Just Who is Ernst Wolfgang?

What's in a name? Studies have shown that, rightly or wrongly (probably wrongly), the name your parents pin on you can have a lot to do with relative success in life, especially if you're unfortunate enough to find yourself in that spider web of back-stabbing, fornicating, and deceit known as "corporate America. Although thinking "outside the box" is routinely called upon to solve whatever obstacle is stopping your boss from taking credit for your good idea, the fact of the matter is corporations like people who grajiate from upper-tier MBA programs and who readily agree with the boss even when it's stupid and unproductive.

I did not do well in such structured environments. First, el-hi school was extremely boring so I usually self-employed as the class clown, the cut up, the pain the ass. the big mouth, >insert your preferred terminology here, etc. Unfortunately, despite several elections to student council and doing well on standardized tests, my preferred approach to school did very little to either endear to me to my teachers nor did it help me learn how to manage information, a key component to excelling in college and at some jobs (if my mere presence didn't threaten my boss).

I learned quickly in the Army that doing exactly what they told you to as quickly and as efficiently as possible was the key to success. Unfortunately, I was lucky enough to work in a field that, by and large, valued unconventional thinking because most of the people in the field (crypto-analysis and linguistics) were fairly bright bunch to begin with; otherwise, you'd not have made the cut to stay in the program. The classroom work was difficult depending on your choice of languages and your actual job title (signals intelligence analyst, information hunter-gatherer, rock painter/COs driver, etc.).  Please, don't infer that I think all other branches in the Army are staffed by dumb people, because it's not true.

I'm proud that I passed the Basic Korean language course while stationed at the (now defunct) Defense Language Institute-Presidio of San Francisco. Don't be alarmed! The DLI at the Presidio of Monterey, the main base for the Department of Defense's Foreign Language Center, is still operating. The Presidio in San Francisco was closed many years ago. It is some of the most expensive property in the country. I was proud but also ashamed because I spent WAY too much time drinking large volumes of beer and kamikaze shots and not very much time studying the language. I knew I was capable of doing much better, but the lesson was finally learned. My class clowning was still evident: I renamed our primary instructor to make him sound like he was a porn star. Unbeknownst to me, he was a Baptist minister and had earned a doctorate from UC-Berkeley. Ooops. He thought little of my juvenile wordplay.

While at DLI, Bud Haines and I named our bowling team the "육실할놈" (transliterated YookShil Hal Nom) to show the command we could integrate our hard-earned linguistic skills into play time. Knowing that our company commander was a young, female Mormon I chose that name so I could tell her, in front of the rest of the aspiring keglers, that our name translated roughly into "you're descended from the whore the Japanese soldiers raped, cut into 1,000 pieces, and then fed to dogs in the street." She kinda didn't talk to me much after that. The rest of bowlers, being Army folks and all, howled! So, it was worth it.

There were times when my proclivity to make a smart remark worked against me because some people didn't have the proper context to understand why I would say whatever it was I said. At other times, it was the inability of the audience to understand anything except what they wanted to hear that caused, ahem, problems where none existed prior.

I did improve, albeit slowly, until I started working for the federal government when it all unravelled, violently. In fact, my carping at "the man" led some to characterize me and my co-conspirators as "a cancer" to the office when the truth was quite the opposite.  One of my bosses in the military told me in earnest that I care too much, that I had difficulty letting the "little things" go. And she was right. I got better picking my battles, but when you work for people of such intense, desperate mediocrity who have little if any respect for the people doing the heavy lifting, so to speak, it's easy to go off the deep end. (Let it be known that many of the supervisors and upper managers are honest, intelligent, and hard working public servants who care deeply about our veterans. Unfortunately, they are a minority.)

While working at the Veterans Administration, upper management thought it prudent to take a person who was running the (statistically) worst telephone answering unit in the ENTIRE organization--58 offices--and promoting him! To run a unit he knew next to nothing about. Fucking brilliant. My reaction to him was very similar to the one I had when one of my reviewers in the Army said that I was excellent at my job, managed my people well, and should be considered for immediate promotion and consideration for warrant officership...and that I suffered from "mood swings." I refused to sign the review since it would remain a permanent part of my record...not to mention it was patently ridiculous. What this officer failed to note was that my "mood swings" were reserved only for him. His rage continued to mount at my intransigence and he nearly had a stroke when I clarified for him that my "mood swings" shouldn't be confused for "suffering fools poorly." I left the room, performance review unsigned. As it remains so to this day.

Am I proud of these deeds, this penchant for self-destructiveness? Not as much as I used to; in retrospect,  I've got nothing to show for being such a smug, know-it-all smart-ass. I've probably alienated and driven away more supporters and potential allies than I'll ever know. As my wife, the poor, brave soul that she is, knows so well I'm always wondering why people, especially bosses, tend to be threatened by me. Since I tend to be very direct most people apparently assume that I don't care if they like me or not. Nothing could be further from the truth. My goal was never to usurp; I only wanted to do a good job, to serve my country or its veterans, with honor and distinction. Unfortunately, that's not always enough, particularly when the mission interferes with someone's personal and or professional agenda.

Oh well, now that the degeneration of the discs in my spine is well on its way to turning my bones into dust, none of this matters except in my reflections of who's, why's, and what's. I'd still like to think that my own code of integrity, something I had to work on once I finally "grew up," made a positive difference in the lives of Kentucky's military heroes and their families. Now, Ernst Wolfgang and his alter ego need to find a way to turn the remaining energy into something positive for the kids, for my beautiful, incredible wife, my friends and family, and with any luck, Ernst himself.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, a Wonderful Kwanzaa, and Peaceful, Safe New Year to all.    



 



 

Btwn black and nothing

Sometimes, I'm not sure what to do. Just have no flippin' idea of how to respond, when to respond, if I should respond...Lord knows I try to love, but there are times when I feel like a stranger in my own home, Hell, I feel like a stranger in my own skin. I don't recognize myself, don't feel like myself, don't feel anything, and don't really like myself if I cared enough to even consider it.

At times like this, bathing is optional and not because I want to offend, but because I just don't care enough to make the effort. It's no wonder someone told me I looked like a homeless person for the simple fact that I did. And although I lived in a house with a legitimate address, I still felt homeless, like a drifter careening through the area like a dusty marble seeking the path of least resistance.

I'm sure lots of people have regrets, rue the missed opportunities, kick themselves for not getting that degree, not taking that job offer, whatever. How many people question whether they are a positive force for their kids when they feel a fifth wheel, fear their kids see them as a fifth wheel, as an embarrassment, as a wild-looking homeless slob? Tears do no good, only clearing a path through the grit on your cheeks and giving you a fucking "bash-your-face-in" headache that turns into a throbbing reminder of what was, what coulda been, what you are and what you aren't.

What can you do when you can't even put your damn shoes and socks on without help? What can you do when your own family doubts the seriousness and severity of your illness? What can you do when any kind of activity--taking out the garbage, shaving, having sex, kicking a soccer ball, sweeping a floor, reading a book, buying food--causes escalating pain that robs you of your breath, makes the smallest movement excruciating, brings gritted teeth and unseen tears welling in the eyes.

The pain, your ever-present companion, takes on a life of its own. It makes living a sequence of studied, mechanical moves so not to awaken the beast from its relative slumber. Still, the intensity required to keep it down grinds at your soul, like an erasure on a math paper in which you failed to study that particular equation, rubbed down, dirty, leaving tiny shards of the whole scattered around like human confetti. This sucks, it really really sucks.

If you take the medications prescribed for the break-through pain, you can no longer function in any capacity, as a family man, as a man, as a human being. You become a whole erasure again but with an erasure's measure of emotion. You forget conversations, you forget appointments, often you forget what day it is. You forget how to live. You forget who and what you are, what you were, what you should've been. You withdraw, hoping the shell is strong enough to protect you from outside forces. You miss your family, you miss your friends, you miss yourself because the person in that shell is nothing but a shell of what you wanted to be.

Pain. My only friend. I fucking hate you more than you can ever know.

Is The Date Really That Important?

My Muse, tired of sickness and pain and crutches and scooters (Lord, especially scooters!) keeps coming back to The Season, which is Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa. And the New Year, of course. Essentially, it's an American combination of religious celebrations and rites, a time to reflect on what was and will be, and a time for family. And a time for unbridled spending although this year's awful economic downturn, THE worst since the Great Depression, will probably cause the retailers to justify firing thousands of full-time workers in addition to the seasonal help added for the Christmas rush.  

An aside: see what wars bring ya? Especially tax breaks for the wealthy during war? And record-breaking deficit spending by those frugal, small-government advocating Republicans...naw, let's blame it on the black guy! He's a socialist, radical Muslim who wasn't even born in the United States, right?      

And speaking of ridiculous conspiracies...I had a kind of interesting discussion with a friend recently over the manner in which the proponents of Creationism/Intelligent Design present their “intellectual”, as opposed to religious, arguments for replacing Darwinism with the concept that everything derives from a single Creator.

My friend's argument rested on this person's desire to believe that we are the product of God's infallible design and not the “less comforting” idea that we evolved from “primordial ooze.” Others who follow this ridiculousness have stated, incorrectly, that they are offended to be told they “come from chimps.” Well, the theory does not state empirically that we evolved “from chimps”; instead, it predicts that humans and chimpanzees share a common ancestor. Talk about making a mountain out of a mole hill.

The fact of the matter is that Creationism does not stop with a critique of Darwinism; rather, it is but the starting point of a critique of secular humanism/materialism and it relies on scare tactics outlined in the Wedge Strategy that connects the dots from Darwin to the Devil, to Karl Marx and to Sigmund Freud, among others. It's not the oddly repugnant idea that we possibly evolved from ooze; it's the sinful repudiation of The Bible as The Infallible source to every question residing in every fundamentalist's heart of hearts. Yes, I know, the same group that ostensibly proselytizes the peaceful teachings of Jesus Christ and strongly identifies itself as pro-life also supports the use of torture as well as the war in Iraq.

This antagonistic view of progressive thought makes one wonder if the freeing of the slaves and suffrage for American women would be platforms supported by this group or not. After all, the Bible is rife with references to the woman's subservience to man as well as the use of slaves. In fact, the system of apartheid that brutally divided the ethnic groups of South Africa between White masters and everyone else was largely a construct of Dutch Calvinists in the Dutch Reformed Church. Let us not forget that our own heritage springs from Calvinists benignly referred to as “Pilgrims” or “Puritans” were the same folks who burned witches at the stake and whose vestige (from Latin vestigium for 'footprint' ) includes our own version of apartheid called “Jim Crow Laws” and the continued assumption that whites are more or less superior to darker skinned citizens.

Why do you think Pres. Obama has more death threats than any preceding U.S. President in recorded history? Why do you think the idea of whites as a minority scares the bejeezus out of so many white folk? Why does the school that some relatives attend in Talibama allow boys to pray aloud while the girls are to pray in silence in recognition of their subservient status to men? And I ain't talking about 150 years ago. They attend now. And they don't learn science in science class. Instead, they learn of Darwinism in a class entitled “Christian Evidences.”

In a related manner, the fundamentalists I've spoken with or read online adamantly believe in the literal, as in WORD-FOR-WORD, translation of the Bible. Which leads me to ask, “How do you address situations or issues not specifically written in the Bible?” What about entire books of the Bible edited out by men? How did we determine that December 25^th is the actual date of Jesus' birth? Well below is a passage from Unexplained Mysteries of the World website that most will find interesting and, better yet, edifying. Please let me know what you think with the emphasis on the word 'think' and not 'let me know' for, if nothing else, I hope we can foster a site that encourages and promotes actual thinking and the rejection of passive acceptance of whatever is politically advantageous or makes me look good in the eyes of others. You know who you are.

Peace—JR

Mary Ellen's "Merry" Christmas

As we all know, the holiday season increases the stress level in most people. For some, it's the revulsion of having to share time and space with in-laws and out-laws one finds particularly repugnant. For others, it's the pressure to prepare the home for guests, to shop and satisfy the finicky tastes of spoiled children or partners or parents--there's always SOMEONE who has everything and is very difficult to shop for. Pox on their houses, eh? The first Christmas without a recently deceased loved one is the most painful experience some people have to undergo at a time of year when so many others are enjoying the family get-togethers, the sinful food, their time-honored religious traditions.

For the record, my mother-in-law is a saint. And an angel. And now, sadly, a widow. Ironically, or maybe not, her husband of 44 years died suddenly and unexpectedly following a "routine" cardiac procedure at the arguably best heart care facility in the country, if not the world: The Cleveland Clinic in Cleveland, Ohio.  They had traveled to that particular facility specifically because my father-in-law was very biased about getting "the best" of whatever was available. It didn't matter if he was talking about automobiles, CPUs, hay balers, food, or cooking utensils; if you were gonna spend money for it you had to pursue "the best."

Not surprisingly, he was one of those people mentioned above who are hair-pullingly difficult to buy a gift for.  He was known for buying whatever it was he wanted, even if it meant bidding on eBay for days on end. For several years the first thing he'd do when he came to visit us was ask to use a computer so he could check on the items on which bids were pending. I learned quite a bit about the world, and his personal relationship with it, simply by asking him about the items he was bidding on. He was curious and smart, an engineer at heart who taught himself a great deal about a great many things.

He was an educated man having earned a bachelors degree when he was a young man; however, his pursuit of useful knowledge never stopped. It would be fair to characterize his trip to Cleveland as a fact-finding mission as he was earnestly trying to understand what was happening to him. Instead of having his care managed piece-meal, he wanted a comprehensive, integrated review of his physical condition. Unfortunately, it was much worse than anyone imagined although there were indications that something very serious was suspected. He died later that night as a matter of fact.  

I had mixed emotions at first, especially since two of his favorite grandkids were in bed, blissfully asleep.  
Then I thought of my wife, who had raced headlong into the night, alone in the middle of Ohio, heart-broken and crying because her father had just died and worried sick for her mom, alone in a hospital in a strange city. Needless to say, it was a very trying week. I held it together until we entered the cathedral and heard some beautiful, absolutely gorgeous music. That was in September.

Now, my mother-in-law, a woman for whom I'd lay in the middle of the street for, has to endure her first Christmas without her husband of so many, many years. They raised 4 children together and were up to their eyeballs in grandchildren, 10 at last count. But I don't know what I can do to give her comfort. I was pretty good at picking out gifts for the man who had everything. I have to hope that my Muse of gift-giving can inspire me and help my wife's wonderful, compassionate, and kind mom get through this holiday season relatively unscathed. That would make my Christmas merry. Speak to me, my Muse! My Muse!

Peace to all --JR

PS-For a little context, my wife fell and severely sprained her ankle a week ago. She cannot put any weight on it or risks surgical reconstruction, Her 14-year old daughter missed 4 days of school last week because of herniated discs in her low back. And I need help getting my shoes and socks on everyday.  We need a maid and a nurse in addition to the requisite Muse. Any volunteers?    

Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas!

My wife does too much already. I realize this sounds trite or insincere, but she really does. We have a teen at home, her daughter and my step-daughter, in addition to a 2nd-grader endowed with spirit and personality plus. Then, she has her "third child," viz. me. She works full-time in a demanding, frustrating job and then comes home to homework papers, teen drama, and me. I have a severe, degenerative back condition that led to my early retirement at 44. Although the daughter is usually helpful around the house, she also has schoolwork and her own chores to attend.

Earlier today my wife was heading outside with the little one to hang Christmas decorations when she landed awkwardly on her right ankle. I was awakened by my youngest telling me, "Dad, mom twisted her ankle." It took me a moment to digest what he was saying because I was in bed with ice packs on my very, very sore lower back, the result of two days of medical appointments and running a few errands. Then I could hear my wife crying in pain. Even though we've been married almost nine years, I still have those deep, giddy feelings of disbelief that my wife is the beautiful person who loves me back. Corny, saccharine, whatever, I sobered up very quickly and dispatched my son back to mom to tell her I'd be there in a second.

The second I saw the egg-sized lump on the outside of her ankle, I knew she needed an x-ray and professional medical advice. I've incurred several serious ankle injuries through the years including a Grade III sprain when I was at language school in San Francisco in 1984. I got little one to help me make an ice pack...an hour and a half later, we were returning to the house with the diagnosis, confirmed by x-ray, of stretched and torn ligaments as well as a chip fracture of the underside of the lateral malleolus. Now, we're hurting for real. The linchpin that holds the whole thing together is out of action for the foreseeable future. 

Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas!

SHIT!

Why here and why now?

I do not claim to be a competent let alone good writer. I am, however, a citizen very concerned about the ultimate fate of this country. Closer to home, I suffer from incredible, mind-numbing pain that never completely goes away, ever. I'm terribly concerned about my health and how it adversely impacts the incredible relationship I have with my wife and if it will leave permanent psychic scars on my children.

In between, I'm very curious about the world, the people in it, and what motivates them to do the often ineffable things they do. While there may not be anything "new" under the Sun; every person is unique and has their own perspective of the world and its events; however, few formal structures in our current culture encourage critical thinking or even foster the curiosity needed for self-enlightenment.

In an ironic, damnable twist, at a time when nearly every U.S. citizen has unfettered access to more information than can be digested in 100, 500, or even 10,000 productive lifetimes, our society as a whole has retracted from inculcating the basic skills needed to turn data into usable knowledge.

Some of the Luddite-like aversion stems from the pendulum swing of public angst, whipped to a frenzy by imams and elected political officials alike, as it shifted from fear of nuclear annihilation during the Cold War to the fear of cultural annihilation from religious extremism under the guise of fundamentalism. This shift occurred in Muslim as well as Christian communities. Teeth-gnashing and knuckle dragging and voluble threats from the Right Wing of the American spectrum, Capitalism is, after all, as Godless a force as Communism. Of course, the concomitant emergence (and unblinking threat) of a combined Pan-Islamism and anti-Americanism coalesced on September 11, 2001.

It was no accident that the primary targets on that fateful day were financial and military institutions; it is also no accident that they were the largest symbols of Capitalism and American power: the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. The political landscape, which had started to shift following the Reagan Era, became less and less about the message and increasingly more about the messenger. Inevitably, "ordinary" Americans began to judge the intellect or patriotism of fellow citizens by the messengers and the media became a bloody, no-holds-barred battlefield of recrimination, doubt, and obvious patronage. Sad, really. And stupid.

My goal, if I have to identify one as my Raison d'être, is to espouse my views with the clear understanding that I know very little about some subjects and something about a few others; however, I try to keep my mind open to new information or unconventional approaches. Without a doubt, some of you will read that to mean I have no firm convictions or I am a moral relativist, neither of which is true. What it DOES mean, though, is that I hope I have the humility to recognize when a critical mass of critical evidence has been reached and my former position no longer holds the water I thought it did. That's not "changing" my mind, it's owning up to the facts at hand and removing my ego from the equation since it never belonged there in the first place.

In other words, I'm anti-dogmatic and as non-partisan as possible depending on the issue. In some cases, like the detention of foreign nationals without formal charges and the use of torture despite its universal illegality and extremely poor record of supplying timely, useful intelligence, the amount of contradictory evidence--as opposed to wishful thinking, TV dramas, and the bloodlust of more than half of the good Christians in our country--required to sway my position is enormous. Our country was founded on the principles of equality before the law though it took a Civil War and over 130 years of politicking before it became The Law of the Land for all its citizens. The beauty of our Constitution is the purposeful design to account for shifts in public morality over time. Slavery is one example, women's suffrage is another.

So, without further ado, away we go! Help me stop our country from falling into the abyss because we're politically and financially short-sighted, because we're more interested in being identified with a political tribe instead of doing what we know is right, because we're so passive in our thinking that we lose sight of our own motivations and relegate them to another shelf because we're afraid of what our friends/fellow political tribesmen may think. Think before you decide, do your homework by culling from various sources before you develop an opinion, and always, always always know the difference between repeating someone else's opinion from repeating something based on the evidence and your analysis of it.

It's mind-boggling how many Americans assume that repeating something that is untrue makes it true because it fits their own pre-conceived notions of what "It Should Be," i.e., they allow "their" news host to establish the Truth of a matter because it is the host's or pundit's mere "opinion" on the matter. Sorry kids, but that is bass-ackwards.

Peace--Ernst