Upon Giving Up Professional Sports

In celebration of today's National Football League Super Brawl I offer this memoir of my personal disenchantment with professional sports at all levels. I was born and raised in the midwest. I played sports as a kid, not very well until my growth spurt in high school. Then I was All-League in football, an average basketball player and even tossed the shot put my senior year. All of my brothers were football players, each of us lettered in at least two sports every year. We all dutifully followed the Detroit professional sports teams and in the 50s & 60s there were some teams worth following back then: Bobby Layne, Gordie Howe, Al Kaline.

But sometime in the 60s I began to lose interest in professional sports. There were too many other things to follow with real world consequences and then came the escalation of sports salaries that began in the 70s. By then I was watching the Super Bowl only for the commercials and found the glacial pace of baseball to be somnia inducing. By 1975 I was living in L.A. which had the Magic Johnson-Kareem Abdul Jabar Lakers and soon the Wayne Gretsky led L.A. Kings. I hung out at several local taverns with sports connections and got back into following some professional teams but I remember the moment it all ended.

In the 1983 NBA finals the Lakers met the Philadelphia 76ers. Someone scored tickets to game four at the L.A. Forum, it turned out to be the final game of a Philadelphia sweep of the Lakers. The lady I was dating was friends with the Forum's public address announcer who sat court side at the scorer's table and made all the the player introductions and game announcements. We walked down to see him after the game, he was devastated. I had never seen a non-participant in a game that upset over a loss. I'm sure he had a bundle bet on the game but it was after all just a game of basketball and wasn't real, they made it all up to entertain and distract; not to mention to make money. Well paid gladiators and their plutocrat owners.

Periodically I am reminded why I don't follow and don't care about professional sports. The latest reinforcer was this past fall when the NBA player's representative said that in the collective bargaining agreement negotiations the owners were "treating the players like slaves." Yep, slaves! Slaves who make an average of $5.2 million dollars a year.

Nevermind that sports franchises routinely holdup city, county and state governments for huge subsidies to build new stadiums. Studies have shown over decades that professional sports stadiums cost local governments tens of millions of dollars in bond costs and loss revenue while returning to the community income as few as eights days a year in the case of an NFL team.

To be honest, I do have one very positive comment on professional sports - on any given Sunday restaurants, theaters, museums and hiking trails are nearly empty during the "big game." I think a movie for me this afternoon, Go Bears!

The Hour After

Photographers call the light just before sunset - "the magic hour." The low, saturated illumination makes for memorable images. From my perch high above Berkeley with the panoramic view of San Francisco Bay I have a slightly different take on the lights of the evening. I often walk in the neighborhood during that last hour of waning light at sea level but I like to get back to the eighth floor for the view that follows.  You see after the neighborhood down below falls into darkness the sky is still bathed in color up here. Sure sometimes the fog blots out the light or the sun sets into a marine layer but tonight was one of those meteorologically perfect combinations of light and high cloudless sky.

At this time of year the sun sets directly behind the skyline of San Francisco. For a time the city is backlit in brilliant orange that slowly darkens to blood red. The skyline appears as if cut from black silhouette paper and the bridges stand out with only their lights to define them.

Tonight the air was calm making the clarity of the scene so acute, as if an opthamologist were flipping another lens tweaking ever more intensity into the picture with each passing moment. At times like these I feel a strong sense of loneliness, not so much that I am alone in the world but rather that there is no one sharing this brilliant visual sensation. As if the sight were really too much for one person to behold. Shared vision, shared awe.

--

these are not my droids, nor my photos

Taking the Temperature of a Writer

Yesterday's writing task was to rework the opening chapter of the novel I am working on. Capturing the reader's attention quickly was the order of the day. I began the rewrite with the image of a icy drinking fountain, you know the ones that can make the water almost too cold to drink. The chapter is set in the early morning just after dawn on a crisp spring day. I struggled with that image and the fifteen hundred words that followed for most of the daylight and into the early evening.

Yesterday in Berkeley was a warm day, September is often the hottest month of the year here. Now by hot I mean maybe a couple of days of 90, but more likely some mid-80s. Officially it reached 84 yesterday. As I have oft mentioned in the past, my wall of windows faces due west, which means that around two in the afternoon the sun has begun to blaze into my nest. I tweak the blinds and switch on my fans but for a few days each year it gets downright uncomfortable in here. Yesterday was a borderline day, as long as I kept a fan directly on me as well as minimal clothing I was within my tolerable range of heat/mass/body index. So I sloughed on with the chapter.

By early evening my creative energies had been drained and with mild dissatisfaction I put the chapter to bed for the night. I slipped in the land of Morpheus sometime after midnight with the windows wide open, I didn't pull the comforter over me until sometime in the wee dark hours. This morning I opened my eyes to a grey day outside my windows, the marine layer had moved in overnight and temperatures had plummeted. After pulling on several layers of cotton I was at my desk reediting the chapter.

Metaphors and images that had hidden from me yesterday snapped into view. In a scant hour I had reworked the entire piece and captured the words that should enrapture an audience. It's still well short of noon and chapter two beckons. What a difference a day makes.

Today's lesson: If you are going to write about the Sahara Desert, better not to attempt it from Boulder, Colorado in February.

Camouflage

From 1975 to 1990 I lived in and around the South Bay neighborhoods of Los Angeles (Manhattan Beach, Torrance, Redondo Beach, Palos Verdes & Hermosa Beach). One of my friends then was an older gentleman who hung out at the beach bars I frequented. Charles was a storyteller, he was also a kind and gentle alcoholic. Nearly all of the beach bar denizens knew him as a regular but most thought his stories came out of the bottle. I learned that Charles had a really tough time in his golden years but I also discovered that he had a Ph.D. in literature that he got after first earning two engineering degrees. I liked to listen to him and didn't much care about the "truth" of his stories.

One day I took Charles down to Long Beach to visit his daughter. On the drive down he said: 

"You know during the war if you took this street south you could drive right under the camouflage netting the defense department put up to hide the airplane plant from Japanese bombers."

"That must have been a lot of netting," I said.

"Oh yeah it went on for several miles," he replied.

This must have been 1982 or thereabouts when I heard this tale, no internet to go look up the veracity of the many tales he told. Besides I wasn't at all interested in proving him right or wrong. So imagine my surprise when I got these photos from a friend a few days ago, showing the vast camouflage netting the military put up in Long Beach to cover the Boeing plant. The shot above is the before photo, this next one is the after.

Here are a few more shots.

Underneath the netting

Treetop level

Hangar below

In one of the articles I read I found this line: "you could head south down Carson St. and drive right under the huge canopy." It was that same Carson St. forty years later that Charles and I were driving on the day when he told me the camouflage story.

Addendum: I am told that there was a similar camouflage set-up in Pasadena at the Lockheed plant and that some of these pictures might be from there. But who cares about a little mix-up in a good Charles story.

Medical Marijuana (7): Dosage

As I explained last week, I have as yet been unable to balance the palliative benefits of pain reduction with the side effects of being high, baked, wasted, buzzed, ripped, faded and/or stoned. You see, as with most prescription drugs, "effects may vary." The problem is dosage. We humans are not the same, we react differently based on age, weight, metabolism, contents of stomach, amount of sleep you got last night, stress, the phase of the moon.

You get the idea, we do not react the same to any stimuli, we are unique creatures. So with Medical Marijuana the prescribed "dosage" is a bit of a guessing game. Let me give you a most recent example:

I bought a six ounce Chocolate Peanut Butter Hash Bar (product review below). Yesterday I split the bar with a friend, he has less acute pain than I and he is a long time recreational pot user. So we had two levels of discomfort and two very different histories of functioning while under the influence. Adding these additional variables would provide more data for my experiment.

But with Medical Marijuana there is a second issue regarding dosage - there is no standard for what constitutes a "dose". I can report without fear of contradiction that one patient's 1/2 dose is another person's full dose or quarter dose or double dose. Here is yesterday's dual test subject report.

The effects began fairly quickly (30 minutes) for both participants. Pain was effectively reduced for both in the one hour to perhaps mid third hour after consumption. However, the bar was labeled as being 1/4 to 1/2 dose and we split the bar equally. So according to the manufacturer we each had 1/8 to 1/4 of a full dose.

By late in the fourth hour I was supine in a cool, dark room contemplating the nuances of string theory as it applies to snack cheese. Somewhere in the fifth hour my friend found me and suggested that the dosage disclosure on the packing had clearly been set for elephants or small cetaceans.

So as for dosage - you will have to learn to titrate any Medical Marijuana products to your unique physiology and to the wildly inconsistent labeling of the various products. Also recommended in the early testing stages - stay home but pre-stock the kitchen with chocolate.

PRODUCT REPORT: Chocolate Peanut Butter Hash Bar

Ingredients: Sugar, Peanut Oil, Flour, Milk, Salt, Hash.

Notice the absolute absence of chocolate in the product. Clearly bad labeling, however, it was wonderfully peanutty; in fact, this is the best tasting product so far in the experiment. As noted above the package dosage disclosure is obscenely low and should be adjusted in line with other competitive products. On a cost per dose basis, this is an exceptional value. My next test of this item will involved dividing the bar into eight doses.

Previous posts in this series:

Medical Marijuana (6): A Conundrum

Medical Marijuana (5): The Patients

Medical Marijuana (4): Botanical Chemistry

Medical Marijuana (3): Human Experimentation

Medical Marijuana (2): The Dispensary

Medical Marijuana (1): An Inquiry

Osmose

Osmose - to gradually or unconsciously assimilate some principle or object;


Have you ever stopped to consider how many of your deeply held "beliefs" are not actually yours? Most of what we "believe" comes from one of two sources. The first and most prevalent is childhood. The old "Nurture" accounts for what most people think and believe about most everything. Indeed, the apple or in this case the moral and ethical center, does not fall far from the parental tree.


The second most common source of your belief system comes from the same source but involves a profound rejection of it; we often refer to this as the generational gap or simply being a teenager. In either case radical shifts in what we believe seldom take place much beyond our teenage years.


However, it is possible to change. One common adult period of ethical readjustment involves being the parent of one or more teenagers who are themselves inspecting and dissecting your professed beliefs. At times the teen years are as life changing for the parents as they are for the young adults.


But the point of the Borg Cube is to emphasize that many of our cherished beliefs have been gained through a process of slow accumulation. We take on the moral and ethical tenets of those around us. Society, peer groups, church, television, motion pictures, assorted role models, even advertising can shape your moral compass.


The obvious question at some point is: "Are your most embedded beliefs really yours?" Or did you just osmose them from your environment? Perhaps the direction of this influence is the other way around, the environment osmosed you. Come to think about it, you should probably come to think about it. Which may lead you to several uncomfortable conclusions, including:

"the unexamined life is not worth living" - Socrates

Silverhill Road

Don't let it be forgot
That once there was a spot
For one brief shining moment that was known
As Camelot.

My brief shining place was a stone cabin in Michigan located in the middle of a 20,000 acre state wilderness park off Silverhill Road. If you go there now a three mile section of that road has been returned to wilderness, grown over and grown in. The cabin is gone, torn down my the state just after I abandoned Michigan for California in 1975. But for two years, it was my Camelot.

Back in 1973 a good friend was living there, he was a park ranger. The plans to level the old cabin were in the works but until then someone got to live in the near idyllic setting. My friend was transferred and I got the cabin until the state brought in the bulldozer. 

The old stone structure hugged a central stone fireplace that ran up through the second floor bedrooms. Across the narrow dirt road and far down the hill was the Crooked Lake campground. We were sheltered from even minimal intrusion of civilization by a huge hedge of violet lilacs, the smell in early summer was nearly overpowering as I lay in the front bedroom.

There was a small garden less successful than the wild asparagus patch nearby. We inherited a sheltie collie named Heather and my roommate brought his shepherd, Bo. I soon had Sam, Heather and Gisele who produced 9 kittens the second spring. Sam was the feline who trained me to pet him during the night. 

When the trees were fully leafed out in the summer, the final two miles to the cabin were inside of a green tunnel with the trees on either side providing a complete canopy to Silverhill Road. In the fall the tunnel would darken and then burst into yellows, reds and silvers. There was a fairy circle of mushrooms in the meadow and a stand of lonely birch trees in the high pasture.

We had several big summer parties but the real highlights were the quiet nights in the spring, summer, fall and yes even Michigan winter. All the lights would be extinguished and the stars would burn brightly down on the small rise behind the cabin. I remember that rise for another reason but that is a story for another time.

Pace and the Wisdom to Ignore It

An expert is a person who has made all the mistakes that can be made in a very narrow field. -- Niels Bohr

I am not claiming to be an expert but perhaps simply the holder of some wisdom accumulated over time. Recently I was doing was long-distance skype counseling session and heard words from my client that I had heard several times before. Now it's not unusual for individuals to have similar issues in their life, as much as we yearn to be uniquely ourselves we do share common thoughts, desires and frustrations. In this case my client was in an almost identical situation to two previous clients. 

This is one of my stories, it's not about any of the three clients and I am not going to disclose the exact life situation they shared. Just for clarity let's say they all had a similar scary nightmare when they were young.

There is a full decade between my current client and the previous one and another decade or more to the first time I was told about the 'nightmare' by a client, probably sometime in the late 80s. After the recent skype session I pondered just how differently I had reacted to those three so very similar situations.

My first experience happened during one of those 'kitchen sink' second sessions with a client. Sometimes after an introductory therapy session the client will spend the week thinking that they did not get all of their 'issues' out on the table, so in the second meeting they talk and talk about everything, just so the therapist has the whole picture of their life situation. When this happens the therapists has to spend a lot of time sorting and absorbing the client's words. Unfortunately, I did not give full weight to the 'nightmare' disclosure and that lack of therapeutic insight delayed the client's progress.

Ten or twelve years later, I picked up on the significance of the client's words as he said them but I also recognized he was not ready to pursue that particular aspect of his recovery. You see there is a therapeutic concept known as pace. If you push a client too soon or too hard they will shut down or run away; well that's the short version of pace. I was really into therapeutic pace back then. What? You didn't think therapists had strategies and styles?

Finally the most recent client. Again I knew exactly what was being said but I also knew this client was interested in progress - immediate progress. So I pushed back, when she resisted I pushed harder. Was I violating the client's pace? Possibly, but I am older and potentially wiser. On her third attempt at deflecting the conversation I said:

"Look we can talk about your boyfriend being distant or your boss being a dumb ass manager; but I thought you wanted to get to why you are unhappy and since you just told me exactly why, shall we talk about that?" 

There are lots of responses you can get from a client, some good, some bad, some confusing and some confirming. She said:

"Remind me next time to see a therapist who can't see so easily into my soul."

Therapeutically speaking I've made most of the mistakes before and from those hopefully I've gain a modicum of wisdom, if not expertise.

[Situational aspects of these client interactions have been changed to protect the indentity of the clients. No animlals were harmed in the writing of this post.]

--

photo from National Geographic

That Time I Got Bit By a Fairy

Last week when Irene was blowing around the East Coast, I heard a news report about evacuations on the Carolina Outer Banks and I was reminded of my own evacuation from those same islands some forty years ago.


In the summer of 1971 I was traveling on the Eastern seaboard with the then love of my life. We were taking a car ferry to one of the islands off South Carolina. This was one of the remote islands, back then you had to boil your water when camping out there. We parked the car about midships and I headed for the restroom under the bridge. On my way back to the car the ship lurched and started to pull away from the dock, I was between the bumpers of two vans and decided that might be a dangerous place to be standing, so I stepped out into the space between the vans and our car. 


What I discovered later was that the ferry was running behind schedule and the deckhand was drunk. So the captain gave a hurried sign to cast off from the auto dock and the deck hand missed it. The ferry started to pull away from the dock before the final chain (not rope but one inch diameter chain) was unhitched. 


The end link of chain snapped under the thrust of the ferry, it opened up like a three pound horseshoe and was flung forward. It would have shot the entire length of the boat and splashed down harmlessly in the ocean had it not been for the right side of my head being in the way.


I went down against the side of the car, didn't quite lose consciousness but by the time the incident was brought to the captain's attention we were more than halfway to the island so we completed the trip, waited for cars to disembark and then made the run back to the mainland. About two hours later I was getting my neck stitched up with several South Carolina Ferry officials trying very hard not to say the word - liability.


I remind you this was 1971, which might lend some perspective to the doctor not giving my any pain meds nor mentioning the potential for swelling in my neck and throat. So at 2 a.m. I was in an emergency room fifty miles down the road getting an injection into my throat and medication for pain and soft tissue trauma.


Forty years ago, my crackerjack lawyer got my medical expenses reimbursed and the cost of three nights in a motel so I could recover in an air conditioned room. No damages, no pain & suffering, no negligence. 


That time I got bit by a ferry.

On the Road Again

Well I'm off again, on the road for 2+ months and according to Google Maps 6,262 miles. The motivation for hitting the highways again, like need a reason; one of my brothers is getting married in October. Of course, there are other relatives and friends to visit along the way.

Leg One of the trip I have already made, I am back in Weed, California (up north near Mt. Shasta almost to Oregon for those not up on their Northern California geography). Once again I am cat-sitting at my good friend's place while they do their own relative visiting in Oklahoma. I imagine I will be here about three weeks give or take and then head out on the first really long leg of the trek from Weed to Shakopee, Minnesota (just south of Minneapolis/St. Paul).

After a short, poker-filled stop in MN. I shall meander about the midwest until the wedding in mid-October. Then another long hunk of driving south to Texas.

Current itinerary subject to mid-course corrections:
Berkeley, CA
Weed, CA (I'm already here, there, everywhere)
Shakopee (Minneapolis), MN
Ann Arbor, MI
Fort Wayne, IN
Franklin, IN
Austin, TX
Albuquerque, NM
Phoenix, AZ
Palm Springs, CA
Venice, CA
Marina Del Rey, CA
Berkeley, CA

Not sure how much coverage I will give the trip, the blog continues but geographically I don't really need to be anywhere in particular to disgorge the contentions of my head onto this cyber-page. I'll update the "Going Next?" over in the right column, other than that and reports on any strange natural occurrences, it will be business as unusual.

Aha! Moments

Sunset on Horseshoe Falls, Yosemite National Park

There is an Aha! Moment television ad in which a guy plays music at a Ronald McDonald house and a young girl comes up who has just had cochlear implants. It is the first music she ever heard. It reminded me of a story from the two years when I was a demi-god in a virtual world. Yes, a real job with Fujitsu of America, down in Silicon Valley. This was one of the early graphic virtual attempts (WorldsAway for the internet addicted) I was there in '97 & '98 before the dot.com crash.

We had volunteer helpers in the world, members who were experienced and given special powers to help new members, mediate problems and general keep an eye on things when the paid staff were not "in world." We called those helpers acolytes, this is a story one of them told and we retold when the business side of the company wanted to know what we were doing over there in our dark cave.

You get an avatar when you first entered the world and part of the identity process was making your avatar unique and recognizable to others. You could buy clothes, change your hair style and color, carry a cane or a pinwheel, have a pet puppy or a parrot on your shoulder. But the real defining change was the head. You could buy heads out of a vending machine and create yourself anew. Rare heads made for a thriving trade in noggins.

So one fine day, one of our acolytes gets a page from a member, the 'acolyte page' was an option for anyone inworld but was used most often by newbies who were just acquainting themselves with the virtual world. The acolyte responded with a standard - "How may I help you?"

Acolytes are usually busy with several citizens, so it was not unusual not to get an immediate reply. After three or four minutes, a reply came back - "I want to buy a new head."

Clearly a request from a new member and since heads are the most expensive items inworld and since you earn tokens by being inworld, it was likely the new member had not accumulated enough credits for the big purchase. The acolyte knew this, so she walked over to find the newbie and assist them. She messaged - "I will come over to you."

It took the acolyte a couple of minutes to reach the citizen, just as she got there the newbie responded - "Thank You."

Two responses each with a lead time of several minutes. Conversational lags are significant in virtual reality worlds, it could mean any number of things but being aware of them is part of virtual maturity.

The acolyte said - "Shall we go over to the store and look at some new heads?"

Again, a long lag before - "Yes, thank you."

[I am omitting a lot of the dialog here but let me just say that each move from locale to locale inworld takes two mouse clicks and each speech communication obviously takes both mouse work and key strokes. The summary is that it took the acolyte about 45 minutes to walk the citizen to the store and have them look at each of the heads on display. There were long pauses on each and every communication even though the acolyte took the initiative to accelerate the interaction by operating the head vending machines and commenting on each item for sale.]

Finally the member had selected a head and the acolyte being a good helper offered to buy the new head for the member. - "No, I would like to do it myself" was the reply.

The acolyte stepped away from the vending machine and over about five minutes the citizen was able to purchase the new head and try it on for the first time. After several more minutes the member wrote - "Thank you very much, I will write more later."

Our acolyte moved on to other requests she had been putting off while helping the member with the new head. But she was absolutely sure there would be more to the story. About an hour later, she got this message:

"My name is John. I am the person you helped buy my new head. Thank you again. I was born without the use of my arms or legs, I operate my computer with a blow straw. Until I found this world I had never ever earned any wages and today for the very first time in my life, I bought something for myself. Thank you again."

Aha.

Sunday Newspapers

When I was growing up in semi-rural Michigan, the bulk of the Lavalli clan still lived in Detroit. Easter and several other Sundays were spent on W. Lafayette at the house were my Aunts Alice & Doris, Uncle Ray and Grandma Lavalli still lived. Most of my father's generation were born in that house. Often as kids we would go to the city for the weekend and come home with our parents late Sunday night, I still remember falling asleep in the backseat on the long, pre-freeway drive home on Michigan Avenue.

No internet back then, no news magazine for my family either; we were newspaper readers in the heyday of print media. Early on Saturday evening when we were in Detroit, the "first edition" of the Sunday papers would be delivered. One each of the Detroit News, the Detroit Free Press and the Detroit Times. I fondly recall sitting on the green metal glider on the enclosed front porch and reading all three sets of comics. Full page, brightly printed, full size Sunday comics on Saturday night. My aunts, uncles, parents and older cousins would collectively pour over the "adult" sections of all three papers. As I got older, I added first the sports sections then entertainment and finally the hard news.

But what fascinated me the most was that on Sunday morning there would be three more papers delivered before anyone woke up. The 'Sunday sections' including comics, roto-review, ads, personals etc. all came only with the Saturday evening deliveries. The Sunday morning papers were overnight updates of the front page section, sports, editorials and entertainment and 75% of those were repeats of the first edition from the evening before.

Those were not the only two weekend editions. There was the regular Saturday morning or afternoon deliveries. The Free Press was a morning paper, the News an afternoon edition and the evening Times. In the city we got all of the Saturday papers plus the first  Sunday edition on Saturday night and all three City Finals in the morning. There was also a late night edition that was printed overnight between the "first edition" and the "Sunday final" it went out by truck to the suburbs that was the paper we got delivered at home, way out there in the sticks.

I discovered when I started working at the pharmacy that my dad had not broken the multiple-Sunday edition addiction. He a bundle of the Saturday evening first edition delivered to the store late on Saturday, one copy for him and several more for other Detroit ex-patriots who had like us, escaped to the rural life.

The Times stopped operating in 1960, while the Free Press and the News have had a "joint operating agreement" since the late 80s. These days I don't subscribe to any newspapers, haven't since I left Michigan in 1975. Times and The Times change.

Jerry Garcia

I was in San Francisco the other day, we stopped for lunch at Cha Cha Cha in my old neighborhood - the Upper Haight or as it is still called Haight-Ashbury. In the summer of 1995 I was living a couple of blocks from the corner of Haight & Ashbury in The City. On August 9th of that summer, Jerome John "Jerry" Garcia passed away of a heart attack while in a drug rehabilitation facility. He was 53.

Around 11 o'clock in the evening, I walked up to Haight Street to see what tributes there might be to the fallen leader of the Grateful Dead. The light poles at the corner of Haight and Ashbury were festooned with garlands. There were pictures of Jerry and the Dead on every stoop and curb. Candles glowed from windows. Lots of kids were sitting on the street listening to Dead tunes coming from a second story window.

Later that night I wrote an email to my friends who could not be there that night. Those words are now long lost but one thing I vividly remember. I painted the picture of Haight-Ashbury 1995, the four corners reflected the changing face of The Haight. Sure there was still the same vintage clothing store on one corner and a t-shirt shoppe full of tie-dye on another; but the other two corners were a brand new Gap and a Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream Emporium.

I knew that ice cream shoppe or rather they knew me, I stopped there often enough that the evening crew recognized me. I had given a couple of the scoopers advice on community college classes. I poked my head in that night and one of them waved me over to the counter.

"I've worked here for two years," he said, "we've never run out of a flavor before."

I must have looked at him with a blank, unknowing expression because he continued: 

"Everybody's been buying Cherry Garcia, it's all gone."

There are tributes and there are tributes. I wonder do they still make Wavy Gravy?

Medical Marijuana (6): A Conundrum

This post is a little late, not that anyone but me takes notice of these things, but I have a dilemma. As I mentioned last time "an experimental anomaly" has arisen. In my perfect world the effects of medical marijuana would be a high level of pain alleviation coupled with a low level of mental alteration. I would hurt less and not get high.

Unfortunately, it seems the same chemical properties of cannabis that contribute to pain relief also deal out the marijuana buzz. After several instances of being 'too high' I was considering abandoning my medical marijuana investigation when a friend pointed out that I had, over time, completely overcome the deleterious side effects of hydrocodone. Might not I be able to do the same with cannabis?

My approach has been to inhale or ingest mini-doses to minimize the buzz of the marijuana. That, however, means delivering micro-doses of pain relief to a macro-pain problem. Therefore, I am going to institute a new protocol using the higher dose approach to see if indeed I will adjust to the side effects. In the next few days I will acquire another batch of products in several "delivery modalities" and begin phase two of my foray into personal human experimentation.

Below, good news, a product that does work without side effects.

PRODUCT REPORT: Tincture of Cannabis

Several providers produce a topical tincture of cannabis spray, usually alcohol based liquids. One dispensary (Harborside in Oakland) has a two part product, often referred to as being like "the two ingredients in epoxy." You spray on the alcohol based part one, let it dry and then rub on the cream based second part. Even though my pain comes from a deep spinal deformity, I find the tincture relieves topical pain and relaxes the surface muscles. If I use the product fifteen minutes before my stretching exercises, I have more range of motion and less pain while exercising. I would recommend this product, to those with arthritis and joint pain, particularly for use on the hands, neck and elbows; areas with close skin surface access.

Previous posts in this series:

Medical Marijuana (5): The Patients

Medical Marijuana (4): Botanical Chemistry

Medical Marijuana (3): Human Experimentation

Medical Marijuana (2): The Dispensary

Medical Marijuana (1): An Inquiry

Afghan White Widow

Sex Week

Alright yes, perhaps the title should be "Relationship Week" but why scare away readers by using the "R" word. Sex sells! I would also offer that the picture above will be the most inappropriate of the week, but I really liked the curves of the chair. Did you know that tongue in cheek makes it difficult to speak but has no effect whatsoever on using the keyboard.

I have had several posts on the subject of sex rumbling around in my brain and other organs for awhile now, as I mentioned last week I was finally prompted to get them all out by the writing of a friend who has found love online. OK, so she hasn't yet used the "L" word in public, but she has changed her facebook status to "in a relationship" - the one true sign of commitment in the 21st century.

While we are fencing with the "R" word, I would note that I have not made the standard remarks about only boyz being the ones afraid of it. Nay, one of my observations from my forays into the world of online dating is that the girlz are a bit more quiet about their big "R" fears but they seem to have a fair level of relational angst hidden beneath any come hither speech; they just don't flaunt it with zeal as do some of my fellow Y-chromosome creatures.

So, my preliminary online dating observations in bullet point presentation:

• when I use the word 'intelligent' and blatantly flash my Ph.D. I am trying to convey a message, so why do women who contact me based on my profile then find me too cerebral?

• age matters, take a look at any reunion photograph from the 50s, 60s, or 70s; ever wonder how those people could possibly be the same age? this goes for not just for external looks, but also spirit, energy and worldview; just because we are the same chronological age does not mean we see the world the same or interact with it alike.

• liberal and conservative do not mix in a couple, at least not in my world; opposites do not attract, if you are a republican we have zero possibilities, if you are a democrat - well maybe, but you can't be card carrying.

• you are not going to change me, but more importantly how have you gotten to our age and not figured this one out for yourself?

Now I know that so far these initial observations have a bit of a negative spin; I just needed to get some of the basic power points out of the way up front. The rest of the week will be reflections on the state of "R", "C" & even "L" in my world. In the final post of the week, I will disclose my new plan of action forged in the tepid fires of online coffee dates.

Medical Marijuana (5): The Patients

Today's report was prompted by an article which suggests that the typical medical marijuana patient is "white, educated and employed." Ignoring the insipient racism in that conclusion, I would say that my experience partially supports those findings. Although I found in integrated neighborhoods the clientele at the co-ops was also more mixed; the same was true of my initial physician visit in downtown Oakland, a very integrated city.

The "whiteness" of the users might have more to do with who has access to the entire medical system and also a lot less fear of "the man" in the form of DEA door-kickers. Educated makes sense. The willingness to do some personal research for those unfamiliar with the use of cannabis is a big step in trying medical marijuana. The employed label may only indicate the financial ability to cough up fifteen bucks for a gram of high quality weed.

What is more interesting in the aforementioned study is that patients tend to substitute medical marijuana for prescription medication and/or alcohol. In many ways a potentially safer alternative to NSAIDs, narcotics and booze. In my own case, it was the ineffectiveness of oxycodone that led me to try the pot path.

Next week, my first experimental anomaly.

PRODUCT REPORT: Hash w/ high CBD content

Last week I reported on the CBD measurement and how higher levels might well lower the pot buzz. To that end I purchased a gram of hash with a CBD of 9%, which is more than 4X higher than any other product I have found. Unfortunately, lowering the 'buzz-factor' of hash appears to be about as effective as lowering blue agave tequila from 90 proof to only 80. It still packs a wallop.

Previous posts in this series:

Medical Marijuana (4): Botanical Chemistry

Medical Marijuana (3): Human Experimentation

Medical Marijuana (2): The Dispensary

Medical Marijuana (1): An Inquiry

A Glitch in the Internet

You probably have noticed that the ads you see on the right hand side of many browser pages will change based on where you've been surfin'. Particularly if you are hitting a lot of retail sites doing some comparison shopping. Well last month some nano-byte got jumbled on the interwebs and for about a week I was flooded with advertising for:

Engagement rings
Honeymoon vacations
Martha Stewart wedding guides

and yes, these pictures come from a couple of those ads.

No I have no idea how, what, when, where or why not. I even checked my browser cache but I did not black out and visit Brides R Us or anything like that. What I found most curious was that over about ten days to two weeks, the ads transitioned to home furnishings and real estate directed at 'first time buyers.' I am anticipating a flood of solicitations from divorce lawyers about this time next year. I know, I know, way too cynical.

So let me offer a teaser for next week. A woman I know through a one-time coffee date, which actually was a walk along the Bay - anyway, this woman is a wonderful writer. She has written several blog pieces on her adventures in online dating and recently her success at the same. I have several times consider writing a response from the other side of the aisle and now with her relational vindication, I have decided the time is now. My response to her Annals of Online Dating begins next week, along with a few other offerings on the general theme of: Online Dating, Relationships, Sex, Life the World and Everything.

Back in the Spring

Back in April someone reminded me about the 'Falcon Cam' on the PG&E building in San Francisco. So for about three weeks I had my small side monitor open to the 'NestCam' and watched as the falcon chicks grew and both mom & dad brought them breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks. I must say the avian population around a falcon nest really decreases when there are kids to be fed.

These cameras are part of the Santa Cruz Predatory Bird Research Group, just one of many such video arrangements to be found all around the world; on the internet of course. You might try one out next spring. It was interesting to watch the progress of the chicks from eggs to fledging. But I found I became much more interested in the people who were watching the falcons.

You see at some point you have questions. When will they fledge? Why do the cameras shift? What are they eating? So I joined the Falcon Forum and discovered rather quickly that there were some really dedicated conservationists involved. I got early notice of the day they were being banded and watched a really interesting inter-species reality show. I also was reminded that human beings can be addicted to nearly anything, including falcon babies. 

Then I remembered that you can gain a lot of knowledge hanging out with borderline fanatics. I went to Antarctica in 1980, somewhat before there was actual eco-tourism. My shipmates were either very old and somewhat jaded world travelers or birders. I discovered very quickly that making zodiac landings with the birders meant more information, more adventuresome hikers but lots of overly detailed conversation about he mating habits of plovers. It was a reasonable trade-off, besides the big warm hats filtered out a lot of the conversation.

Note to self - I need to scan that picture I have of me in the penguin colony for the blog.

To-Do List - Go through increasingly large pile of notes to self.

Medical Marijuana (4): Botanical Chemistry

I am going to guess that just about everyone knows the active ingredient in marijuana is THC (tetrahydrocannabinol). That's what gets you high. But like so many other plants, chemical compounds, prescription medications, herbal remedies and drugs -- that's not all that's going on chemically when we introduce marijuana into our system.

I have already written about the two sub-species of marijuana (indica and sativa) but there are other properties to be considered. The one I want to discuss today is CBD or cannabidiol. Often the strength of pot is measured by its THC percentage but that is only one of several cannabanoids that are present in most marijuana. CBD is one of those 'others' and has some remarkable qualities including reducing what some refer to as the social isolation or 'anti-social' qualities of prolonged marijuana use. 

CBD has also been shown to be a primary factor in treating nausea, anxiety and inflammation. Even more interesting is that as some growers hybridize for more CBD, they are discovering pot that provides various medical benefits while inhibiting the typical marijuana high.

High CBD extractions have also shown early promise in lowering the aggressiveness of breast cancer cells and limiting their invasiveness. Note to dispensaries, labeling that includes CBD testing results will draw customers.

As entrepreneurial growers are given more and more incentives to produce a wider range of products, the trend towards unique blends should provide higher and higher CBD potent strains, which may provide easily stoned patients like myself the ability to gain the medical benefits of marijuana without the associated intoxication.

PRODUCT REPORT: Suckers & Hard Candy

I will preface this report with the stipulation that I am not a big hard candy guy. In addition, it is very difficult to regulate your consumption when you are sucking on a marijuana lollipop. I suppose if you want to sit at your desk and get high with a piece of candy this would work, but as a delivery vehicle for a medically titrated dose, well these suck. Also, it amazes me with all the sweet sticky sugar base used in these treats, candy makers seem unable to make them taste like anything but a vaguely disguised garden compose heap. My advice, go with cookies, pies, cakes; they easily cover the bitter green flavor of the plant, particularly the chocolate based products.

That being said - the Lolle-zing suckers can and do deliver a large dose of THC (56 mg) per pop. They are publicly unobtrusive if that is an issue for you. However, despite the alleged flavors (I tried lemon and pomegranate) they taste like old, moldy grass.

Previous posts in this series:

Medical Marijuana (1): An Inquiry

Medical Marijuana (2): The Dispensary

Medical Marijuana (3): Human Experimentation

Two Characters & Several Decades

It has come to my attention that at least two of my friends feel there is a recent movie out (on cable) in which the lead character reminds them of me. Before I reveal which contemporary film has led them to that comparison, I want to tell a much older but similar story.

Back in the late 80s I was at a party with my 'L.A. family,' all the usual suspects were there. I discussion of favorite movies came up and I guess I mentioned The Big Chill, to which someone responded: "Well, of course you like that movie, William Hurt played you." I remember objecting to that comparison while the chorus of agreement grew on the other side. I countered with the age disparity and someone suggested I was probably more like the character of Nick when I was younger.

Sure I could vindicate myself, I picked up a nearby phone and called my best friend from the 70s. We hadn't spoken in over ten years (well before The Big Chill was released), I was sure Lee would save me. Valerie got on the extension to verify I did not lobby for a favorable result. The conversation went like this:

"Lee! It's Tim.

"Tim, wow it's been a long time."

"Hey Lee, I'll call tomorrow and we can catch up, but I have a herd of people here who are disparaging my character. I need to ask you a question."

"Go for it, I'll save you buddy."

"OK, I assume you've seen The Big Chill."

"Oh, you mean the film where William Hurt played you..."

OK, let me admit it again as I did that day long ago. (Apparently) I had some similarities to the character of Nick in The Big Chill as played by William Hurt. By the way he followed up that role with his Academy Award winning portrayal of Luis Molina in Kiss of the Spider Woman.

Now to the current film. Also apparently, I seem to share some lifestyle characteristics with the George Clooney character in Up In The Air. I saw the film again last night, I think I have distilled the similarities to this one scene. The Clooney character is discussing love and relationships or the lack thereof with his female protege. She is pro-love naturally and he not so much. The scene finishes with this dialog.

"Do you know that moment when you look into somebody's eyes and you can feel them staring into your soul and the whole world goes quiet?"

"Yes!"

"Well, I don't."


I think this time I shall not argue with the cinematic homology.