Past, Present and Future.

On February 21st, Fifty years ago Saturday,  Malcolm X was murdered at the Audubon Ballroom. It's the 1960's and blood being shed wasn't just confined to the battlefields of war. The Battlefield of Hearts and Minds demand much more. The Gulf of Tonkin Resolution passed a few months earlier and Viet Nam was Ready,Set,GO! Had to be, all the Contracts were signed, dollars spent, palms were greased.

Me, I was 6 years old and I was more interested in the Yankees returning to the World Series. Losing to the Cardinals the previous October was rough. At that age I suffered from severe Childhood Asthma, In Winter time I stayed indoors. February 21st was a Sunday and a News Flash reported the shooting. All I really remember were the comparisons being made to Martin Luther King.  Being 6 years old I learned of the world as it happened. I had no wisdom to draw on, I didn't know what wisdom was. I saw yet another tragedy, part of a series of tragedies that happened. I don't know, or remember, if it brought me back to the Kennedy Assassination.

That was a day so shocking that it wiped all my memories before it. It is my earliest memory. I was in Kindergarten, sent home early and the world was in tears. Each step I took home brought me past another mom sitting on their front porch balling their eyes out. I was 4 years old and I became hysterical. Not because I comprehended this event, but because every adult I saw was hysterical. The world I lived in fell off its axis. When I found my mother at home and even she was crying, I closed up. Nothing, no one, nowhere was safe. Two days later, on Sunday, sitting in front of the Television

like most every american who had a Television did, saw live and in Black and white, a man murdered on television. Jack Ruby jumps into view and bedlam ensued. Lee Oswald was being transferred and it was being broadcast live.

So when Malcolm X was murdered, it was another event in a series of unrelated events for me Next day was a school day and in those days a 6 year old walked to and from school in my town. It was a 7 block walk for me, and that was about as long as it got in Bradley Beach. The Grammar School was in the center of town and the town was maybe 3/4 square miles in size with an Ocean on one side and the railroad tracks on the other, and nestled between two small lakes.   February 22nd, I was walking home.

I've never told anyone what happened. I've kept this secret for most of my life.

I turned right onto my street and I was almost home when I was suddenly thrown to the ground. Two people grab me and lift me up to my feet, each one holding me still by my arms, holding me up. A third person is standing in front of me. It seemed like forever, but must have been only a few seconds. I stood there, unable to move, with this person just standing there. Suddenly I heard this yelling coming from up the street and these three turn and run, leaving me behind. They ran away so fast that, in hindsight, it seemed they were as frightened as I was. Still, I stood there in some form of shock. The man who frightened them off came over to me. I knew him, he was a friend of my brother and lived a couple houses over. His name was Allen Boyce. The Boyce's were neighbors and part of the neighborhood.

Allen took me by the shoulders and shook me a bit and asked if I was alright. I guess I was. He looked me over, pointed at me, and said "I saved your Life"..... He turned and went back into his home. I understood at that moment I could not tell anyone. I think that was a moment of precocious wisdom. The only people who knew about this was these three kids, Allen J Boyce, and me.

Allen was a good 10 years older than me, a peer of my older brother. In the world of identification with societal meme's, I was Beaver Cleaver, My brother was Wally and Allen was Eddy Haskell. The Beaver didn't hang with Wally and Eddy, and to them The Beaver was nothing but a burden borne to satisfy mom and dad. Allen had a younger brother, but still older than me. One day he asked if I wanted to hang with him. I thought it was odd, but I was agreeable. He wanted me to witness him launching a rocket! As it turned out he had an agitator cone from a washing machine and a CO2 cartridge and he was trying to pop it open and have it fly off into the park nearby. He kept trying and trying but no go. The thing must have been empty.

Time passed and it was Life During Wartime. I spent time at war with my own illness. I could not stand the restrictions that it demanded. I had severe Childhood Asthma, and that demanded I live a sedentary life. No Sports, dietary changes, no pet's like dogs or cats. This was life or death for me. What motivated me makes no sense to me even today.

Wanderlust came first. I loved the Asbury Park Boardwalk, I fantasized about it. Off the Boardwalk at 4th Avenue rides was a Train that navigated around and through the park. It was Fall and the Boardwalk was already closed for the season, the train was covered in tarp. Still, at the age of 4 I wanted to ride that train. It Must have been almost my birthday, I don't recall dates, but I set out to walk the mile and half to get on that train. When I arrived and found it covered in a tarp, I tried to remove the tarp until the police found and stopped me.

A friend from a few blocks over kept bragging about the litter of kittens his cat just invited me to see them. I wanted to see those cats so badly and it was close by. This friend only had a mom, no dad. It seemed odd to me? Whenever I saw her it always seemed she sat in the kitchen and had a glass of wine in front of her and smoking a cigarette. Okay, nothing odd about that. I had no reason to be judgemental, no points of reference to even think I needed to be so. I wanted to see the kittens. They were in the apartment above their rear garage.

I don't know how long I played with those cats before I started to get sick, Not very long I think. I found it hard to breathe and apparently swallowed my tongue. I woke up in an oxygen tent in a hospital room. As told to me, I actually ran home. By the time I got home my face resembled a puffer fish.

My demand to play sports was most important to me and caused the least blowback. While I could never run for long periods without getting winded, I had no problem with Baseball or basketball. It became my everyday routine to be out playing one kind of ball or the other, sometimes both. Often we played stickball on the basketball court, Stoopball on any street with a Curb and the occasional baseball or softball game. Every summer the 'BENNY'S' came to vacation on the shore and take a summer house. Every summer the ones that came to Bradley Beach organized a daily softball game before they went to the beach. I lived for those games!

The Summer of 1967, was a year that for the world was the epicenter of what was the 1960's. For me, I played 3rd base for the Little League Yankees. in 1967 Allen Boyce was drafted and sent off to Viet Nam. and my sister had the parents kick me out of my room. Since the Bro was off to College she thought she deserved the bigger room. She put up a poster of Jim Lonborg on what used to be my wall. A BOSTON RED SOCK! The next year she was off to college so good riddance and I got my room back.

1968 came and one thing worse than another. Among the worst of 1968 many didn't find out about till much later. It was covered up by a society, a media, and ultimately a government with little understanding of truth and the consequences of lies so ingrained it stands beyond redemption.

On the News every week the numbers of dead and wounded were reported along with the running totals. The numbers we were not told were the roughly 347 to 504 people massacred in the grouping of villages called My Lai. The story wouldn't break until more than a year later and the American media was more interested in a Small Step for a Man, not this crime on mankind.

Of the four hamlets comprising My Lai, only the events at My Lai 4 is remembered. In this horrendous War Crime only one man was convicted. Not in a War Crime Tribunal, It was a Military Court martial.  Lt. William Calley, a Platoon Leader in C Company who was convicted for the deaths of "Not Fewer Than 20" civilians at My Lai 4. He served 3 Days in prison. Several members of his Platoon were charged and during trial

invoked their Fifth Amendment right to not incriminate themselves.

Among those in C Company who testified, and having to invoke the Fifth Amendment nine times, was Private First Class Allen J Boyce. During the trial public sentiment shifted to favor the C Company members and a demonstration of support was held in Town Square across the street from the Police station. I went to show my support for Allen. I wonder if he remembers the day he saved my life.

I never did see him again. I thought about him and those events in February of 1965.Time passed, I went to High School in Asbury Park and By 1976 I graduated and moved to California. 1976 to 1977 I was living in Santa Cruz going to Cabrillo College to establish residency. I went on to San Francisco State University. That year another man, caught up in the twisted nature of War, Secrecy, Deception, and Espionage and coincidentally named Boyce was caught and charged with being a spy. Allen J Boyce and Christopher J Boyce are unrelated and what they did wasn't the same. What they have in common besides the last name is that they are cautionary tales of the failings of mankind, society and Country. What collectively we do to protect us are deeds that stain our souls and betray what we hold most dear and the goodness we aspire to.

 When I think about one I think about the other. It's not the name, that is just coincidence. I think about Allen who was also an Altar boy, like Christopher, with my brother. In giving service to God and Country what concessions were demanded of them.  I think about how as humans we treasure innocence, birth and life, and how through deception Nations steal that innocence from us.

Dispatches from the Homefront

I have discovered that I am a person who needs more focus and motivation  to follow through on a project. Thinking back I realize this was clear to others around me. The Ex-Wife once gave me a bit of advice when going into a training program. she emphasized that I should "Focus". Okay, sure. I thought at the time it was her attempting a bit of humor because the training program was Photography oriented. But the more I think about it, the more I realize it was more about me trying to do a thousand things at the same time and starting a few and completing none.

Blogging is another issue for me
. It needs to be part of the routine. I find myself in a variation of a Catch-22 here. I believe Blogging should be more about real life events but sitting behind the keyboard is inherently unreal. I respect writers more than any creative artist, but not the one who writes to impress other writers. One who writes in order to impress others with their prose is a great thing to aspire to as long as your prose reflects something palpable.

I do not wake up every day thinking about what to Blog. I spend most days focused first on my search for a job. My second focus is on home. I've been unemployed now longer than any time in my life, which in the mind of the likes of Rand Paul makes me a lazy freeloader. Fuck him, little Lord Fauntleroy from Kentucky never had to worry about work because he never feared for his home. A fine New York Times economic write recently wrote about the fears among the employed.http://nyti.ms/K7IRjU Paul Krugman, you are so right. I had the fear when working. My fear had reason behind it. After all, I worked in a dying industry. Some say it is dead. Another victim of the digital age. Photographic Finishing. I've been doing it since I was in Grade School. Now I cannot find an opening neither far or near.

It's Raining Man Child, Hallelujah! AKA The Man-child Strikes BACK!

Peter Pan Manchild, himself.

This is getting funnier by the day. I wish I had not blocked Man Child Producer boy, because I would have seen the Tweet he posted accusing me of spying on his tweets, even though I put his account on BLOCKED status. His accusation was that if I did block his tweets then how did I know he deleted certain tweets. The answer to that is simple and it's a little bit of inside Twitter.

Screencap from #thugnado  Tweet list. Man-Childs tweet
 appears along with others in same Hashtag.This is only tweet
in this Hashtag he did not delete.

When you use a Hashtag in a tweet, you are available to be read if searched by Hashtag name. One of the issues I raised with Man-Child was his tweeting criticism of the Justice For Trayvon using the twitter Hashtag #thugnado   It doesn't take a sociologist to understand what that implies, and something I found more than a little bit shameful. What I failed to add in my earlier Blog Post is that he wasn't the only one from Hollywood to post in that Hashtag. Two actresses that have worked for Man-Child producer posted tweets there but later deleted their tweets. You can look them up.

#thugnado  searched. Note tab for people has several Icons of people, many of whom deleted their Tweets to #thugnado  when the Man-Child realized how bad for business association may be for them. Click on PEOPLE! for a list of all contributors to #thugnado.

On twitter you can search a Hashtag and see all the tweets using it. Other things are available, most importantly a list of names and their twitter account names who have posted in that Hashtag. So, even though most all the tweets there are gone now, the list of names remain. They know who they are. I made a point of reminding them. If you want, you can look them up too. This is not about them. But if you want to know, go to twitter and look up #thugnado  and click on PEOPLE!. You'll see.

Another thing I left off the first Blog post is that not only did producer boy pull the 'Troll' accusation to avoid looking foolish on my question, he actually goes on that I must have Wet My Pants with joy getting a response from him in the first place. Ego? Hubris? I just say Asshole.

But it doesn't end there, oh dear lord. At the beginning of this Blog entry I mentioned that Man Child Producer Boy tweeted out that I must be secretly still reading his tweets. So he creates a Hashtag just for me along the wet pants theme that he's so obsessed with, called #dontwetyourpantsagain. He likes me, he really really likes me! Okay, so it isn't a very imaginative hashtag. Remember, he's a Producer and not talent. He pays people to be imaginative and talented. Also, it is kind of juvenile. One would imagine Sophomore Year of high School level of maturity there. But it is what it is, certainly not what it's not. I suppose the lack of proximity accounts for the give the guy an atomic wedgey level of snarkasm here.

All this because this guy could not admit to being a little too simplistic in some pointlessly pointed political tweet. Because his EGO was so fragile he chose to try to change the subject by pointing out my posted URL was a place holder, so he calls me a Dim Wit. Twitter itself recommends putting your Twitter URL in their as a place holder. Meaningless unless you want to deflect a conversation. Calling me a Troll, advising others to 'not feed the Troll', and saying I must have Wet my Pants because the might and powerful Man-Child Producer Boy deemed me Tweet worthy.

I will continue to tweet what I like to tweet, and I will continue to Block this Little Boy, Man Child because I choose to. But if he wants to keep it up, it just reflects what kind of man he is. If he finally decides to say, I over simplified and was wrong.... maybe...nah....

I blog, Ergo Sum.

One of the reasons I decided to start this Blog was for the experience of doing it and establishing a new routine to incorporate into my daily life. Finding a routine in my life that allows me to reflect on events, ideas, stories, and to be able to tell them in a clear and concise manner. It's also an exercise in story telling. I've experienced long periods of writers block and found it harder and harder to face the blank page. Twitter is a terrific exercise in brevity, something one who wants to write non fiction needs. Too often I read literature masquerading as journalism and realize how self conscious the writer must be. I'm not going to say prose should never be found in a finding of facts, but it should be of some relevance.

This is a blog and not the crime docket. This is a place for twist of phrase, for the flowery observation, for the color of the the crayon. Another part of writing that adds power to words is cadence. When spoken out loud with timbre and portence, words written can change the world.

Yes, I am doing this Blog for the exercise. Yes, this Blog is an exercise in self examination. Finally yes, my brain needs the exercise. Being able to do this on my iPad is just a bonus!

One thing about doing it on a iPad though is the silent lurking auto correcter.

I wonder if there is an actual word in Latin that means Blog? A Verb please.

David vs. The Goliath Peter Pan Man child

As a youth going into high school I made little Super-8 movies and was an amateur photographer. I learned how to process and print B&W film in High School and was for a time the School Photographer. My love though was Movies.  I merged my love of film making with my otherwise dorky love of shooting off Model Rocketry. One may have perceived that Rocketry was my first love from the films I made of my launches. They'd be wrong. I thing the Rockets were my way of supplying content for my films.

 I went on to go to San Francisco State University because they had one of the best Film Studies program at an amazing cost for full time college credits. Unbeknownst to me I almost had Academy Award winner Annette Bening in one school project if she heard me asking her or more likely pretending that she didn't hear me. She was doing some Shakespeare thing for a school production. Honestly I do not remember which but I think it wasn't about a king.

Years later here I am. I am exploring my first ever Blog. Like I've said before, I am not a fan of Blogs. That is not entirely true. I have been a long time user of Twitter and have made a decent following for myself. As of this post I have 1720  Followers and that is mostly, if not close to entirely done honestly. No fake, phony fraudulent apps to artificially pump up my follow count. I have 2 followers who I know of didn't follow me out of the goodness in their hearts. That is not saying their hearts are not good, just not knowingly toward me. One follower is the Actor Joshua Malina who made it known he'd follow people if they'd donate to a specific charity. I did. Then he did. I have no shame in that. I am a fan of the Actor who somehow manages to be at least a guest in almost every television show I regularly watch. He has been a regular in 2 of my top ten television shows of all time. So, Yeah, I like it that when I see his Twitter Bio Page it has an icon with the words "Follows You" on it.

The other follow is the 'Most Interesting Man in the World' guy. Why? Because his Bio said he'd follow back, which he did. I respect those who follow through.

As time gone by, I had followed many who work in the film industry. I like to keep a toe dipped in that pool just for the sake of talk that is not just political. I prefer my political tweets to be about politics and my arts oriented tweets to be about Art. Film was an Art at one time if you didn't know. As it evolved into a marketing tool my interest has waned. The last movie I went to was 42. I usually have to be on vacation in San Francisco to see movies that interest me since around here on the Jersey shore most movie houses play the Blockbuster Du Jour.

When a review in the New York Times described the current blockbuster as "Less Idiotic than Feared", I knew I didn't need to keep up with show times. I occasional scour a Red Box for titles worth seeing and I bring home a movie. This too is becoming rare. They keep sending me discount codes thinking that its that extra quarter per rental keeping me away. No. It is the content, not of their character but of their Boxes. I don't usually ask about the content of the film makers character. I am not like some of these conservatives who demand their filmmaker have no personal philosophy. I just don't care. I didn't care that a producer for '24' was an extreme right wing supporter. I watched it, like another fan of the show, Edward M. Kennedy did, for the drama and the questions it raised.

I would follow Aaron Sorkin if he had a twitter feed. I've enjoyed every television project he ever worked on and two of them make my personal Top 10 all-time television shows. I follow James Morrison because he's honest, blunt without being rude, and he turned me on to Neti Pots. I used to follow Dana Brunetti, a managing producer for Trigger Street. Now I block him. If you were to ask me about him, I'd tell you he is an ASS. I would speak it and you would know ass was in capital letters merely by the way I say it. Yet this ASS has worked with and produced scripts by Aaron Sorkin. What is one to do? Nothing really.

Here is what happened. The events all in cyber space occurred roughly after George Zimmerman officially got away with Murder.

ASS posted a simple, platitude of a tweet stating "Democrats are too far Left and Republicans are too far Right". To the average viewer this is some kind of nugget filled with wisdom. To another person who actually has a clue to the current political debacle we live in today, it is at best insipid simplification and at worst an attempt to kiss some ass; small letter asses. Another person could easily take the logic apart. The Far Right Wing is occupied in the GOP by extremist Tea Party members who appear to be on a daily war with Women's Reproductive Rights, Minority Voting Rights, and want to vilify any person who came to this country illegally. If they could only time travel they could be one of the many who came to america in the 19th Century and managed to own thousands of acres of prime farmland simply by squatting on the land.

I digress. I am one of the people who found it simple, and easy, to respond to this False equivalency. No, Democrats on the left are nowhere as equivalent to these extremists on the right. So I respond to him, saying as such. Now you must remember, this guy the ASS in capital letters is not just a Producer, but is also the producer to the heavily charged political thriller Netflix series "House of Cards". A person in that position is in no position to play political dilettante. He wants, or should want a little credibility in the field one would think. No, that isn't what he was into. So, instead of realizing, or at least showing courage to admitting he over simplified, he accused me of being hysterical. I again point out the over simplification and another Tweet appears from another person praising me for defeating his argument quickly and efficiently. I thanked this third party. What follows is What makes him such an ASS with capital letters.

What does he do? Does he again find the opportunity to admit his post was an over simplication? No. We're talking about a guy who admittedly trolls EBAY for Star Wars action figures. We're talking about the guy who buzzes his employees with toy remote controlled Helicopters. We're talking about the guy who refers to the #JusticeForTrayvon march as a #Thugnado and takes a picture a man in an Elmo Costume there proclaiming Now it's getting serious. What does he do? He tries to label me as some internet Troll. Seriously!

An internet troll. When you cannot respond and lack the character to admit to being wrong. Lack the character to admit maybe I should have taken the point I made seriously, by a little bit at least. No, that much character he lacks. This is a man child, and no one around to give him a pat on the back of the head because he is the Master of his domain. I told him so. Then I not just unfollowed him, I blocked him.

I told him on Trigger Street Labs, where I was a member for 11 years. I deleted my account.

I told him on Facebook, then blocked him. Dana Brunetti, you are an ASS.

Blog post number one, the beginning of the End.

I've considered starting a blog for a long time but there is one thing always holding me back. I never really read nor do I hold Blogs in high regard. Sure they are becoming more and more common. But for the life of me I've always found them to be exorcises in self centered exploration. Tools for one extreme to bend facts to fit there personal viewpoints with little or no journalistic integrity. The more I hear about Blogs being the new sources of news, the less I trust them. Surely a blogger spends more time formatting and flowering up and formatting their pages than they do exploring a News Event. Are they out in the streets interviewing sources? Are they vetting sources credibility with any reliable professionals who get paid to Vet people?

Yet here I am with my first Blog entry. What actual purpose do I expect to achieve in a medium that I find suspect? Ultimately it is the same thing most people want, to leave a footprint on the world. This is the first step. It is the beginning, and at the bottom I suspect will be the end.