereby if you accumulate three moving violations in your car over a three year period, you not only pay for the tickets, but you pay a nifty little $150 or so on top of it for having had those three speeding tickets.
Well, okay, I didn't pay it much attention because last year Marco got the same thing and I paid it in exchange for him doing some work around the house.
Yesterday, in an effort to avoid looming deadlines--I like to call it ruminating about the story I have to get out--I was going through the "need to take a look at someday" pile of mail on my desk and there it was. I figured it was a duplicate of last year's notification, so I dug out the previously paid notification and called the outfit that sent it to tell them it had already been paid.
That outfit, Municipal Service Bureau, isn't actually a local government agency but an outsourced private company hired to collect bills for the city. Calling them was easy: I waited through the push-button automated options to get to the option where I could talk with someone to explain that the bill had been paid and that I'd begrudgingly send them the paid receipts if they needed them.
Getting through to a live person took some patience: I got on the phone at 11:45 and didn't get a person till 1:15. That was a lot of patience, but as the company has no address, it wasn't like I could go somewhere (their PO Box is Austin, about 3 hours south of here) in person. I mean, you can't just wait by a PO Box and talk with the person who picks up the mail. I guess you could follow that person back to wherever they bring the mail and try to talk to someone there, but that might get you arrested for stalking. So I waited and finally got to talk with someone.
In the meantime, I'd gotten Marco's full driving record: he had two speeding tickets in 2007, one in 2009 and nothing before or after that. The two in 2007 were in the same neighborhood and three days apart: I think they happened as he and his first real girlfriend were breaking up. In any event, he had nothing since then.
"This is Melissa at MSB. How can I help you?"
"Hello. Finally. Thanks. I have a small problem here."
I explained the notice and that I'd already paid the surcharge. She listened patiently.
"What you might not know is that you pay the surcharge every year all over again for three years," she said.
"What?"
"Let's say you have three tickets this year. You pay the surcharge next year. But the two following years you would still have six points on your license so you pay the surcharge again. Even though you already paid it. It encourages good driving."
"Three years?"
"That's right. Anything else?"
"Well," I said, looking at Marco's driving record. "Two of those tickets came in May, 2007. If they peel off after three years then he's only got the 2009 ticket."
"That's impossible. Unless he didn't pay the tickets until 2008. When did he pay the tickets?"
To my dismay, he paid both of them in 2008, months after he'd gotten them.
"Yeah, well you see, in that case the tickets counted for 2007 AND for 2008, because the conviction happened the time he paid them. And that's in the 2008, 2009 and 2010 cycle of three years. Anything else I can help you with? Oh, and by the way, the surcharge was due no later than March 24, so if it's not paid by April 7 his license is automatically suspended and driving with a suspended license is not only a $250 fine, it's also two points towards next years's surcharge. And he's already got two points from the 2009 speeding ticket. Have a nice day."
Dang! I'm just saying it ain't right, okay? Only in Texas, where the people rail against big government while their pockets are being picked.

Ah, Madeleina Again

It's Sunday morning, threatening to rain here in bucolic Joshua, TX. Hasn't rained in about a month. Chepa took her babies, Sierra and Alexa, up to Indiana about a week ago to visit their dad, so Madeleina's been with me non-stop. Actually, she's been with me most of the time since I've been back from Peru. Which is fine by me. But I know she misses her mom when she's out of town. You can't quantify that type of abandonment--but I know she feels it. And not that she wants to go to Indiana, particularly, but I see it in her eyes and the occasional flash of anger that she feels it when her mom leaves with her other babies, leaving Madeleina feeling left alone.
So I try to make the best of it. I drag her around with me, generally against her will for the first few minutes till she gets in the groove and starts having a good time. Yesterday I gave a short talk for the Fort Worth Chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists as part of a panel on natural gas drilling. The title sounds cool, right? And when I was introduced as someone who'd won multiple state and regional awards, and even a couple of national awards for my writing on the subject, well, I beamed but I thought Madeleina was going to explode!
It was a small group and I was very short and sweet: most anything I might have said could have been construed as political and that might compromise my ability to work as an objective reporter on the subject. So I opened the program, spoke ten minutes and left the stage.
Madeleina wasn't thrilled about coming--especially about waking up at 7 AM on a Saturday morning to go hear me talk--but wound up having a gas, in part because they had fantastic breakfast snacks, like mini-lemon cakes and mini-cinnamon rolls. And she got to stroll around the TCU campus where the event was held.
I paid her back by taking her to a fantastic glass/art gallery she'd never been to before after we left, and she was just wild about the art works. I mean, she was wild: "Dad! Look at these flowers! Look at this vase! I looks like it's a moving waterfall!!!! I want to be an artist dad, forget everything else, okay? An artist who has an appreciation for all things glass!!!!!"
We followed that up with a trip to Ms. Molly's, the best toy store in Fort Worth, for our money. Though she's been there 20 times she never fails to fall in love with it all over again. Her only disappointment being that she's too big a girl now to have all the toys that set her heart on fire. I did manage to get her a sort of mesuda hair thing that lights up--which I'm gonna guess is going to wind up on a youtube madeleinag video before long.
By the time we got home she was bushed and went to sleep. I spent a couple of afternoon hours working on a story due tomorrow, Monday, then headed out to the store to run errands. Before heading out I picked up the mail: there was a fresh box of fantastic jungle soaps--and generally fantastic bath soaps--made with plant essenses by my friend Boa Cowee, who, if she would ever set up a website could make a fortune with her beautiful soaps.
That one was addressed to Madeleina and I.
Then there was another piece of mail, this one addressed to the "Parents of Lydia Gorman". Lydia is Madeleina's first name, but in Peru you don't use the first name, hence Madeleina. It was from the Fort Worth High School of Performing Arts. It was either gonna be an acceptance or rejection letter. Dammit. I wasn't happy with getting it.
On the other hand, it didn't have a negative vibe, so I opened it.
It said that Madeleina had passed the audition to make the school with her flute, but that the few flute slots for freshmen were taken by kids who'd done better than she, so she was on the waiting list.
Good, I thought. She'd done well. This is a pretty high powered place in a town, Fort Worth, where they take their bands very seriously. And Madeleina had done well enough to make the school cut. Just not well enough for the three or four slots they had for flute. But this being Texas, well, people move around all the time, so I won't be surprised if something opens up and she gets to attend the school next year.
But I knew Madeleina was not going to take it that way, and when I got home she didn't disappoint.
"I didn't make it, dad! I'm a loser! I'm nothing! Why did I even try out?"
"Ah, darling. First, stop the theatrics. You're a winner, not a whiner, okay? So have your angst and then get on to the winner part."
"You don't know anything, dad....."
"Okay."
Pause.
"Done yet? Good. Now reread the letter and read what it says..."
"I can't. I already threw it away."
"Well, then I'll tell you what it said. It said you made the school but that some other kids were better than you. So you're on the waiting list. What's the problem with that? You made the cut. They just don't have enough seats."
"But I'll be a loser going to Joshua High School...."
"Enough, Madeleina. You never thought you were the best flute player. You know you're not. You don't practice enough for that, and that's not the school's problem, that's your choice. So if other kids practice an hour a day, and maybe have a private teacher as well, and you practice 30 minutes a day, who the heck do you think is going to be a better player?"
"That's not fair. I mean, they should just see what a wonderful addition to the school I would be...."
"Right, and then what should they do? Kick out a better flute player to make room for you because you are simply the coolest girl?"
"Exactly! That is exactly what they should do!"
"So much for worthiness..."
She eventually saw things my way, or at least pretended to, and then I distracted her with a cool meal, the likes of which we have never had around here. My friend Gritter, the emergency room doc, sent up about six pounds of the best slightly sharp venison sausage in the world. So I sliced a few ounce of that that thinly, bought some sharp cheddar, a little hummus, good crackers, stuffed grape leaves, good black olives and some sweet pickles. I made us each a tray with that selection, then added a few fresh strawberries, cantaloupe and watermelon.
I had mine with a Cabernet; she had hers with fresh sweet lime juice. She spoke with an alternating British and French accent throughout the meal. "My, the Gerkins make a lovely complement to the venison, don't they dear dad? And ze ftuits, zey are such fierrrce competition for ze cheddar, no?
We both probably gained 10 pounds.
It was worth it.
A nice day all around.

Death of a Friend

About a week ago I got a letter, via email, from the wife of my friend Daniel Blumenau. She said that he'd died a couple of days earlier. I was stunned. I exploded in tears, anger, sorrow. Dan Blumenau was the older brother of my college pal, Phil, with whom I shared a cold water flat in New York from 1970-1976 or so. Phil helped teach me how to behave as a man. When we hitchhiked across country the first time he showed me how and when you needed to wield a machete to ward off serious problems. He taught me how to understand when a girl wanted to make love and how to accept that. I think I taught him some things as well.
Phil's older brother Daniel was something of a rapscallion. And a Cassanova. When he was young he could meet a girl entering an elevator and by the time they reached the 5th floor she was begging him to make love with her. Wasn't my style, but I was always envious.
And Dan was an artist. He took making montages to a high level: Among his well known works was the inside jacket, double fold, of Stevie Wonder's Taurus album, and Jimi Hendrix's Electric Ladyland bathroom montage, for a while the most well known montage in the world. And it was Phil and I who did a lot of the work putting that up, under Daniel's direction.
I worked a lot with Daniel in the old days, when I was in college and shortly afterward. We worked on the Arthur Schlesinger house on, I think, east 64th street in NYC. We worked on the Kennedy house, yes, those Kennedys, across the street from Arthur S. We worked on the Oscar De La Renta house down the street. We worked for Island Records president Chris Black when he opened his offices in the Carnegie Building on, I think, 57th street. And then we rebuilt Island Records' townhouse on Grove Street in the village.
Daniel always had something going. Always was one step ahead of whomever wanted to blame him for Thai sticks showing up in New York and one step ahead of the other artists who would have killed themselves to get the building/art jobs Daniel got.
I've only been in touch with him sporatically the last 15-20 years. Maybe once every two/three years he'd call or email or I'd call or email to tell him I saw him on some documentary or that I was interviewed about the Electric Ladyland bathroom mural.
But he wrote me in November or December that his wife was ill with cancer and wondered if I had any medicines from the jungle that could be used as adjunct alternative therapies. I had a trip coming up and so said yes, I'd bring him some medicine for his wife when I returned from Peru in February.
I did. US Customs confiscated one of the plants; the other got through. I called him; we spoke. I gave him directions and sent the medicine out to him.
He was happy and on the phone he still sounded 32 to my 22 years old. Voices don't change as much as the color of our hair or the size of our pants.
And then two weeks later his wife called and said she felt great from the medicine but that Daniel had died of a heart attack two days earlier.
I am still crying. He was one of the very small group of good guys. Not perfect, but he treated the people who worked for him with respect and love and that is a small group indeed.
Despite not spending time with him for a long time he was still my friend and I always thought one day we'd do another building job together--and with Phil, of course, who has since gone on to be a brilliant physicist. And now we're not gonna get that chance.
Daniel: Have a wonderful trip to the next place/space. Smoke a joint of thai stick and smile and make some art that makes other people smile. That's why you were put here: To make people love the wonder of being alive. And I think you did your work well and earned your stripes and bars and now you go, brother, and show the universe what you can do. The universe will be surprised and will love you. Have a great trip, DB.
P

Just Something Short on a Detail of Healing

A friend of mine, someone who was with me in the jungle a few years ago and subsequently went on a big hike to the Matses villages on the Galvez with some of my team, wrote to say her dreams are often prescient and very very vivid since she drank ayahuasca. She also told of having dreams where she was able to "suck" illness out of people, but that when she did she didn't know what to do with the ick she removed so she just tossed it into a nearby river in her dream. She wanted to know if that was okay and also whether dreams that later happened was a normal thing to experience after having had the jungle medicine ayahuasca.
This is what I told her. And I think the second part is important. I've written it here before, and noted in my book that the late Bertha Grove, a wonderful Southern Ute medicine woman, was the first to tell me that illnesses have a life of their own, with their own desire to live. And just pulling them out of someone doesn't mean they're going to die. They're going to keep looking for a new host--in which they might appear as a different illness than they did in the person from whom they were removed. She basically saw the illness in a person as a negative energy that had taken form to stay alive in a host. Anyway, here's the short note to my friend:

Well, I think that once you open that door, it never shuts, so no, I'm not surprised if your dreams are vivid and sometimes let you glimpse what's going to happen: After all, it's us that sees time as linear. But it may not be linear at all.
Now if you're given a gift of being able to suck out bad things, it is important that you know the bad things have a life of their own and don't want to die, so they will try to go into you, a new host, or to be dropped somewhere where they can wait for new host to come buy and affix themselves to that new host.
So, you have to not let them get in you: Just suck them out into your mouth and keep your throat closed when they're coming out. If they do get into you throw them up, then catch them on the way out.
Once you have them, either by spitting them into your hand from your mouth, or by throwing them up into your hand if you have accidently swallowed them, you must dispose of them in a way that will prevent them from finding a new host. You can send them to a place where no other life forms are. You can wrap them in light that will prevent them from ever escaping. You can put them somewhere where they will be transformed from negative to positive energy.
But don't be tossing them in the river girl, where they're gonna get in/on some poor fish and wreak no havoc, okay?
Peter G

Why I Do Aya in the Jungle and not in a Camp

Someone wrote me asking about my upcoming June and July trips to the jungle. She expressed interest and noted that she had been at a very very well considered place to do ayahuasca twice before. I think it was twice, anyway. And I wrote her back and then mused for a minute on why I keep insisting on going through all the trouble to take people out to the deep green when it would be so much easier and so much less expensive to just build a place on one of the properties I have just outside of Iquitos and take people there.
Well, I know why. Because I love the jungle, that's why. And even though my places are in deep jungle, it's not the same as getting on a river boat and moving up the Amazon River 212 kilometers and doing everything else we do. But there is more to it and so this is the short note I wrote to the potential client on why I do things my way, instead of another way.

L: Just a note on why I do things my way: I was always taught that ayahuasca was a part of the jungle life--not apart from the jungle life. So I like people to get out on the river and live with the people who live on the river. I like neighbors asking if they can be part of the ceremony if they need healing. I like the occasional sound of a child laughing during ceremony. With Julio there were always neighbors and kids around: They just added light to things. The same with Airport Juan and Francisco before Sachamama became formalized. And forget Don Solon!!!! He had no door on his room and neighbors walking up and down the hall all night! Still, just part of things.
Anyway, I was thinking about that and since you just wrote, I thought I'd let you know.
Peter G

Taxes, Madeleina, The Catholic Mass

Whoa! Those are three pretty heavy things in a title, don't ya think??? You betcha (apologies to Sarah P for appropriating the phrase!!!)
But they're all in action today. The back taxes, well, I got to pay them and today I sent off $700 to start. Ick. Miserable, I am. Hate it, I do. Still, I now owe only $4450, and that's better than $5150. And I also filed the new taxes for 2010 and they ought to bring back some money. Chepa gets most of it because she needs most of it, but I ought to get a couple of grand and that will be nice.
So darn it, I looked at it every which way, but even the CPA I hired couldn't find a way for me to not owe the taxes. The issue is that we, Chepa and I, get child tax credit, and you can't get that if you have more than $3100 in a given year in royalties from things like a gas well. In my case, I had more than that because my mortgage company took nearly two years to release the money to me but the IRS doesn't split hairs. I had a check for over $3100 in 2009 so I owe the child tax credit back to them. Which is nearly $5 g's and a bit over that with penalties and interest.
I've given up being angry at the system and only hope they spend the money on care for the vets who are coming home from one, two, three, five tours of the middle East and need good psychiatric and physical help. If they spend it on those guys and gals, well, then I don't mind putting it into the pot. And I'm hoping they do.
Now Madeleina, well, she's getting grown up. She asks things that surprise me. She asks about how to raise children and how to apply eye makeup and how--even though she doesn't like boys yet--she should respond to a boy trying to kiss her. Not to slap him but how to kiss back. WAIT!!!! This is my little baby! What's going on here?????? And she asks about books and why people like caviar if that's just the same as eating 50 fish embryos per spoonful. And she asks about why some singers get famous while others, more worthy, get left on the scrap heap. She's asking about everything. And she's angry. She's angry at her mom for not being a regular mom and she's angry at me for still catering to Chepa instead of cutting her off completely. And she's angry at her brothers for living at mom's and not here at our house anymore.
She's a handful and all I know to give her is time, attention and love. And I probably fail miserably at those.
But look for a new Youtube.com video under the name madeleinag tomorrow. I have a feeling she's planning something awesome for St. Pats. Us being Irish--or me being Irish and her being half-Irish and all that. I think it's gonna be good cause I saw her collecting her green stuff for it. I'm not sure she has it all planned out yet but given her mood--which includes us dancing together wildly to Billy Idol's White Wedding at full volume today in Marco's room, after which she said she hoped that's not how I ever danced in public!!!!---I will bet she'll be in fine fettle tomorrow for the video.
And then when we were driving to Two Bucks, the liquor store where I buy my four minis of bourbon daily--two Jim Beam and two Wild Turkey--she asked me something about catholicism. She said: After the priest finishes reading the bible, what's left in a Catholic Mass.
And so, as a former alter boy, I thought for a minute. And I realized that the Mass, as celebrated by Catholicism, is just the preparation for and the reception, of the representation of the body and blood of Jesus Christ. The priest comes out, blesses the congregation. The alter boys, in my day, responded for them in Latin, signifying, yes, we hope you are blessed as well, and so forth. And them there was the purification and then the feast on the host and then the thank you and that was it. Half-an-hour, tops, except on Sundays, when there was a homily--story--stuck in there.
I told her that thinking about it made me think of how we do ayahuasca in the jungle: We invite the right spirits, invite those who are not right to stay the heck out, thank the medicine, ask it to help us/heal us, then we drink it. And then we say thank you. Very very much like a basic catholic mass when I was an alter boy.
And I told Madeleina I wished someone had told me that was what a mass was like when I was a kid. I would have understood it much better.
And then she asked me about homily's. And I told her imagine three kids from a foreign country moved into the neighborhood and they were beat up by locals. The priest might find a passage about loving your enemy, read that, and then talk about why those new kids should have been greeted with love--even though they were outsiders--rather than beaten up. And he'd ask the congregation to consider that and to consider that their grandparents were outsiders when they arrived in the USA years ago and that it was better to greet them with a fresh pie than with fists. And if it was a good priest--and I dealt with all good priests in my years as an alter boy, which means good, giving people, nothing more--he'd tell the congregation to go out and tell everyone in the neighborhood to bring those new families food and pies and shower them with love so that the enemy would become a friend.
AND NOW I have to finish dinner--fresh dover sole of all things!!!!!--so I will leave it here. And I hope some priest somewhere is making the analogy in his homily this Sunday, that if we can all come together to want to help the people of Japan, then we can and should all come together to help heal ourselves here at home. Cause that would be a good homily.
And I love you all for reading this and putting up with me. Thanks. Peter G

Today's Opinion--Or Rant...

A friend of mine, one of the coolest people in the world, wrote today. He wrote a rant about having to get a new computer, his fourth in three years, or third in four years, and he wrote about getting ready to retire and not being able to afford health insurance. And he wrote about the youngsters of today who are not carrying out our political legacy--a legacy that includes civil rights, women's rights, gay rights, anti-nuclear proliferation, environmental work and a host of other very very important human work. And he asked why I wasn't writing about politics anymore, particularly as regards Wisconsin and the new Governor's bid to eliminate state workers from many angles of collective bargaining. And he wrote about the lack of poetry in the world today and how, if it doesn't change, he's gonna take his marbles and go home.
I was stirred. Like a chemical cocktail!!!! So here's what I wrote back. Just for fun, kiddies, but with a grain of truth...or sand....or whatever:

Dear Lar:
Wow, bad luck with the computers. I treated myself to a Mini-Mac---which is not a laptop but is a tiny square box that I could theoretically use anywhere that had a keyboard and screen--and it's freaking wonderful. I have no idea of everything it does--I still have not even figured out how to get the oral sex it's supposed to give, for instance--but man, it's quick and steady. Ran $800 with Macoffice, which it didn't come with. First new one I bought in five years--first new one I ever bought actually. And I wouldn't have had to buy it but my computer guy moved to Colorado and I couldn't find anybody in town to fix my old Mac G3, which I think is great but other people say is old fashioned.
It's just like the Nishiki 12-speed bike you gave me: You remember when that was a pretty top of the line bike: Steel frame, long body, racing/touring, very comfortable. I think it cost about $750 new 25 years ago. Well, I recently had it overhauled for about $300, including new tires, and it's a freaking dream. So I looked it up on Ebay. And people are selling them for $10-$50--when they have them! Unvbelieveable. But it turns out new bikes weigh half as much. And it turns out my old G3 MAC, the newest of the new, the state of the art, is now as much a lead sled as the darned Nishiki!!!!!!!!
And yes, kids are nuts. And I've got one son, Marco, who needs to be beaten but I'm not allowed to do that. Plus, he's 23, so what the heck. But he's been out of work for a year and there are signs up all over the place asking for people to work. And he swears he's applied but he's lyin!!!!!!!! He just sits in his shed behind Chepa's trailer and broods and plays video games all day. No drugs, nothing bad, just crazy.
And I agree about the tats. I am so sick of kids getitng these freaking tats that are just gonna look so bad when they gain 100 pounds in 20 years. And they look pretty bad already. I still don't have any, though I've got a lot of well earned scars from botfly infestation and sapo burns, and the flesh eating spider bite and the intestinal explosion and the hernia and all the rest. Now those are tattoos in my book. I remember the pain of each one of them. Not just: "Sat in a chair for an hour and had this guy write my boyfriend's name on my breasts. Then I had to have it covered over with another tattoo when we broke up!" That's not a tattoo in my book, that's just a bad hair day.
And you're ready to retire? I just turned 60!!!!!! I'm freaking out and freaking old and my beard is mostly white and my hair is gray and I hate it. And I have not had health insurance since I moved to Peru in 1998! Everything is cash on demand. Fortunately, I've been able to do most of it in Peru but still, I've spent more than $10 grand on the stomach ops and $3 grand on teeth--and they are not finished--in the last 4 years. Add another couple of grand in other stuff and that's been my whole profit from my Peru trips for a few years.
On the other hand: We be living, Lar. You're still probably the most handsome man on the planet, and you're strong, still doing triathalons, and you're gonna live 25 more years and make love a thousand or two thousand more times and you got a wife who loves you and beautiful kids and a tiny house that sounds like a nice tiny dream and your social security will come in and you'll get $1200 a month and work part time and sell paintings....and I'm selling my book a little at a time and making maybe $600 a month after expenses, and I get to travel to Peru and lead groups and my kids are gone but not far away and me and Madeleina still have the best of times and I have a grandkid and have something to do with raising Chepa's new babies....so all yer bitching is really just a way of saying "I'M FUCKING ALIVE!!!!!" I think. And the problem is that you see others who are not so alive. Well, I agree that sucks. These kids should have taken what we learned and gone further, not sat back and watched the politicos and corporations take it all away.
But they did. At least for now. And you and me, we can be in the fight--and I'm in the damned fight daily, though not in Wisconsin, particularly--but I'm in the fight about dengue in Iquitos right now, and in the fight about radioactive gas pipes and in the fight for the drug war and in the fight over corrupt politicians in Texas and as many other fights as I can be in--and you living right puts you in the fight as well. So we're doing our part. We're setting examples.
Aren't you sorry you got me revved up here?
I'm thinking I'm gonna buy a box of suspenders and some clothes pins and start handing them out to kids whose butts are hanging out....just an idea.
Anyway, I love you and I'm sorry we're all getting older. I still think and feel like 34 and so I'm gonna keep acting like it. Cool, suave, tough (okay, semi-tough) and excellent.
P

Okay, So I'm not really happy right now

Alright, I generally like to write cool stuff here. But sometimes things bum me out and this is one of them. Last week or so I wrote about the IRS saying I owed a bunch of money. I wrote them and they reduced the amount to just over $5000. How? I have no stinking idea based on what's earned and what goes out legitimately to feed people around here. Legitimate people.
So I went to a CPA who spent half an hour going over things and said, "Well, you might owe $1.200, but not more than that. Give me a few days and I'll write up the papers for you."
So I went home happy. I don't think I owe even the $1.200 but it beats the heck out of the bigger figure.
And then today I called his office and his associate told me she was about to call. The paperwork was done. The bad news? "Well, you still owe the amount the IRS says you owe."
"How?"
"I have no idea. But you do, so we've included a partial payment form with your paperwork."
I am not happy with this. I don't mind paying my taxes. But I think I'm genuinely being jobbed on this one.
Okay, that's my bitch.
Everything else is great.
And if you're reading this, I've got trips coming up in June (jungle/mountains, either or both) and July (jungle intensive). So if that's something you would like to do--and the trips are better, much better than fair to middlin', now would be the time to write me either here or on private email (you'll find that at pgorman.com) to get the luscious details.
Sorry for complaining.
I hope you're all having the most fantastic of days!!!!!!

A Moment of Pure Magic

This is a story that involves my Madeleina, the electric company, my ayahuasquero, Julio Jerena and blind faith. I thought I had told it and written it down a couple of years ago, but yesterday when I was telling it to my friend Lynn, who has heard an awful lot of my stories--and lived a bunch of them with me--he said he'd never heard it. So maybe I didn't write it down afterall.

Years ago, perhaps in 2004, I was in Peru with my friend Lynn. We were at my friend and teacher Julio's home on the Aucayacu River in Peru's Amazon. We drank ayahuasca and during the course of the evening, Julio gave me two guardians to help me with all sorts of things. Like guardian angels but much more imposing and frightening.
I've written about them.
But that particular night I asked them if they could help me make a living writing. I mean, I'd been a journalist for 20 years, and a damned good one, but after having moved to Texas in 2002, I couldn't catch a break. Nobody knew me, I didn't know what interested Texas readers--heck I didn't have any contacts here and so was having a hard time keeping a roof over our heads.
The guardians told me not to worry: that if I did the work and did it well, the work would be there for me. I didn't really believe them and so was pleasantly surprised when, a few days after I returned to the US I got a call from someone in Canada. The caller said he was the publisher of a new magazine called SKUNK, an irreverent marijuana magazine, and that his key staffers had told him I needed to be involved. "So here's the deal: I don't know who you are, but my guys say I have to have you, so what are you going to do for us and how much is it gonna cost me?"
That was a very cool line. I thought for about three seconds, told him I'd write a regular column and he should pay me $1000 an issue. "$1000?a Are you crazy? How bout $100?"
We settled on $400 and I've done 48 columns for them--at 8 per year--since then.
Other work came in as well. Unexpectedly. And that's when the Fort Worth Weekly, our local and fantastic alternative, decided I should be on a weekly stipend rather than just freelancing for them.
So I thanked the guardians and worked my butt off. And I told Madeleina, then maybe 7, why I was suddenly getting work. She was thrilled. "I'm glad Julio decided to help you, dad. Now you won't have to worry about money all the time..."
Unfortunately, in the world of magazine writing, having the job, even doing the job, doesn't produce instant money. It's often several months from turning in a story before you get paid. So several months later, when Madeleina was 8, I think, the electric was going to be turned off. I'd begged and pleaded, told the electric company I had checks coming in soon, but it was no use. "We really can't wait any longer, Mr. Gorman. We've done our best and we'll get it on as soon as you get caught up. I promise."
Well, the next day or maybe two days later, was the turn-off day.
The truck came shortly after I brought Madeleina home from school. Guy said he was here to turn off the electric.
Madeleina called me aside: "Dad, the guardians don't lie. They said you would have the work if you did the work and you've been doing it. So they have to fix it."
"Honey, I have the work. They never promised people would pay in time to pay the bills..."
"That's not fair. That has to be part of the deal or they were lying. And you said the guardians don't lie. So tell the man to wait."
"Wait for what, baby? The mail already came and there were no checks today. We'll get a check in the next few days and we'll get the lights turned back on."
"No. Tell him to wait a few miniutes. Just tell him, dad!"
So I walked over to the guy who was waiting impatiently to turn off our electricity and explained that my daughter believed in miracles and could he wait just 10 minutes to humor her? Maybe go to another house and then come back?
He wasn't keen, but started to chat a little about the bushes in my front lawn, which would buy me enough time to satisfy Madeleina.
And then, over the hill at the far end of the road, came a yellow DHL truck. I wouldn't have paid it any mind but somehow knew it was coming to our house. And it did. It turned into the driveway and the fellow asked if I was Peter Gorman. I said I was and signed for an envelope and off he went.
I opened the envelope. Inside was a bank check for $1000. It was from a magazine I'd done a story for nearly a year earlier. A story I'd already been paid for.
"I knew it, dad! The spirits don't lie!!!" shrieked Madeleina.
I showed the electric company guy the check and asked him if I could have half-an-hour to cash it and I'd bring him the dough. He laughed, said he couldn't believe it, then left. I said a silent thank you to the spirits and apologized to the company who was paying me a second time, then went to the bank, cashed the check, returned, paid the electric company and that was that.
And then I called the outfit and explained that I'd already been paid for the story but had cheated and cashed the check anyway and told the editor that I'd pay it back as soon as I could. He said that would so completely gum up the people who handled paying the freelancers that it was better I just kept it.
And Madeleina? Well, she had faith. Extraordinary faith that if the spirits really told me we'd have the work as long as I was willing to do the work, that that included avoiding things like electricity turn-offs. I don't know if it was her faith that made that check appear or not. I do know it showed up out of the blue, no advance warning, and that it was not due. And that it was a bank check, not a regular check. And that it came after I asked the guy to stall to give Madeleina's faith a chance to play out.
I don't know why I've never written that up before. Or why I've forgotten that I did if I did. I do know that when a friend who is at the end of his rope came over yesterday I told him that story and told him to keep the faith. That maybe just over the next hill was his DHL truck with a solution to his current problems.
I hope it is.
Thanks, Madeleina, for teaching me just how deep you have to believe to truly have faith in something. And thanks for coming through, guardian spirits.

New Radio Show

Everybody: Here's a link to a radio show I did recently. It's one of several I have done with this fellow. He's very nice. Don't know where my half hour is in the show, but what the heck, it's all worth listening to. The url is
http://hotfile.com/dl/98450614/b497392/Radiohuasca18.mp3.html
And if you hunt around in his area, you'll find that I did a two-parter a year or two ago with him. This group of interviews--I think we did 5-6 hours altogether, includes me talking/answering questions, as well as me reading from the book. Which I hope is not totally and horribly boring.
Now, on another note: sad thing is that Chepa's boyfriend is moving back to Fort Worth from Indiana or Wisconsin or wherever next month. Which means I'll have a lot less access to Sierra and Alexa than I currently have. That's is painful. Cause I love them calling me and asking: "P Garman? You bringing donuts?" from Sierra, with Alexa in the background shouting: "P Garman, don't forget the donuts! Don't forget the donuts, you butthead!!!"
Still, if Chepa loves the guy and he loves the kids, hell that's the best thing that could happen. So I'll be resolute and fine with it all. Just stinging while thinking about it.
And then there is my Madeleina, who is currently out in the back yard on the tree swing, twisting the ropes so tight so that she can spin out and nearly puke.And, she's making up songs while she's spinning.
If you want to see her in action, she made a new youtube.com video last night. Just go to youtube.com and punch in madeleinag--note the spelling--and look for her video on homework. It is pretty hilarious. I know I'm prejudiced, but damn, I think she's very very good for a kid who has only made 5 videos in her life, a total of maybe 7 hours of working with a little $150 camera and her own spontaneous ideas. I'm impressed.
And I think you will all get a laugh.
SO GO AND WATCH HER!!!!
THanks,
PGarman

Trouble On Returning Home

Oy vey! I got home 5 days ago. The soles of my feet are so cracked and bleeding that I can hardly walk. The flesh eating infection I had last year is rearing it's very ugly head on my calves--though not as strong as last year, it still makes being awake difficult.
And just before I left the IRS sent me a note saying I owed $6450 from 2009, a year in which I helped pay for Chepa's two babies, her mortgage, my mortgage and Madeleina on a gross income of $35,000.
I wrote them a letter saying they were wrong and they adjusted things down to $5,150. HA!
I came home to that adjusted figure and discovered that a warrant for my arrest has been put out in Tarrant County for a supposedly unpaid traffic ticket in 2004. I investigated and found out it was for not having my insurance card. The $10 fine is now $575. or so. So I went to my insurance guy and he said, "yup, you lapsed that in Nov. 2004".
He also said I renewed two days after the ticket, and then I went out to the garage to the tax boxes and found the receipt I paid to Tarrant county on the day I got my insurance reinstated. So I'm gonna beat that one.
Today I came home from food shopping to find a letter from Getty Images, a photography bank, saying I am illegally using an image on my website for a photo taken of a Matses woman with child in 1986 by Jeff Rotman. They say I owe them $600 for the use.
Whatttttt????? I got that image from Jeff, with permission to put on my website and to sell it as well (for him), when my website first went up in 2000. I had the permission for the image back in 1986, about 20 years before Getty Images came into the picture. Heck, I was the one who took Jeff out to the Matses, which is where he got the shot.
I called Getty and explained and said I'll try to remove it from the site if you don't want it there. No problem. They responded that they still wanted their money.
Or they wanted proof that I had permission from Jeff. I asked: "You want permission from 25 years ago? Are you insane? The IRS only asks you to keep records for 7 years and you want permission in writing from the photographer from 25 years ago?"
The answer was "Yes, or else just pay us...."

Well, folks, ain't gonna happen. I don't think I'm paying a penny. Jeff will explain things to them.
But ain't it rich? And wouldn't it be nice if I had all that money to give all these people?
Damn. I feel like Iodized salt: When it rains, it pours....."
Wish me luck. I'm gonna need it.

Dengue in Iquitos

Well, part of my job when I have a group in the Amazon is to talk with the Universe and ask that anything bad that is going to happen to any of my guests happen to me instead. And the universe, cool spirit that she is, obliges. While my guests generally go home without nary a scratch, I wind up with the flesh eating staph infection or the flesh eating spider bite. I get the broken ankle and the exploded intestine. Not that I like getting those things, but I've been a jungle rat long enough to know my body can handle them and I won't utterly panic. If my guests got those things it would be really awful. So I ask to get them if they have to come and then trust that my team, my fantastic team, can doctor me safely through the crisis. And with the exception of the intestinal ulcer explosion a few years ago, they have.
This year it was dengue fever. I've never had it before so it was an interesting learning experience. And of course, I was glad that none of the guests got it or anything else. Thanks, Universe...sort of.
What I had was called hemorrhagic dengue--but I didn't hemorrhage so that's the good news. There was an epidemic down there and here's what happened:
Every year, every house, tree, park, river bank, store and so forth get sprayed for mosquitos in Iquitos. The men just come and knock on your door on the designated day and they come into your house looking for any place where mosquitos could thrive. If they see you have piles of old clothes soaking wet in a corner or newspapers (leaky roof), they take them and burn them in the street. Everything else they spray.
They go from neighborhood to neighborhood for a couple of weeks till the whole city is done. It's a pain in the ass--you're not allowed to leave your house on the day it's your neighborhood's turn--but it keeps malaria and dengue at bay by eliminating mosquito larvae.
Last year the people in charge of the spraying money--millions of dollars--kept the money and claimed that Lima never sent it to Iquitos. They did the same this year and so an epidemic of each: malaria and dengue broke out. Thousands and thousands of people were sick. Hundreds died. People protested wildly, demanding blood from the thieves when they discovered that Lima had indeed sent the money for the spraying.
Finally, Lima sent more money and the spraying got done, but not before an awful lot of us were sick.
The malaria didn't bother me because I already have it and those parasites just live in my liver until I get sick, overworked and so forth, and then they come out and I have malaria for a few days. Rotten but I can deal with it.
The dengue is not nearly as severe for most people but the mosquitos that carry it put something in your blood that thins it. Thins it a lot, which is why people often hemorrhage. If you don't, you're better in a week. If you do, you have to get to a hospital quick to get blood coagulant or you just bleed to death. So a lot of people who live on the river died. And a lot of little kids and old people died. For me it was just 7-8 days of being real sore, puking unexpectedly, muscle aches, head throbbing, hilariously puffed face and other soft tissue and no ability to eat or sleep. Oh, and your body itches from the inside wildly, so that you have to scratch yourself all the time without getting any relief...
But I made it so that was good. A couple of neighbors didn't, which was bad, particularly considering that the whole epidemic was created by someone or a few someone's purposely keeping the funds meant to prevent it.

Back Again to Torment You All...

Hello, everyone. I'm back from Peru and I've been back 72 hours and though I have thought of you I have not been able to write.
I'm finishing a very nasty bout of hemorrhagic dengue and the stupid septic flesh eating bacteria are back on my calves and my feet are all cut deeply and so I can't walk without extreme pain...
What a sissy I'm turning into!
But then, it's to be expected, says my Madeleina.
"Dad, you turned 60 while you were away. Let's face it: You are old. I mean, you could just die sort of old. I mean, I don't want you to die but in another month I'll have to learn to cook so I can spoon feed you because you won't be able to take care of yourself....as if you ever could..."
"I'll kill you, beautiful...."
"No, dad. You won't. Why? Because you're officially an old man and old men can't kill anyone. They can't even dream of it because they can't think straight. I'm sorry dad. If I had money I'd put you in a home where people would be paid to pretend they like you.
"Oh, and speaking of money, can we afford piano lessons now? Better now than later because I read that old people go deaf and what's the point of practicing for you if you can't hear me? So can I?
"
I love my kids. I didn't love coming home to a house without heat and water. To a house with dirty dishes and pots and pans piled up not only in the sink but on every surface in the kitchen and living room. Marco, my beautiful son, explained it this way: "Dad, let's face it. We always expect you to die in the jungle so why bother to clean up if you're never going to see the mess?"
My son Italo explained it this way: "I told Marco to clean up but he's a lazy son of a bitch. He didn't even fix the water pipes. Why can't you just beat some sense into him?"
They each blamed the broken rear window on one of my trucks on each other.
Good to be home. I missed you guys. I mean you, the readers. You're the only ones I can relate to and that's probably because you don't write to me to express your disappointment in me. Doesn't matter. I'll take that as love.
What else happened? Well, I had two trips with wonderful people who put up with me and more than that, loved the jungle, the medicines, the whole damned thing. Oh, and the IRS wants more than $6000 for 2009, when I was raising Madeleina and Chepa's two babies, plus Chepa, on $30,000. i don't like their math. And the City of Fort Worth claims I had a ticket I was never told about back in 2004 and that the $10 fine for not having my insurance card with me is now nearly $700. Which is about 25% of what I made doing two jungle trips.
And there is more to come, says Madeleina: "Except you don't want any more bad news right now, so I'll wait a few days and then, when you're calm, I'll tell you. Cause it's much worse than you can imagine..."
She wouldn't even give me a hint. So I checked everything I could check and didn't find what she's talking about. Which means it's something more serious than I can imagine. I can't wait.....
And then one of the most wonderful people in the world asked me to get involved in sharing recipes. Well, I didn't get the email till today as I don't do email well when I'm in Peru and it was dated Jan. 17 and had a 5-day window on it which I missed by several weeks.
I sent her three recipes anyway.
And here they are. And I would love to be cooking any one of them right now except that Chepa and Italo and Sara and Marco and the babies were all due for dinner so I made ribs and chicken instead of the fish I love (Cause I didn't have enough fish for everyone) but then Chepa called to say she was dying from a hangover from drinking Tequila last night at a club till 8 AM this morning and since she is not coming over, no one is, so now I'm not only not eating what I wanted and what my body craves, I'm stuck with five pounds of baby back ribs and a chicken and pasta salad that no one is going to eat.....
Not complaining, just noting how it is around here, hear?
So these are the three recipes I sent. I didn't double check them but I think they're pretty accurate considering that I never measure anything in teaspoons or tablespoons but prefer to use cook terms like "Two-finger bit" or "three finger dollop" to signify amounts. So take these with a grain of salt and check your seasoning. All three are strong recipes and you will love them if you make them with fantastic courage and the willingness to fail. Just take the step and you'll be fine.
And thanks for listening and I'm glad if you're still reading and all that jazz. I'm back, so I'll be back soon.
RECIPES I SENT MY FRIEND FOR THE RECIPE ROUNDUP:
1) Swordfish and capers: Saute 8 ounces of swordfish steak per person in scalding olive oil. When you turn the swordfish, add one tablespoon of fresh, minced garlic to the pan per portion, and add 1/4 of a diced red onion per person at the same time. When the garlic and onion are cooked through, add 1/4 diced red bell pepper per person, and continue to saute.
When swordfish is done, remove from pan. To the garlic, onions and redpepper, add minced scallions and 1/2 of a small jar of capers per portion.
When boiling, add 1 tablespoon of sweet butter per portion.
Season with salt and pepper and lime (if necessary) to taste.
Pour sauce over fish.....excellent.
SIDES: Basmati rice with garlic
Spinach or asparagus (steamed) and then sauteed in a bit of olive oil with fresh minced garlic. Finish with a touch of balsamic vinegar.

2) Sesame Salmon: 7 ounces or so of salmon filet per person.
Heat a saute pan. When hot enough, put a little olive oil with freshly minced garlic in pan. When garlic is cooked, remove and save.
Place salmon filets in pan skin side up. Scald flesh in garlic infused olive oil. When black, or close to it on the meat side, turn over with skin side down. Place cooked garlic on meat side, toss 1/4 cup of diced red onions, 1/4 cup of diced roma tomatoes and another tablespoon of minced garlic into pan with fish.
Place roasted sesame seeds (one tablespoon per portion) in with the veggies cooking around the fish), and one tablespoon of sesame oil on top of each cooking portion of fish.
When fish is done, remove and place on plates.
To the veggies and oil in pan add 1/4 bunch of diced fresh cilantro and a dash of Teriyaki sauce per portion of fish. When sauce is done, pour over fish.
SIDES: Basmati rice with garlic OR roasted red potatoes with a dash of butter
Steamed broccoli/cauliflower/cut string bean melange with a touch of cilantro and teriyaki sauce.

3) Jungle Guacamole:
For 6:
Three large, ripe avocados.
Place avacado meat in bowl, mash thoroughly.
Dice 3 cloves of garlic per avacado and saute in pan with 3 tablespoons of good oil.
Add 1 diced red onion (about 5 ounces) to garlic in pan.
When garlic and onion are cooked, add one diced roma tomato per avocado to the garlic/onion mix and continue to saute.
Season garlic/onion/tomato mix with salt and cracked black pepper to taste (less is better here; you can add more later but you can't take it away.
When garlic/onions/tomato mix is thoroughly done, ADD to mashed avocado.
Wait 10 minutes until guacamole is no longer scalding. ADD juice of TWO limes.
Stir. Correct seasoning, serve with good crackers.

Wishing You All...

Wishing you all the most wonderful, incredible, fantast, surprise-filled, HAPPY NEW YEAR! I hope that for each of you it proves to be the best year you've ever had! FELICIDADES!

A Good Roast Beef Sandwich

Okay, so it's the day before New Year's eve. Tonight Madeleina and I, and Marco, if he comes over, are having swordfish again. I cannot get over the flavor--although I'm going to hell for killing those beauties and will soon be a vegeterian--or more likely a nut-arian since lately I tend to feel ill when thinking about killing animals and vegetables to eat.
That said, last night Madeleina didn't want chicken. I was going to slice chicken breasts very thin, then marinate the pieces in Peruvian spices (achote, vinagre, dried hot peppers, oil, garlic) and then roast them.
Instead, I made her a roast beef sandwich.
Here it is:
Turn oven on to 350 degrees.
Turn one stove top burner on low.
Get a nice loaf of good french bread with sesame seeds.
Cut a piece that you think will be appropriate for your sandwich.
Take a red pepper, and clean it, then put it in a saute pan with a touch of olive oil and pepper and cook on stove top burner till both sides till done. When done, peel skin and eat that (just because we're pigs).
Cut the french bread open, pull out excess bread.
Put Hellman's Mayo or Miracle Whip, your preference, on both sides of break. Like a shmear. Don't be cheap.
Place mayonaise'd bread open in oven.
Remove bread when toasty warm and the mayo or Miracle Whip is melting into bread and bread is starting to brown.
Put paper thin roast beef (substitute ham or cucumber slices for roast beef as you see fit) on both sides of bread.
Salt and pepper roast beef or ham or whatever.
Place bread with roast beef or ham or whatever in oven. KEEP OPEN.
Take a nice red onion and slice thin. Put two/three slices (optional) in pan with red pepper when pepper is near done.
When roast beef is done and bread is at next level of browning, remove from oven. HOT. Be careful!
Take red pepper and sauted onion and put on roast beef.
Cover with pepperjack cheese or good cheddar or even better, horseradish cheese. Put cheese on both sides of sandwich.
Place in oven till cheese melts.
Remove from oven, close, and then eat.
Enjoy, everyone!

Here's Madeleina, In Living, Crazy Color

Well, you've read about my Madeleina. You've thought you met her. But you don't know the half of it. Last night, she and a friend decided to have a sleep-over and make a youtube video. And so they did. While I was sleeping.
So here is Madeleina's first youtube video. She's got two/three others that will quickly follow. You can look her up on youtube.com as madeleinag. If that doesn't work, look for MadeleinaG.
Here's the url to the first insanity:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ye1bUeHek-0
And yes, she's worth every moment I have with her.
If I was in Hollywood--and note that I am copywriting this idea as we go--I would write a sitcom based on dueling siblings who are trying to go viral on youtube. Trying to outdo each other, or the several of them, while the dad and mom, or just dad or mom, go insane as the kids record every second of their lives trying to become youtube stars. Those who make it make millions. Go viral just once and you are set for life./ That's what kids are aiming for these days, rather than good blue-collar or city government jobs. At least the clever ones.
So here is my Madeleina. Enjoy her wonderful insanity.
Me

The Michelle Obama Weight Debate

An awful lot has been written about Michelle Obama's push for better foods in schools, more recess in schools, more exercise in schools and an overall push for intelligence in exercise and food consumption that will lead to healthier lives for an awful lot of folk. And less insurance cost for all of us. (NOTE: I'm a smoker, so I'm a bad guy here.)
The debate is silly. When I was a kid, John F. Kennedy, soundly disliked in my home, took Dwight D. Eisenhower's Council on Fitness to the next level, and Johnson did the same, and millions of high school kids had to participate in a physical fitness program that had us running a mile, sprinting 100 yards, climbing ropes and peg boards, doing sit-up and push-ups and so forth. I thought it was fantastic, and even my father, who didn't like either Kennedy or Johnson, approved of that government intrusion into our lives.
So Michelle Obama's pushing for better foods in schools than what my sons and daughter have been offered--corn dogs/pizza/breaded fried chicken nuggets (I made them nearly every lunch they ever had just to keep them away from that crap)--and more exercise to begin to control childhood obesity is hardly something new from a resident of the White House.
But, say so many writing on boards all over the net: She's just the wife! No one elected her!
Absolutely. But Laura Bush's reading program came from someone who wasn't elected and that didn't seem to cause such a stir.
If one really wants to look at a First Lady who pushed her own agenda, one need only look at Nancy Reagan and her Just Say No (to drugs) effort. That effort led to the now-debunked DARE program in schools--which we saw actually caused a serious rise in youthful drug experimentation. It also led, by extension, to the demonization of those who didn't Just Say No, which produced the Three-Strikes Yer Out! sentences, a refusal to make needle-enchange programs available nationally--a calamitous error, gave the Feds the public backing they needed to implement mandatory-minimum sentencing, which caused the jail population to swell to the point where the insidious privatized-prisons became the norm...And generally messed up the lives of millions of people who wound up with felony convictions and long prison sentences for absolutely no societal good.
I railed against Reagan then and for years and still rail against privatized-prisons and their lobbying arms and the demonization of non-violent drug users.
But I see more vitriol about Michelle Obama pushing veggies on school kids and encouraging them to play outside each day than I ever did about Nancy Reagan effectively hijacking the criminal justice system.

Jim Beam and Me

I don't keep liquor in the house. Haven't for years because when I do I generally drink it. All of it. What I do is buy 4 minis of Jim Beam at the liquor store daily--none on Sundays--and that's the limit.
Yesterday was an exception. I was on a road trip to Mexico for a few days on a new story and picked up a bottle of Beam at a duty free shop in Reynosa. Had a few drinks at the motel before bed. Did the same the next night. Brought the rest home. So I had it in the house. Just under half a quart. Much more than 4 minis.
Had a drink or two before dinner. Had a drink while I made dinner, which was steak with rice and broccoli for Madeleina, and salmon with diced red pappers, garlic and sesame seeds for me. With rice, spinach and broccoli.
Only I didn't eat dinner. Sometime in there the Beam and the exhaustion from the trip--mostly the Beam--caught up with me and I fell asleep while cooking. So I turned off the things on the stove and went to bed.
Or so I thought.
Woke this morning wondering what exactly happened between turning off the things on the stove and going to bed.
Madeleina very cheerfully reminded me just a few minutes ago.
"So dad, were you drunk last night?"
"Yup. Sorry..."
"I thought so."
"Did I do anything bad? Any screaming or yelling?"
"Nope. You were hilarious. First, I saw you sleeping while you were cooking. And by the way, the steak was not cooked well enough. Plus, you took out a pack of sausages after you turned the stove off and tried to cook a sausage in a cold pan, then you took a bite. That was raw sausage dad and you're probably gonna be sick today..."
"I saw that in the pan this morning. Neatly cut in half. I thought maybe your mother came over and decided to cook, then decided against it..."
"No dad. That was you. You already had chicken for Boots in the oven, salmon for you, steak for me and then you said you really wanted sausage..."
"Was that it?"
"Not completely. After you took a bite of the sausage you fell asleep standing by the sink. Then you woke up and picked up the big black flashlight"--she demonstrated--"and started drinking it, like this"--second demonstration of me holding the butt end of the flashlight to my mouth, head tilted back--"and then you said 'it's empty, I guess', and then you put it down.Then you fell asleep standing next to the counter. Then you walked over to Marco's door and sat down on the floor and went to sleep for about an hour. Then I woke you and you went to bed. That's why I thought you were drunk, because you don't usually fall asleep standing up--like three different times--and then try to eat raw sausage..."
"I'm sorry kiddo."
"No, it was pretty funny. Wish I had a video camera. You'd be a U-Tube star this morning..."
"Cross that camera right off the Christmas list..."
"Is that why you don't keep liquor in the house?"
"You got it."
"You know, you keep writing about me and everybody on the blog. So, you know, you should probably write about your embarrassing thing too..."
"Oh, shit. Yeah, you're right again. I'll do that now."
"Oh, and I put your plate in the microwave if you're hungry...the steak was way undercooked but that salmon was just fantastic!"

Reagan, Trickle Down, My Madeleina

My daughter Madeleina, 13, got off from school early today and just a few minutes ago came into the kitchen while I was sweeping and asked: "Was Reagan a good president?"
It was sort of out of the blue and probably prompted by a mention of him on the television or computer.
"No, he was horrible. An awful lot of people loved him though."
"Why don't you?"
"Well, you've heard me talk about his team's work in Central America, right? I mean..."
"I know, I know," she said, cutting me off. "Presidents shouldn't encourage foreign rebellions over duly elected governments as happened in Nicaragua on Reagan's watch. Particularly if it involves permitting the sale of enormous quantities of cocaine to US citizens, the profits of which are then used to buy arms for an attempted government overthrow. And especially particularly if those US-citizens caught using that government okay'd cocaine are going to be incarcerated for long periods of time in prisons. Particularly privatized, for-profit prisons, which also began to occur on Reagan's watch. I have heard all that before dad. Like a million times. So why else don't you like Reagan?"
"The money. His idea was that if you gave huge tax breaks to the rich they would open factories and provide jobs to the middle and poor classes. He called it trickle-down. I think it was more like pissing on everyone who wasn't rich."
"Sound like a good idea to me. What's wrong with it?"
"Well rich people often don't open factories. They invest their money, they guard their money, they build themselves mansions... none of which really produce a lot of jobs."
"Building a mansion does..."
"Yes, for one construction firm and some contractors for a few months. On the other hand, if you give those tax breaks to the middle class, they start to buy cars. And when people, I mean whole groups of people, millions of people, start to buy cars, that makes jobs for all sorts of people. And then they have money and they want apartments and houses and that makes all sorts of jobs for other people. And then all those people with jobs start needing more stores and restaurants and middle class people open those and give more people jobs...."
"Why don't rich people open stores and factories and restaurants?"
"Some do. But a lot don't. I mean, if you had a few million stashed away and you could invest it with a bank and get a guaranteed interest--profit--or open a factory which might or might not wind up making you money, or a restaurant, which in most cases will lose money, which would you do?"
"So why do middle class people take chances and open factories and restaurants?"
"Cause it's their chance at becoming rich. If it works--and it's a lot of work to make things work right--they win. And if they're lucky, they win big. And then they take their money and invest it. Or build a mansion. Generally."
"So Reagan's plan basically sucked?"
"Totally. Robbed from the poor to give to the rich."
"Screw Reagan! Long live the middle class!"
"Now you're talking, kiddo. That's my girl."

Cheap Shot

Well, a couple of years ago I posted 117 times. This is my 117th time this year. Which leaves me open to post one more time to break the record. Now I'm not saying I was very clever this year. I'm not sure what happened. I was just living and life was passing fast. Whether it was the flesh eating staph infection that took a couple of months or my work in Peru and the Jungle, or taking Madeleina with me to the jungle or coming to grips with Italo and Sara not needing me anymore, or pure stupid pride on being named best journalist in Texas for the second time, or simply trying to raise 9 people on $29 grand...who knows. But this year steamed by.
And so this is a cheap post, just to match my highest number.
All I can say of value is that this morning I got up at 4 AM, and by noon was hungry. So I made a simple piece of sauteed swordfish--garlic, onion and capers--with grilled tomato, and then this evening roasted a duck on celery, red onion and baby carrots. Seasoned with salt and pepper. Cooked at 340 rather than the recommended 375 but for 3 1/2 hours instead of the recommendeds 2 1/2 for a 7 pound duck. Added lots of orange juice from fresh oranges. Pulled off the juice and put it in a small pot in the freezer to separate out the fat (normally would do that by sight with hot grease, but was trying to teach my son Marco a simple way to eliminate the fat). Fat removed, I made gravy with the fatless drippings, lots of orange and some good raspberries I had frozen while fresh.
THat was a good sauce.
Kids loved it.
First time I've made duck in years, since the kids refused to eat duck when I last made it, maybe 10-15 years ago. Tonight they devowered it.
Man, that was good.
The babies are acting like a wildfire in the desert, jumping all over the place, taking turns feeling the pain.
And that's what I got. Not a lot.
Peter G