Giving Mother Her Respect

I am thinking about how our mothers share in our lives. Our joys are theirs. And our sorrows.

Our sharing is not just in terms of outer events, like getting together and keeping in touch. Stories. But, in some mysterious way, more directly and intimately in the conduct of our lives and our experiences. It may be that our mothers feel us living inside them. Maybe not directly as such. But, in a shared resonance.

Also, Mother Earth, doesn't she also share in our lives. And, maybe, in a way more visible and apparent. When we live heedless of our surroundings, the Earth . . . that has consequence to the environment . . . in the air we breathe, the water we drink, the food we grow and consume.

What Would You Think To Do?

After a lovely evening he went up to her place for a nightcap. As you can see, she's the bomb.

She served him a beautifully chilled Stinger. As he raised the glass to take a sip he noticed ... a pubic hair(!). Smack dab right there floating on the surface of his drink.

Is it a mistake? Or, a hint? 

She lives downtown. But, is she wanting to go "downtown"?

What would you think to do?

     1. Say ... "Hey, what the f#ck is this!?"

     2. Think ... "Well, she's not going to meet mother."

     3. Ask ... "Maybe you got something to eat to go with this?" 

May be????

Ploczekianewicz Johorszczevietczhek Wronski

Here we present for your edification one Ploczekianewicz Johorszczevietczhek Wronski. The "Most Polish" of the Polish Wronski's. Owing to the rather complexity of his given name(s) his friends simply addressed him as "PJ". Others, mostly, stayed away.

PJ was a simple dude. A simpleton, some might say. Great Grandma said his head was full of Kapusta. That winter staple Cabbage dish in Old Polonia.

As you can tell from the archival Wronski Family photo, was one stylish Pole. Fond of limericks, we've been told.

Here's one of his supposed favorites:

The boy stood on the burning deck / His feet were all a blister / The fire burned / His pants burned off / And now he wears his sister's.

CLICK to learn about all the Wronski's.

Maczhsamillionenen Wronski was the original lounge lizzard. There he is — can you spot him? — at Maxim's in the gilt days. The "Shiznit" before there even was such a thing as a shiznit. The "Man About Town" in Gay-Paree, as it were.

That's when "gay" was "happy and exuberant"; not like today. [Though, from all outward appearances, it's still all happy and exuberant.] And, that's alright.

And, you can be sure of that, he lived up to his name. He had a million — at very least! — at a time when that denomination had some real spending power. Around Uncle Max the Champagne flowed like water. A totally unsubstantiated rumor had it at the time that he used the bubbly to flush his toilets. Truth be told, it was the bidet; but, only when and just before l'amour toujours. If you get the meaning. The guy knew how to please. 

And, speaking of pleasing, it was none other than our own Maxy Baby who coined the term ... "The more the merrier." Seems he was also the one to, maybe not invent, but most certainly put the ménage à trois on the map.

His famous trope, advising on the secrets of oral pleasure ... "You get in there and make sounds like a Frenchman speaking into a bowl of Kapusta!" That reference was the Polish in him coming out. Kapusta is cooked cabbage. And, arguably, more dear to a proper son of Polonia than even the charms of one such as even that Mata Hari. Whom he may or may not have had an acquaintance.

"To believe that life's problems will somehow work themselves out, everything bad is fixable, and something about samsara has to be worth fighting for makes it virtually impossible to nurture a genuine, all-consuming desire to practice the dharma. 

The only view that truly works for a dharma practitioner is that there are no solutions to the sufferings of samsara and it cannot be fixed."

– Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse Rinpoche

From the book "Not for Happiness: A Guide to the So-Called Preliminary Practices"

GRAVITY: 

From Concept to ... Percept.

There's no one who doesn't know about Gravity. It's there from the first instant. It's preverbal. Ineluctable.

As infants we learn to roll over, sit, and stand. Then, on to walking, running, climbing, and all the feats known to humankind. Everything under the ever present influence of the pull of Gravity. We know about Gravity as youngsters from playing with blocks. What stacks, what doesn't. We may even become educated in the building crafts. Then, we have a conceptual understanding of what works for a structure to endure. Plumb and square and level is the rule.

Yet, in the makeup of our bodies it's a mixed bag. In terms of our adaptation to Gravity. Just look at all the random interpretations and rough approximations of uprightness we display in our standing and living under the constant influence of the energy field of the Earth.

We endure pains and stress and apply all kinds of technological remedies to palliate ourselves.

It's possible, you know, to make Gravity not just a concept, but a percept.

To awaken to the action of Gravity on our physical being and to cultivate the kind of simple balance in the arrangement of our bodies that any child would recognize as appropriate to making sure a stack of blocks stands.

It's very easy. Yet, it takes a little doing.

Go back to school.

Oh! Wronski! Uncle Voycheczevknieskczik Wronski

Uncle Voycheczevknieskczik Wronski

Uncle Voycheczevknieskczick Wronski had aspirations to be a heart throb of the silver screen during the Hollywood Golden Age. 

His fatal flaw — alas, isn't it for us all — was pride. He insisted on being called by his full, given name. "Voycheczevknieskczick" was not only nearly unpronounceable, it was a mouthful. The director of his first movie in which he was only an extra had him fired claiming it took away several minutes of the shooting schedule just to utter his name. And, half the time he was reliably somewhere off set doing who knows what with who knows who.

So he was relegated to the role of blocker. As such, he would stand in for the male lead and patiently pose while the cinematographer got his lighting and camera settings adjusted properly. Seen in the above photo from Casablanca. Ingrid Bergman was taken with him. In fact she thought he would have been a much better choice, looks-wise, than that smug Bogart. Voycheczevknieskczick couldn't have agreed more. But, then there was that name, the scourge of every Hollywood film director. Every! He settled for the unrequited love of Ms. Bergman instead.

Oh, don't feel bad for Uncle. It seems that the girls in La-La Land were much amused by the challenge of pronouncing his name. It was like an open-sesame puzzle for them. He had killer good looks, of course. He was quite the prize. Too many to count got their Voycheczevknieskczick on in the day. But, you did have to pronounce his name right. Or ... no dice.

See all the other Wronski's by going to the sidebar "Oh! Wronski / All My Relations".


Or, for the full bore hystericalicity CLICK to go to this page.

Step Away!

Step Away!

The cave is getting rather smokey. Haven't you noticed? Or, are we going to be like the frog in the pot of water, not noticing the rising heat? Not even when it is too late.

This is about being "woke" in a culture which offers distractions to keep us enthralled with the phantasmagoria of things. (And, maybe we'll make a few side bars as well.)

Specifically, the way media presents and promotes ... well, so much crap. And our various entertainments. And, our politicians. And, our culture warriors. Oh, and, the marketers. Birth ... get things-do stuff-become somebody-own a house-have kids-buy a car-pay bills-get a nice cake on retirement ... die. Never encouraged to look into just where did I come from? Where am I going? What is this? Who am I? Merely a pawn in some greedy game. 

Walk away! Or, rather ask the important questions.

When I was a boy I took no interest in the news. My father read the paper thoroughly each day; watched the evening news. It just didn't raise the least interest in me, however. Callow youth?

I do however remember watching the huge Republican national convention when Ike was nominated. Maybe for the spectacle of seeing so many people at an event. I like Ike! 

In high school I was not much of a participant in Civics. Each class would start off with voluntary sharing about some item from the news. William B. Williams was ever ready to share the latest Peanuts humor. He had a thing for Peanuts. I famously did not chime in. Then, for some reason I noticed an item in the morning newspaper. Up went my hand. To an astonished class, and teacher, I announced ... "Today is Beethoven's birthday!" Cheers followed. More comedian than pundit.

Looking much more closely at the news of the present day, I see that my younger self may have had some real wisdom after all. It may be better to stay clear away. What's important will reach you, trust me.

We seem to be living in a Post-Modern relativistic world where the value of things is a function of whatever any individual's particular preference may be at the moment. "Fun!" 

(You having fun? Fun? Well, was Jesus having fun?)

An incident in the "whatever": culture. Not that long ago the woman who was a leader in the NAACP was outed for being white. Rachel Dolezal said she "identified" as Black. The report is now she is destitute and soon homeless. So tell me ... if that Bruce Jenner guy can identify as a woman and be praised to high heaven as a social leader and exemplar — Person of the Year, runner up — how come you can't cross the race line? Who's making the rules. Where are the lines, if it's all loosey-goosey ... whatever. Is what's-what just what the most vocal and/or influential say it is?

It's called "Post-Truth": When facts have become less important than emotional persuasion. You're getting old. Let's hope that the new generation(s) don't get the bright idea to hasten your exit on the grounds that you are no longer productive. Not ... fun.

Don't even get me started on that business of, "Born that way". Hey, it's a line in a song. Lady Gaga's. But, now any boy or girl, man or woman who wants to "identify" as the other gender is not only "supported", but featured prominently as a vanguard for social equality. Who is making this stuff up? And, of course, the endless debate over which restroom to use.

If you are following the news and you are someone who evaluates things on the facts and on the merits, you should by now by all measures be completely chagrined, bamboozled, flummoxed, balled up, flabbergasted, dazed, confused. You may have your own descriptors.

Regarding that image above. At a critical turning point in my life I found myself standing outside Plato's Cave. Woke. So, now you get to the point. Hey! I'm making the point. Just keep reading. Besides, you do have to scratch up some soil wheretofor you be planting a seed. Right? Stay the course, brave soldier!

Waking up is not such a great thing at first. There's the glare of the sunlight. Those still back in the cave. All the dust you've accumulated on yourself. Needing to find a new map for going forward. Cleaning up. The culture doesn't prepare you for such eventualities. In fact, maybe discourages. Even the dear relatives don't take too kindly to the one who wakes up from the family drama. It's a thing, you know. The family romance.

Which brings me to my point. I wramble. But, you should know that from the name on the blog. It's my claim to fame. 

A case could be made that the culture ... sucks. Wack. Mashugana. (No wonder they hate us.) At least the culture as served up and framed by the news media, movies, television shows, advertising, government politics, social politics. And by culture I mean the organizing set of ideas — the prevailing myth, really — which informs our social and commercial group life.

I used to be an Ad Biggie. Advertising. You know: "Get this and be happy!" And, all the nuances off that core notion. The myth of "PROGRESS". NEW! BETTER! BIGGER! FASTER! STRONGER! LONGER LASTING! I thought it died sometime in the late 1980s. Maybe a slower death than I thought.

Look. I didn't walk away from everything I knew to find a better way to do the same old sh#t! My goal is to help find and foster a new myth. One where the very possibility that everyone could become self-actualized is itself a value ... maybe even be encouraged to do so as an essential life goal. You know ... "Know thy self." That's my Path.

Present culture: Take the news. Please. 

Television news in particular. It seems to be thoroughly soaked in bias. So many commentators and pundits not so slyly using language to frame things in their view. Besides what is selectively withheld and/or emphasized, the conversation is laced with prejudice, political slant, spin, hidden agendas. Misinformation. Inflection, facial expression. 

Add in entertainment, governmental politics, social politics. We are being seduced to become enthralled with the phantasmagoria. We are entertaining and BS-ing ourselves into an unintentional inconsequential future consequence. The so-called critical commentators literally call the President of the United States of America a "bullshitter". And, they mean that literally. 

I believe the hook is in trying to figure it out. It certainly grabs me. We all want to be smart about what's what. 

I do have faith in the human spirit. All movements in history have the seeds of their own undoing. We just may be — as the Chinese curse puts it — living in interesting times.

I believe it is an inestimable value to purify one's heart. I have a heart. So do you.

There's much to hope. 

Be realistic ... plan for a miracle. 

Now this ...

What is Your Orientation?

Given the current social/political climate I wouldn't be at all surprised if you took this to be a question about your sexual preference(s) or the gender you identify with. 

As a faithful reader of this blog I want to personally say to you that I support you in whatever your choice(s). Good on you! I have friends who are just like that. Have a nice life.

But, hold on. There are other kinds of orientations. 

Have you heard about Feng Shui? It's the ancient Chinese philosophy about the flow of energy. Let's put it this way: you don't put the china hutch just in from the entrance to your home. It's like that. Where things go. What works, really.

How about geographic orientation? Which way is up? Getting close.

The orientation I'm pointing to is toward the Earth itself. More specifically, with the Earth. What works?

In my professional capacity let me quote my teacher, Dr. Ida P. Rolf: ''Rolfers make a life study of relating bodies and their fields to the earth and its Gravity field, and we so organize the body that the Gravity field can reinforce the body's energy field. This is our primary concept."

"This is the gospel of Rolfing: When the body gets working appropriately, the force of gravity can flow through. Then, spontaneously, the body heals itself."

In a nutshell then, when you live aligned with the dictates of Gravity you live easy, relaxed, effortlessly upright, strong and present. That's the very definition of health. Certainly a prerequisite for top performance and fullest creative expression. Oh, yes. It feels good. It lasts. It reinforces itself.

If you want to get all Ultimate and Real on the question of orientation, hear what Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche has to say in The Bodhisattva Path of Wisdom and Compassion — Shambhala Publications:

"Shunyata is basically the realization of nonexistence or emptiness. The more we realize nonexistence, the more we can afford to be compassionate and giving. Usually we would like to hold on to our territory and fixate on that particular ground, and once we begin to fixate, we have no way to give.

But when we begin to realize that there is no ground, that we are ultimately free, non-aggressive, and open — and when we realize that we are actually nonexistent ourselves — we can give. We have lots to gain and nothing to lose at that point. We are not — we are no, rather.

The experience of shunyata is also related to devotion. You begin to feel loneliness and aloneness at the same time. With shunyata, what you have heard and what you have experienced become part of your conviction."

From Joseph Campbell:

""The goal of life is to make your heartbeat match the beat of the universe, to match your nature with Nature." 

— From: “A Joseph Campbell Companion: Reflections on the Art of Living" (Copyright © 1991 Joseph Campbell Foundation), p. 148"

Winona Ryder Runs with Her Puppies

via GIPHY

Am I the Father of Fusion Cooking?

When I resided in the lovely section Park Slope section of Brooklyn, New York, my set liked to think of itself as trendy. Little did we know that the Brooklyn we had then discovered for "gentrification" (to me it seemed mostly to be about stripping interior home woodwork) would evolve to become ground zero in present times for all things gonzo-hip and über-trendy.

Back then, shopping at Sahadi Imports on Atlantic Avenue for Mid-Eastern specialties was trendy. Now, its smoked truffle sea salt encrusted . . . whatever . . . at our favorite, still undiscovered, micro-brewery cum patisserie cum small batch eau de vie distillery using locally sourced hipster farmer grown organic ingredients from only certain favorite locales in the tri-state region, and preferably from the Borough of Brooklyn.

Time marches on. When we relocated back to the NYC area not that long ago, I drove from New Jersey to Brooklyn to nose around a bit. Where once when we first came to Park Slope a certain major street looked like a war zone — boarded up dilapidated storefronts everywhere — now there's a baby boutique on every other block and plenty of choices to get your Latte on. Twice the number of people too. You can't go home again.

And, speaking of home, the Brownstone we bought in the mid-1970s for $60,000 had sold for $3+ million a few years back. And I did see it recently listed for a million more. WTF! I don't think they would even let me in the door now.

In any event, my group of friends liked to entertain and get together over good food. I was a contender myself in the culinary department. We had Omelette rivalries. Progressive dinners.

My friend Stanley Mongin had a big restaurant grade Garland stove at his house. (Now my #1 Daughter designs kitchens with such swell stoves as the usual.) Somehow we got the idea to do some catering. Stan even had some commercial enameled long pans we used for platters.[Martha Stewart got the same catering/food prep idea around that time, but she persevered. (Now, we persevere with her.)] He also  had some contacts with the then newly developing Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM), and we got some gigs catering after-show parties there. One post performance visiting ballet troupe cast party at BAM Director Harvey Weinstein's home in Manhattan. My friends encouraged me to try out for the job of running the concession serving drinks and snacks during show intermissions at BAM. I demurred. Other fish to fry it turns out.

We also had a fair share of other events. A swell Manhattan penthouse wedding reception, a Bar Mitzvah, an Italian American community group gathering. It was at that last event where we branched out into the world of fusion. Tempura chicken and vegetables, Chinese Cold Sesame Noodles, Sweet and Sour Meat Balls. Baba Ganoush dip with assorted raw vegetables.

At that last mentioned gig one Brooklyn Itralian type fellow in characteristic Brooklyn in your face style insistingly asked, "Where's the spaghetti?" I just as directly told him that he would like our food. Try it. In fact, he came back later and paid compliments.

We called ourselves the Polish Pavilion. Stanley and I are of Polish descent. And, the "pavilion" thing was going around in NYC. The Irish Pavilion. The Spanish Pavilion. So, you get how I came up with that idea.

Admittedly, we were nowhere near the level of innovation and complication to match the culinary stuntifications that diners in the Big Apple and other key world cities seem to expect now as a matter of course. Our efforts had more to do with introducing little known, but staple foods from distant cultures. And, combining them on the buffet table spread. Stuffed Vine Leaves from the Middle East. Baba Ganoush as a dip for Crudités. Meat Balls  à la  Orientale. Tempura Vegetables ... Chicken.

So, am I the father of Fusion Cuisine? I say ... Yes! Decide for yourself.

PS Stanley Mongin has gone on to his greater reward. His own #1 Daughter is a Chef. Now at the acclaimed restaurant Paradiso on the Emerald Isle.