I was very rich once, but walked away a few hours later ... bankrupt! Just as poor as I was when I started the game. This paper dream was fun while it lasted. Monopoly, one of the most popular board games ever invented! Mini capitalism on a board. Big money, buying and selling. Taking advantage of a simple throw of the dice.
Monopoly!
What powers this game is the same thing that powers Capitalism ... greed!
How fun it is to be rich! Filthy rich! Nothing else matters while you're throwing those dice.
Capitalism is a system that works. Capitalism: regulated greed that's open to all ... can't help but be successful; we all are born with what it takes ... greed! The smart energetic person is rewarded ... the dumb and lazy person, well, he loses. It's as simple as that.
The down side of Capitalism, and there is a down side. Capitalism gives us what we need, and that's good, but then Capitalism gives us what we want and that can be bad. What we want is seldom what we need. We want leisure, ease, pleasure, immorality, entertainment; we want what tastes good. We want, and can afford to buy, what makes us weak.
Alas, the better Capitalism works, the more affluent we get, and the more affluent we get, the more decadent we get. Like a pleasurable and slow acting narcotic we succumb to our desires. Weak. Spoiled.
The fatal blow comes when we begin to realize that it was just a card game and paper wealth after all ... and while playing the game we gained nothing and missed everything.
We missed what life was all about.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
OUT OF CONTROL
When the family is out of control, the kids are out of control. Order begins in the family. Discipline begins in the family. Authority begins there too ... we were parented! We didn't grow like weeds.
The other day I saw a little boy in the market crying, screaming and throwing a fit! His mother stood there rather embarrassed with that 'what can I do about it' look on her face. Her little brat carried on for quite a while.
Nice mother, lousy parent!
Things like that just didn't happen in my day, or at least not very often. Why? It simply wasn't tolerated! Authority and order prevailed. We were parented!
Adults had authority. Adults were in control ... and it felt good.
My mother may have been thin but she was in control! Yeah, I grew up poor and I'm not ashamed of it; 1929 just wasn't a good year to be born. They say my first bed was a dresser drawer .... a 1929 'make do' basinet. Papers formed one of my blankets. No pampers only washable diapers. And my mother said food was hard to come by.
Looking back, being poor never hurt me, rather quite the opposite, it helped me ... made me resourceful strong and independent. I was the product of a single parent family; no one likes divorce but that's the way it was. I'm so glad I was parented by a stay at home mom that showed both love and authority ... I'm glad I was brought up the old fashioned way.
When I screwed up, and I did, mom got the coat hanger and used it.
Yeah, mom taught old fashioned ethics ... Fear God. Respect adults. Sparing the rod will spoil the child, kids should be seen and not heard. Telling the truth was an essential and keeping my word fell in that category. Do your best in school, you can do no more. Take care of the toys you have. And, oh yes, always say thank you!
Did we go to church? Of course we did! Every Sunday we walked to church with our Bibles in hand. Mom always found some church somewhere that was filled with Believers.
The old TV set we watched in the store window provided us with good, clean entertainment which was an assist in teaching good Ethics. There were good guys and bad guys and the good guys were the heroes. 'Leave it to Beaver' and 'Father knows best' weren't icons of ridicule but examples of what should be ... examples that helped teach us ethics.
In those early years we watched TV and listened to Radio which actually helped reinforce the ethics we were learning at home.
As kids if we wanted something, it was understood that we would save our money until we could buy it. Most of us learned to work early. My first job was selling magazines. The Saturday Evening Post magazine.
Early I learned that work was a good and necessary ethic if I was to be a man. It may seem shocking today, but I wanted to be a man.
Sadly, everything I've written above seems to clash with the liberal Californians of today. I scratch my white head and quietly ask ... what happened during this span of time? I find I no longer belong!
The other day I saw a little boy in the market crying, screaming and throwing a fit! His mother stood there rather embarrassed with that 'what can I do about it' look on her face. Her little brat carried on for quite a while.
Nice mother, lousy parent!
Things like that just didn't happen in my day, or at least not very often. Why? It simply wasn't tolerated! Authority and order prevailed. We were parented!
Adults had authority. Adults were in control ... and it felt good.
My mother may have been thin but she was in control! Yeah, I grew up poor and I'm not ashamed of it; 1929 just wasn't a good year to be born. They say my first bed was a dresser drawer .... a 1929 'make do' basinet. Papers formed one of my blankets. No pampers only washable diapers. And my mother said food was hard to come by.
Looking back, being poor never hurt me, rather quite the opposite, it helped me ... made me resourceful strong and independent. I was the product of a single parent family; no one likes divorce but that's the way it was. I'm so glad I was parented by a stay at home mom that showed both love and authority ... I'm glad I was brought up the old fashioned way.
When I screwed up, and I did, mom got the coat hanger and used it.
Yeah, mom taught old fashioned ethics ... Fear God. Respect adults. Sparing the rod will spoil the child, kids should be seen and not heard. Telling the truth was an essential and keeping my word fell in that category. Do your best in school, you can do no more. Take care of the toys you have. And, oh yes, always say thank you!
Did we go to church? Of course we did! Every Sunday we walked to church with our Bibles in hand. Mom always found some church somewhere that was filled with Believers.
The old TV set we watched in the store window provided us with good, clean entertainment which was an assist in teaching good Ethics. There were good guys and bad guys and the good guys were the heroes. 'Leave it to Beaver' and 'Father knows best' weren't icons of ridicule but examples of what should be ... examples that helped teach us ethics.
In those early years we watched TV and listened to Radio which actually helped reinforce the ethics we were learning at home.
As kids if we wanted something, it was understood that we would save our money until we could buy it. Most of us learned to work early. My first job was selling magazines. The Saturday Evening Post magazine.
Early I learned that work was a good and necessary ethic if I was to be a man. It may seem shocking today, but I wanted to be a man.
Sadly, everything I've written above seems to clash with the liberal Californians of today. I scratch my white head and quietly ask ... what happened during this span of time? I find I no longer belong!
Monday, January 18, 2010
MY IDENTITY IS BEING STOLEN!
I was born a free individual but ever so gradually I'm being reduced to a statistic.
I'm confused, not only as to who I am but as to where I am. Am I here or have I been painlessly dissected and placed in a billion computers around the world?
I'm tired of being a statistic, a digit, a stroke, or a vague cyber mark. I feel uncomfortable being the target of studies somewhere. Just one ingredient in a demographic stew ... or worse, a piece of data lost in group marketing.
Is my end only to be pounded into a kind of cyber powder and then fed into a millions of databases throughout the world.
Am I not worth more individually than collectively?
Sadly it seems answer is no.
Like everyone else in this age of disconnect, I hunger to be recognized as an authentic flesh and blood individual with a personal name and of personal value ... actually living here in San Diego with real friends.
I'm not a vague entity content to play out my life vicariously
Looking into my mail box doesn't help much. Letters to me addressed Dear Occupant, Dear Customer, Dear Senior Citizen, or Dear Home Owner. These warm and enduring titles leave me flat.
Or the random mechanical phone calls I get that start with "Are you the head of the household?" If so press one, if not press two.
Who knows me, who knows my name? For that matter who cares?
Oh! But this year the censes is coming and just in time. Cheers! Finally they're looking for real people and I'll be included.
Whoopee!
Well, the censes starts off with me as the star, but as we go farther down the list of questions we painlessly merge into the default mode ... 'marketing!' "Do you have a dishwasher in your home?" "Yes, but she's out shopping!" Again, I find myself being painlessly transformed into data ... living data.
Little by little I'm disappearing by simply being absorbed ... into the world of data!
I'm confused, not only as to who I am but as to where I am. Am I here or have I been painlessly dissected and placed in a billion computers around the world?
I'm tired of being a statistic, a digit, a stroke, or a vague cyber mark. I feel uncomfortable being the target of studies somewhere. Just one ingredient in a demographic stew ... or worse, a piece of data lost in group marketing.
Is my end only to be pounded into a kind of cyber powder and then fed into a millions of databases throughout the world.
Am I not worth more individually than collectively?
Sadly it seems answer is no.
Like everyone else in this age of disconnect, I hunger to be recognized as an authentic flesh and blood individual with a personal name and of personal value ... actually living here in San Diego with real friends.
I'm not a vague entity content to play out my life vicariously
Looking into my mail box doesn't help much. Letters to me addressed Dear Occupant, Dear Customer, Dear Senior Citizen, or Dear Home Owner. These warm and enduring titles leave me flat.
Or the random mechanical phone calls I get that start with "Are you the head of the household?" If so press one, if not press two.
Who knows me, who knows my name? For that matter who cares?
Oh! But this year the censes is coming and just in time. Cheers! Finally they're looking for real people and I'll be included.
Whoopee!
Well, the censes starts off with me as the star, but as we go farther down the list of questions we painlessly merge into the default mode ... 'marketing!' "Do you have a dishwasher in your home?" "Yes, but she's out shopping!" Again, I find myself being painlessly transformed into data ... living data.
Little by little I'm disappearing by simply being absorbed ... into the world of data!
Friday, January 08, 2010
MY LITTLE CUBE OF FREEDOM KEEPS GETTING SMALLER!
Last month Time magazine wrote that in U.S. Congress last year, 8,696 Bills were introduced! Lots of laws eh? Now let's add the State legislators list of their bills and laws affecting us at a State level, then of course our thousands of thousands of city legislators making more and more laws and ordinances continuing to cut even more of our individual liberty down.
Maybe it's because when I was young each American's area of individual freedom was a cube that was big and wide.
Of course we had simple and common sense laws; laws like no chewing gum in school, or no-fishing or no-swimming gradually a few no-hunting signs appeared.
Now in my later years I can actually see the little cube of freedom my government allows me continuing to shrink. It's so small now that almost anywhere I step I've violated some ordinance!
Have you ever noticed that the smaller our cubes of individual freedom get the larger the prison population gets? Still the legislators keep chopping our freedoms down with new laws.
Be happy and content in the cube of liberty we allow you ... for the good of all!
Living in America used to smell free! I remember awakening each morning breathing American air. I breathed freedom and it was good.
Today's younger generation has adapted quite well to their shrinking cube of freedom ... finding a corner in the their box of liberty they sit contentedly with their 'GameBoy's' living out their vicarious dreams. Another synthetic solution.
Three cheers for the technology that will keep us amused and contented as our shrinking box of freedom grows ever smaller. Does it bother you?
I guess only a few of us are uncomfortable with what's going on.
Not only is my little space of freedom shrinking but my independence is becoming cramped. It seems that my independence is becoming a threat to others. Especially when we are all being groomed to be dependant and politically correct.
I've always been proud of being part of the top of the species line ... 'Homo sapiens' and specifically proud that I was created a man, however being an intelligent man I refuse to lower myself into being one of the politically correct and dependant lemming of today ... playing 'follow the leader' over the cliff! A rather terminal concept. Not for me.
Every year, out of the schools, colleges and universities pour millions of young, politically correct lemmings. Prepared by the professors of academia to be led; well prepared to fit into the lemming parade.
As I see it ... the fate of a lemming is nothing to be proud of!
I wonder what it would be like to smell again the sweet fragrance of Freedom? Boy it's getting tight in this little cube.
Maybe it's because when I was young each American's area of individual freedom was a cube that was big and wide.
Of course we had simple and common sense laws; laws like no chewing gum in school, or no-fishing or no-swimming gradually a few no-hunting signs appeared.
Now in my later years I can actually see the little cube of freedom my government allows me continuing to shrink. It's so small now that almost anywhere I step I've violated some ordinance!
Have you ever noticed that the smaller our cubes of individual freedom get the larger the prison population gets? Still the legislators keep chopping our freedoms down with new laws.
Be happy and content in the cube of liberty we allow you ... for the good of all!
Living in America used to smell free! I remember awakening each morning breathing American air. I breathed freedom and it was good.
Today's younger generation has adapted quite well to their shrinking cube of freedom ... finding a corner in the their box of liberty they sit contentedly with their 'GameBoy's' living out their vicarious dreams. Another synthetic solution.
Three cheers for the technology that will keep us amused and contented as our shrinking box of freedom grows ever smaller. Does it bother you?
I guess only a few of us are uncomfortable with what's going on.
Not only is my little space of freedom shrinking but my independence is becoming cramped. It seems that my independence is becoming a threat to others. Especially when we are all being groomed to be dependant and politically correct.
I've always been proud of being part of the top of the species line ... 'Homo sapiens' and specifically proud that I was created a man, however being an intelligent man I refuse to lower myself into being one of the politically correct and dependant lemming of today ... playing 'follow the leader' over the cliff! A rather terminal concept. Not for me.
Every year, out of the schools, colleges and universities pour millions of young, politically correct lemmings. Prepared by the professors of academia to be led; well prepared to fit into the lemming parade.
As I see it ... the fate of a lemming is nothing to be proud of!
I wonder what it would be like to smell again the sweet fragrance of Freedom? Boy it's getting tight in this little cube.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
THE UGLY TRUTH
This pathetic little mongrel has broken free, he's wandering the dirt streets of Tijuana on his way to nowhere in search of food. This dog's unloved; He's been beaten and starved. Now he'll be the target of cars and bullies. This poor furless thing will always be running ahead of the sticks and rocks thrown his way. Later to be caught, tied-up, tortured and burned. It's a tough world for a Tijuana dog.
Hunger? I've seen two dogs so hungry they were eating on a third dog that was dying and too weak to move. Just whimpering. I've seen more than one car swerving to hit a little skinny dog on the road.
Emotions run wild as we think of this. It's cruel. It's ugly. It's so much easier to turn from truth, than it is to face it.
Speaking of truth . . .
It's a fact that I can elicit more pathos from people seeing our poor dogs down here than I can for the Tijuana poor; eternal creatures that live here in Tijuana. Many were domed and damned from their earliest years. My North American friends don't realize that the dirty poor in Tijuana are as helpless, hopeless and hurting inside as this young pooch appears to be on the outside.
As the Bible says; God looks on the heart, man looks at the outward appearance. I find that so true.
Our ministry calls us to face the truth, daring to look inside; gain trust and help where we can, even if it means opening 'can's of worms no one else will touch.
Look at this kid. Is there any compassion left for him?
(It's true that our ministry isn't for dogs, but I always carry dog food in my car. Often dogs will run from me as I offer them food. Why? They don't trust me and they have been suckered too many times.)
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
A SEASON TO BEND THE RULES
I remember so well a Christmas in Tijuana that I saw a little boy make an agonizing decision. Hundreds of new gifts were all laid out. Cars, dolls, balls, kites blankets and tarps. It was simply heaven on earth for a boy his age, like a key to a giant toy store!, The little kid let his eyes wander over the many possibilities. He could only choose one ... and finally he did; he picked a new little red truck. Then his mother called him over and talked with him. The poor little kid slowly came back, placed his truck back with the other gifts then picked up a new blanket and headed back out. I don't know what his mom said ... but it was apparent that the blanket was the priority that cold Christmas. When I watched this happen ... well, the fact is ... he walked out with his blanket AND his new red truck and a smile on his face. Sometimes we just have to bend policy!
Saturday, December 19, 2009
THAT LITTLE HOUSE ON THE CORNER OF HELL AND PAIN STREET
It looked no different than the other houses on the street. A slapped together combination of old plywood, two-by-fours, cardboard and plastic tarp surrounded by a make shift fence of old boards and wire. In the weedy chunk of yard was a scrawny but aggressive dog chained to a dog shelter of sorts.
Indeed the small two-room house may have looked like 'hell,' but it was the inside that made it hell.
Inside the small dark house with one window and a door lived a family plagued with problems. The environment could best be described as truly hopeless. Mom, a sick alcoholic with T. B. and AIDS. A father who was an angry man sick with TB and AIDS and the four small kids. Little Jasmine (6), and her brother, Jose (5), both had AIDS and T. B. Roberto (12) and Jennifer (11) were the oldest and each had T. B. Roberto and Jennifer cooked and worked odd jobs for cash.
They all lived together, occasionally ate together and fought together in that dark and dirty little house. Crying, hunger, drugs and alcohol along with cockroaches were just a part of life. Early in the morning Jennifer could be seen walking the street trying to bring her mom back home.
Relatives, like the neighbors, kept a silent distance.
It all exploded one day when the Mexican government came in and took the family apart. One day they were together in their familiar pain, the next they were separated and enduring a new form of pain ... the pain of confusion and loneliness.
Roberto, he became little boy lost. Jennifer, she's with her little sister and brother in an orphanage.
Hell takes so many different forms ... we see it too often. My heart still aches every time I pass that broken down house ...
... on the corner of Hell and Pain.
Indeed the small two-room house may have looked like 'hell,' but it was the inside that made it hell.
Inside the small dark house with one window and a door lived a family plagued with problems. The environment could best be described as truly hopeless. Mom, a sick alcoholic with T. B. and AIDS. A father who was an angry man sick with TB and AIDS and the four small kids. Little Jasmine (6), and her brother, Jose (5), both had AIDS and T. B. Roberto (12) and Jennifer (11) were the oldest and each had T. B. Roberto and Jennifer cooked and worked odd jobs for cash.
They all lived together, occasionally ate together and fought together in that dark and dirty little house. Crying, hunger, drugs and alcohol along with cockroaches were just a part of life. Early in the morning Jennifer could be seen walking the street trying to bring her mom back home.
Relatives, like the neighbors, kept a silent distance.
It all exploded one day when the Mexican government came in and took the family apart. One day they were together in their familiar pain, the next they were separated and enduring a new form of pain ... the pain of confusion and loneliness.
Roberto, he became little boy lost. Jennifer, she's with her little sister and brother in an orphanage.
Hell takes so many different forms ... we see it too often. My heart still aches every time I pass that broken down house ...
... on the corner of Hell and Pain.
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