Overcome of the Internet Isolation Through the Technology

As a teacher of writing, I am honored to occasionally read stunning sentences. Stunningly brilliant or baffling or unwittingly cryptic, I welcome them all equally. Here are some that I read this week. Together they read like the poetry of a heartbroken herdsman from Uzbekistan whose cell phone has forsaken him. I imagine him standing outside U.S. Legation, tears of rage and frustration streaming down his face as he cries out at night, the quarter moon waning:



I come to school each day and I am surrounded by cell phones all over the place.

Contact is being used by cell phones all over the place.

The same goes for computers and ipods.

The face of the people are lost in this technology.

I would Force them to make trips with no technology.

National Parks can help get them in touch with another.

This can help different groups get into touch with each other using just one voice.

Camping can be a solid way to bond because of the atmosphere of fire and cooking. Better than the couch and the tv and the family.

Many people go to the beach and go swimming. No one wants their cell phone destroyed, so they do not take it in the water with them.

I remember you wanted a job, you met a person. In a room.

There isn't any face to face or anything.

Here's what I'm stating. Everyone is open to becoming more isolated. We need an aid in the conversation with the other.

In today's society the existence of the human face is being covered up with technology so people can be close and stay in touch and know each other.

In California, Californians have a tendency to be more laid back but when its comes to texting their number 1.

Of course people of this generation still use the old and traditional way of communicating: talking, cell-phoning, and, obviously, writing letters, and receiving it too.

The last way of meeting the people is on the internet.

When people put a picture on the internet, they are looking for a trouble to start.

Have you made a new friend in the past?

To avoid the isolation, you should have the party many times.

You might go to a house or something.

Danger: Old People

Danger: Old People
Originally uploaded by VirgiliusDerriensis

This sign, on the Isle of Bute, off the coast of Scotland, warns of marauding pairs of elderly people in the area, armed with walking sticks. What is the woman's hand doing on the man's bottom?

The Wedding of Peter and Liz on the Isle of Bute, Scotland

In a modern incarnation of ancient celtic "Pre-Nuptial Purification Ceremony," Peter is captured and held on his Uncle's bed by his cousins, Brid and Clare the night before the wedding.   The groom is symbolically imprisoned by his female relatives to ensure good fortune on the day of the wedding.   Liz, the bride, in another undisclosed location, is imprisoned by her male relatives in a similar manner.   The anthropologist, Margaret Meade discovered the ritual among the Pictish tribes of Scotland and Ulster, the northern province of ancient Ireland.

he arrival on Bute of an Electric Bakery is the cause of much celebration by the locals who have suffered under the tyranny of gas for centuries.  

The women of Rothesay gather outside one of the numerous Menswear shops to protest the lack of women's clothing shops on the Isle of Bute.  The sale on menswear only fuels their rage.The Haggis Shop is licensed deal in game.  I fear this may involve Bambi and Co.  Do not ask what is involved in the preparation of haggis.

In good ol' Amurikay, it's called a "Barber Shop" but oh no, on this island that have to call it a "Gents Hairdressers," without so much as a nod to the conventions of proper punctuation.

They couldn't find another name for the local hardware store?  Have they no idea that some perverse Americans might visit the Isle once in a while?

The Carpet Warehouse needs no commentary.

One of the finest drinking establishments on the Isle is the Buteman.

Bute has every modern convenience, including rest room fittings.

Day One:    Arrival at Glasgow International Airport; meet brother, Muredach, his wife, Anne , and their daughters, Brid and Clare.  We get into rental car and drive to  Bute.
I'm happy to be finally here on the island, off the ferry from the mainland near Greenock, which is near Glasgow, which is in Scotland. The wedding will take place tomorrow at Rothesay Castle. The journey here has been thusfar filled with long
delays at Chicago, O'Hare and London, Heathrow. Then the ferry over to the
island in a strong gale, driving rainy sleet (it's 34 degrees this morning,
barely above freezing). My brother, Muredach, his wife, Anne, and their daughters, Brid and Clare, drove as a team from Glasgow Airport to the ferry near Greenock. On the Isle of Bute, the locals all look like characters from Beckett. I asked an old man walking a tiny dog (that looked like a rat) for directions to the hotel. He said, "I'm concentrating on the
dog at the moment, but let me think....will you hold the dog's leash
for me while I go across the road and ask my wife, for she's sitting
in that car yonder and she knows the isle better than I do?" So
there I stood with this wet little rat that looked up at me gingerly,
imploringly, in the driving sleet, while the old man tottered across
the icy road to a shape in a car that was, apparently his wife. I
watched them talk through the car window, which was steamed up, for
nigh on ten minutes. He nodded to her. The window was rolled up,
and the old man, with his walking stick, tottered back while I looked
at the small dog with a mixture of pathos and terror. The old man
told me that the hotel is on the hill. "Is it on the hill?" I
repeated. "It is," he affirmed, "on the hill." The hill is singular
on the island. The hotel was on the hill. I was sure of that. I
drove to the hotel. It is built from stone. The wind comes through
the gaps in the stone, as does the rain.  I'm sharing the lovely old room with Peter,
Moira's of son, on his last night as a single man.  There are two beds. There is a woman who brings food.  She does not talk. The man talks incessantly. About the weather.
About America. He asked me questions but answered them himself. I
didn't need to talk. I just drank tea and ate my scone and listened
while crumbs fell from my lips.    It was lovely and easy.

Spring Flowers and Blossoms in San Diego

My new splurge this year has been a Canon EOS Rebel, 10.1 megapixel digital SLR camera with an EFS 18-55 mm lens.   It's so light that I was able to take it with me on the morning jog down Florida Canyon with Rory.   While he peed on shrubs and tried to dig out gophers, I snapped away.  The canyon was bedecked with California Poppies (the State flower), lillies, and cherry blossoms on the first sunny Sunday we've had in ages.   The rain has helped the flora and probably also the fauna.   Red-tailed hawks called to each other from the tops of the nearby eucalyptus trees.   I was vividly reminded why I chose to live here.

(click on picture to enlarge)

When Rory Speaks, Cody Listens

Here's Rory, shouting for his dinner, while Cody waits patiently.   Some dogs are loudmouths (like owner, like dog) and others are well-mannered. Cody and Rory have been friends for four months now, and are beginning to show signs of pack behavior, like defying the orders of their masters. They sleep together in "Rorschach Inkblot Test" position: paws perfectly synched, even as they jerk and whimper in their dreams.

Rory and Cody at Play with coveted Squeaky Toy

Milton Park at Bamboo Lounge in Hillcrest

The Milton Park band rock the Bamboo Lounge on Saturday, January 12, 2008, with "Bring it on home."    This local watering hole in Hillcrest is turning out to be quite the spot for the local sophisticates.    Alex, the proprietor, and Yvette, the wine bar pourer, plied us with delicious treats and sumptuous, fruity wines served in generous portions.   To add to the kaleidoscopic quality of the evening, Frederico Fellini's "Satyricon" played on the well arranged video monitors.   Could we have enjoyed the evening more?  I think not!

60th California Men's Gathering at Pathfinder Camp, Anza, California, November 23-25, 2007

After the auction, Ken seems please with his winnings: Modern American literature to cultivate his mind and soul

The less than silent auction gets under way with bidders raising their cards

Fergal finally finds someone who appreciates his didjeridoo playing

Fergal wins an Oscar Wilde Action Doll in the Auction.   But can it eat cucumber sandwiches?

Paula Idrool powders her nose before going on stage and tries to thin herself down.

John, Garrick and Al-Binky welcome the new arrivals

Fergal and Bobby, two of the newbies to CMG, shiver in the cold as the sun sets on the first evening of camp

Camp Pathfinder, a few miles up the hill from the town of Anza, on the road to Idyllwild, California, the site of the 60th gathering.

A woodpecker soars over our cabin

Eric enjoys the raucous auction of precious items to raise money for scholarships.  Randy is not so sure.

 A musical group called "The Boys Who Go Down, Under" performs a hip-hop version of "Twinkle, Twinkle, little Star" on home made didjeridoos. Gyan (standing in rear) is playing an "authentic" didjeridoo made of real wood. (thanks to Eric for this picture)

The glitterati shine: judges Simon Scowl, Paula Idrool and the inimitable Dame Edna, who took great pains to join us from her native Australia.

Paula Idrool make an unscheduled performance of "Defying Gravity" from the musical Wicked. While the diva was unsuccessful in her endeavor to defy gravity, she did provide us some levity.

Paula, poor creature, showing signs that her constipation is worstening

The Boys Who Go Down, Under, are (from left) Ross, Randy (Fez by Dior, vest by Tom of Finland, Puffy Shirt by Captain Sparrow), Steven, Gyan and Fergal. (Didjeridoos by Home Depot).   (Photo by Eric)

Men receiving unwarranted applause for making rude noises into one and one half inch PVC water main pipes

Thanksgiving at Chef Jess's, 2007

Benji, with the patience of a sanctified dog (which he, incidentally, is) awaits Turkey Yum-Yums

Fergal's hand-vogue moves fail to impress David visiting from Vancouver, the epicenter of the latest dance moves. David shows Fergal the right finger up nostril move - a favorite, apparently, among our neighbors north of the border.
The Holy Family: The Savior Benji, Virgin Most Holy Rex, and Saint Keith.
Fergal is startled that his hand has changed color and position.
Hieu and Jim attempt (and fail) to enjoy a quiet moment together.
Chef Jess enjoys a moment of quiet, and while his punishing cooking and baking schedule began early in the morning, he managed to whip up a startling dessert of pies and whipped cream.
While Hieu enjoys some food, Fergal passes a little judgement.
Chef Jess is thanked by Keith, adorned in an LSU sweat shirt.
Rex, Keith and Hieu enjoy some of the delicious fare prepared by chef Jess.

Fires

Click on the word "Fires" above to link to the picasa site where I've loaded my photos of the fires this past two days that I took from my patio with a Casio Exilim 10.1 megapixel.

Ciudad De Mexico Orgullo (Mexico City Gay Pride), June 30, 2007

Even at the Cathedral in the Zocalo (the centre of Mexico City) "The Vogueing Bishops" made us feel on Gay Pride Day that the Church was on our side!
At Pride in Mexico City, I found two police with little rainbow bands displayed on their uniforms. I was arrested by their welcoming good looks.
These Aztec Warriors know how to kiss! So, the gringo section of the parade gets blocked by Drag Mariachi Nacionalistas. (Click on any photo to enlarge)
Mexico City Pride is not for the faint-hearted or the red-headed, but I wore plenty of sunscreen. Rachael is hoisting the flag in most of the pictures. She's our "Angel de Orgullo." (Click on photo to enlarge)
And there are the usual (or unusual) drag queens. I had to talk loudly to be heard by this fella. Click on photo to enlarge)
Mexico City must have the greatest variety of drag queens on earth! It was a schmorgasbord of butch to femme to camp to Penelope Cruz lookalikes.
These indigenous people of Vera Cruz protested against what they saw as corruption in land reform law in that state and wore pictures of the Gobernador on their groins to draw attention to their right to protest against corruption. (Click on photo to enlarge)
The Cetlalic Language School of Cuernavaca had a banner which we held before us as we chanted "Si, Se Puede, Habla en Espanol!" to the delighted ears of the city dwellers

No, we are not in the state of Madras, India for the Hindu feast of "Holi." This young man (his mother and younger sister looking on in amazment, though I think his mother doubts the pure motives of the body painter) is a walking rainbow. The carefree nature of Mexico City Pride was delightfully infectious and festive.
Are these handsome young men not the perfect ambassadors for the cause of same-sex marriage?



On Saturday, June 30, at 10:00 a.m. six gay and Lesbian students, Ken, Tim, Eric, Eric, Rachael, and Fergal, along with two instructors, Francisco and Leti (from Cetlalic Progressive Language School in Cuernavaca) set out from the Hotel Gillow in the "Zocalo" of Mexico City to the subway on our quest to march as the first Mexican Spanish language school in the 29th Annual Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgendered Pride (Orgullo) parade. We took the remarkably clean and reasonably priced subway to the "Insurgentes" station in the "Zona Rosa" (pink zone) of the city, noticing with each stop more and more GLBT celebrants enter the train, so that when we arrived in the clean, well-kept station, we were a mob ascending the steps to the plaza above. Throngs converged from every direction filling the plaza and streets around the monument. The march was about to get under way when we arrived, so we watched the various groups of drag queens in their creative outfits. Two delightful young men (see picture below) looked ready for nuptuals, each in white: one wore the costume of an angel with great wings, the other a traditional white strapless wedding dress. We spoke with them, asking when the march would begin. They told us that this year's march didn't have enough organizers to get the parade in order. They turned out to be right. The first floats began to march down the wide avenue, the "Champs D'Elysses" of Mexico City, called Paseo De La Reforma, towards the "Zocalo," a route about four miles long, past great statues of Mexico's heros, and memorials to the dead in various battles against Spaniard and Gringo alike. We unfurled our banner and began to march after watching ten or twelve floats go by decked out, sadly (like many North American gay pride floats) a motley assemblage of drag queens and muscular disco boys flaunting their attitude gym-obsession to the adoring masses. Loud speakers on the floats blasted dated arias from Madonna to Cher, but I was encouraged to note some more culturally thoughtful floats with transgendered Mariachi bands playing and drag queens all dressed as Frida Kahlo with a bad hangover. The humor was not lost on the thousands who lined the streets and cheered the mexican themed floats. One tableau spoofed the sacred image of the Aztec warrior posed pieta-style with of the beautiful young indigenous woman limp in his arms as he ascends the mountain, learning from the eagle that is perched on his shoulder that this holy place was destined to become the Zocalo of Mexico City. There were several other interesting politically themed floats. Francisco Lopez Obrador, the more leftist Presidential candidate, edged out of his seat by a dubious margin of votes, inspired several floats with enthusiastic supporters urging gay pride celebrants to join in what was to be an even greater gathering in the zocalo the following day, the one year anniversary of the election in which Calderon won by a few hundred votes that many Mexicans feel were recorded fraudulently. Their yellow flags and large photos of "mi presidente" reminded all gringos gathered of the 2000 election in our own fair land to the north. The difference being that here, the people took to the streets in all cities in their millions.
We joined in the parade and arranged ourselves behind our banner which displayed in bright rainbow colors the motto of Cetlalic School. Not until we reached the first great monument along the route, the "Angel of Independence" monument, a large round pillar, topped by a huge gilded statue of the Angel herself, did we begin to get the sense that this parade was not going to turn out to be like any we'd seen before. In the distance, I began to make out the hundreds of dancing brown bodies arranged around the plinth of the monument, and I began to me more sure that they were all male and naked. As we drew nearer several teenaged boys and men, naked except for slip flops or hiking shoes, held out hats to collect money for their cause, the recognition of the rights of the indigenous people of Vera Cruz by their governor, who is apparently selling off native land to rich developers to make way for multi-millon dollar homes in the resorts along the state's coast. As gringos, we were stunned by the sheer number of fully naked men, ranging in age from teens to octagenerians, all posing for photographs by press and marchers alike, some holding their genitals up for closer inspection. (Can you imagine the Future Farmers of America or the Brooklyn Dock Workers' Union joining the Gay Pride march to bring attention to their cause????) Our instructors noted that the men were most likely not gay, but glad to get support, and in this machista culture, ironically willing to let the gays get a look at their precious jewels. Louder cheers from marchers urged the nude protesters on and in return, we got more vigorous dancing and genital gyration from the dancers and their percussive band who played various drums, cow bells, gourds and maraccas. Some of the protesters wearing only Sombreros played mariachi tunes to us further along the route. The cool mexican morning quickly warmed to a sweltering heat in bright sunshine in the most populous (estimates range from 20 to 26 million) high altitude city on earth. As we passed the elegant Museo de Belle Arts, (pictured here) the march split up into four great columns along the narrower streets in the city center that led to the great square in the center of the city, the zocalo. This is where Fergal went off to find a bathroom, and lost the other marchers. They reported a new chant for the route at they marched sans Fergal: "Donde Es Fergal?" The truth is that Fergal had stopped to buy a bottle of water to replace that which he had just released, and the vendor had not the change of a two hundred peso bill and went off for fifteen full minutes in search of change. I was reminded of "Irish time" in Donegal - that's one of the many cultural attributes that Mexico has in common with Ireland. A water seller will take fifteen minutes to go and get change. Once in Ireland, on the bus between Derry and Buncrana, the driver stopped in Burnfoot to deliver and live chicken to a woman up a dirt lane. We sat in the bus for twenty minutes while he causually chatted with the woman at her door way. We have a different sense of time than people in the U.S.. Meanwhie, as we continued along the route, the taller buildings and narrower streets intensified the booming drums and PA systems, marchers chanted louder for equal rights for all people. Citizens from windows high above poured glitter and confetti on the marchers below; it began to feel like an old fashioned New York City ticker-tape parade. My hair glistened with brightly colored streamers and glitter. The drums beat louder and the chants of the marchers grew more vociferous and political. It began to feel more like a G8 march than a Pride parade, and the response of my fellow students was approval, since the political authenticity of the marchers added to the intensity and spirit of the event. Where was Bono? Where was Bob Geldoff? We were struck by how few police officers were visible along the parade route. The few who stood guard received jeers and spit from some of the marchers, especially the drag queens, who complained of too many police in the city's cruising parks harassing gay men, and not enough police protection in the Zona Rosa, where they are needed. The police, carrying menacing uzis and armalite rifles, did not respond to the spitting, thank goodness, for some of them looked to be no more than sixteen years old, armed with enough ammo to take down an entire column of marchers.
The last of the marchers, by now in a frenzy of excitement and relief that they'd reached their destination, arrived at the Zocalo at around 5:30 p.m. Some marchers complain that poor organization caused great gaps between marching groups and floats, slowing down the parade. The local newspapers, on Sunday morning put the numbers of marchers and on-lookers at 20,000; another paper estimated 50,000. But when the entire zocalo was teeming with dancing celebrants, it was clear to our language instructors that this was the largest Mexico City Pride to date, and said that the crowd could not have been fewer than 200,000. We retired to our hotel to snap more photos from our room and rehydrate. That night we all had a wonderful dinner out funded by Cetlalic Language School. Thanks to Eric Kearsley, Nancy Barron and Senora Leti for the photos.