Caucasion Trash Rememberances - Coming to and Leaving AV

Coming to AV
I came to AV in the 6th grade, from Rialto, Ca. (Near San Berdoo.) Year: 1976. My parents moved up to the High Desert because my Dad had a job at Contel Telephone Co to which he was already commuting from 'down below.' I started the 6th grade at Rancho Verde Elementary and was initially traumatized by the move from suburbia to what seemed like desolation row. In 1976 the desert was EMPTY! Hot and empty. This was before the population grew and construction started. I hated it at first and my Mom had to bribe me to go to school. I sat alone during recess and mourned my desert exile and tried to get out of class by faking sickness. I was a little wreck! Eventuully, Mr Mandolini helped me integrate into the school, and I became friends with: Dave Pike, Cindy Hinkle, Kevin Dixon (best friend back then), Hallie Johnson, Renee Ogle, Kim Gilespe, Clive Babbit, Howard Adams, Ken Bell, and so many others I can't even remember. I had long hair and Kevin Dixon told me he thought I looked like a girl. I got poor grades because my handwriting was so bad they couldn't read a thing I wrote. I was in trouble often, so much that Mandolini moved my desk next to his. We played basketball and we used to play Truth or Dare out behind the trees near the fence during recess. It was the first time I kissed a girl on the lips.


Leaving AV/Post HS
I left AV about a yead after HS. I was moved out of my parents house, living in Appartment Hell near Rancherias and Hwy 18, partying aimlessly, having no clue what to do with my life. I played bass with 'The Banned' (Danny McAdams, Craig Theroff, Bernie Frank, Ron Ison) and that was fun, but years of partying through HS were about to take their toll. A severe sinus infection landed me in St Mary's hospital, and after that I eventually moved back home. One night I was having a brew with Pat Monaghan, sad and desolate that my HS Love (Cheri Winzell) had moved to SF to go to college. As I lamented my sorry, lovelorn state, he asked me, "Why don't you move there to be with her?" It was a revelation. I immediately made plans to attend SFSU. I moved there to follow my love, but like many HS romances, that one fizzled out, too. After a rough semester of adjusting to the culture shock of a big city, I returned to AV, got a job at Circle K on Hwy 18, hung out with Michelle MacIndoe, Cassie Buckley and many others. The desert was beginning to be overtaken by cruel forces of Crytsal Meth, and I saw the magic of the good old days quickly evaporate. I escaped to Fullerton, enrolled at CSUF, joined a punk band and chased a dream of rock stardom - a very fun dream which took about 4 years to wake from.

More on TV's American Olympic Myth

What makes this myth is not only the rather simple story of loss, obstacle, hard work, success, but more so the visual and audio style in which is presented. We're not sure if this is an ad or propaganda, or both, but the producers would really like you to feel an emotional reaction to seeing this story or triumph of individual will - in the context of pure patriotism. Not one of these stories are shown without at least one solid image of the American flag, Old Glory. If network television were religious and not secular, then the flag would also be shown with images of the cross, but since the news media is secular, the holy symbol, the image of power and transcendence in the name of which athletes perform is the flag, the nation, the US of A.

One of the most significant impressions I get when watching these stories is that the athlete never seems to have gotten wiser or more matured from their experience of suffering and hard work and redemption - no, the sentimental music and flowing images of the flag, the tear in the eye of the friend or the athlete as they make a promise to win a gold medal for their dead father or little brother who died of a rare brain disease, all of this only reinforces the fundamental submissive humililty of the individual. There appears to be no progression or growth of the person's mind or soul, no, this huge effort is only attained through hard work and faith, faith in the memory of a dead relative, faith in the goodness of the individual, faith in the American - all faith but no intelligence or progression or maturation of the individual. At the end, even if medals are one, the star athlete reverts back to a state of humble innocence.

This myth seems not unlike that myth perpetrated in the movie Forrest Gump.

What is this American myth, who created it, and how do we transcend it?

By now we are well familiar with the the Olympic back story of the world class amateur athlete who, against all odds (insert personal tragedy here: mother with cancer, poor upbringing, death of a single parent, former addiction to drugs and now has found God. etc.), has worked very hard and by themselves have made it to the Olympic stage to compete for "the Gold." We see this mini myth of loss or fall and redemption in between sporting events, with the warm, caring voice over, personal interviews with the athlete and those who knew her growing up (insert friend, surrogate parent, grotesquely teacher, etc.), at least one of which will cry or hold back tears, shots of the athlete training, stretching, talking to her coach, close ups of her intense face and look of brave determination, and final interview of the athlete's stating, "I know I can do it, and if I can't there's always the next Olympics."

For some reason the programmers of network coverage of the Olympics feel the need to add this context, this story, this myth of innocence almost lost by a hard and cruel and nearly meaningless universe where the good are held down by the cruel forces of bad luck and or mediocracy) is allowed to thrive, but by sheer strength of individualistic determination and hard work, I need, in a a blind faith in one's own abilities against all the odds stacked up against a person, it's possible to win the Gold, to find redemption and be delivered from evil.
What is this myth? It's one of America's myth, of a classless society, where anyone, despite their upbringing, if they work hard enough can succeed and win fame and glory. More than this, this myth also has blended into it subtle religious themes as well: hardships and cruelness happens to innocent people (we are thrown from the garden of good and evil, even though we didn't eat the fruit, Job maybe), man is more or less in an innocent state by by birth and original sin (or predestination, you choose the flavor of Christianity) we are tainted beings, not of a golden kind while on this earth, unless we keep our innocence and work hard at some goal. Only then, with luck, will we be delivered, and if we don't win the gold, we learn the good lesson that by believing in and having blind faith in something better beyond this fallen and sinful state (this base, ungodly material world) we will be delivered.

And, in the even that we do win the Gold and are champions, then we still remember where we came from, that we are still simple beings who remember their place and where they came from. In other words, this is a myth where the individual, through hard work and perseverance, can attain success and glory.

Illegal Animal Dreams

In the dream, I am at a large house in which my nieghbor, my landlord Troy, is showing off an entire collection of his new animals, all of which are extremely dangerous and illegal. But of course, we all know its OK to have illegal animals. I cannot express the violent dangerousness of these animals. One is some sort of young beast, not yet fully grown. I am terrified and aghast that he would have these animals and that he is bringing them out around so many people. But I am the only one who seems to be bothered. Everyone else is excited and all dopey caring loving like most people get around any animal, "awwwww how cute, look," as if all animals are great and wonderous, even the dangerous ones. I am amazed at how no one seems to be bothered, even at the threat that we could get bit or seriously injured. The little young beast animal is not fully grown but has a terible mouth full of razor sharp teeth which he bares and gnashes at us. Troy lets him go and offers a very unreassuring "oh it's Ok, he doesn't bite"kind of statements that all dog owners say to you as their dog snarls and gnahses its teeth at you. The beast comes close to me and I am frozen and scared, but this beast seems to know I am no threat and moves on to sniff another party goer.

Skinification - Lowering the Consumption of Desire
(Or: Wresting Impulse from Tyranny of the White Carb)


Have begun the process of signification, the intentional cutting back of calories and food and controlling caloric intake. I have learned long ago that my own modus/method in this life is one of extremes and consumption, that rarely will I or can I sustain any sort of median or moderation. No, I move in extremes in both directions, and in order to harness this energy, this impulse, this drive toward thanotos or eros, I must learn discipline, control.

I'm not fat, and in fact I run up to 50+ miles a week. Yet, my caloric intake is such that I have a layer of fat and thickness that I really don't want. I hate it, the stuffy pasty fluffiness and softeness that used to surround my bones and msucles. More than that, I know that left unchecked, I develop habits of eating, of consumption, that lead me to states on unhealth: coffee, tea, sodas, sugar, white refined carbs, and mostly, BEER.

So, taking advice I found from a very informative weight loss web site (which three years ago enabled me to lose 40lbs), I have begun the process of counting calories and limiting the amount I take in per day. I am 6'4" and can eat 3000 to 4000 calories a day without even trying. But, if I want to trim down and lose weight, I need to eat around 10-12 times my ideal weight in calories - for me, this magic number is 2200 - which would mean I get to a weight of around 220 or even less.

Let me tell you, it is not easy. Of course, one of the tricks to this is to eat more often, 6-7 smaller meals throughout the day rather than 3 meals. But, controlling the intake of food and watching how mich I eat is really difficult. No sugar. No white breads. No chips or anything processed and in a bag. No trans-fatty fats. The body desires these and craves them and to stop eating them makes the body think something has gone wrong. Your entire being feels desire and an urge to consume something. You always have this feeling os being slightly hungry, but as your mind adjusts to it, it starts to feel good, as if you are ready to pounce, to take off, staying just below the level of satiation. You might feel a little angry, mean, as you sense I your whole body this loss, this deficit of food. You are awake because there isn't a blob of food being digested in your stomach, you whole body tingles and buzzes with desire for satisfaction, yet you purposely withhold pleasure, the little rewards you might have given yourself all day throughout the day: little snacks, pretzels, chocolate, chips, any number of little foods that keep you in a constant state of food high. These are now gone, this little reward for suffering cycle with treats and you must do it alone, just you and your body and your thoughts, until the next planned eating tme of a small amount of non-sugary, non starchy foods. You break through the mental membrane that was the cocoon surrounding your being and wake up to the consciousness of the world around you.

Of course, so many people in this world actually starve and do not have the luxury of choosing not to eat - they have no choice. But in a way, I believe it a good exercise to teach yourself what it feels like to not eat, to be limited on what you can stuff into your pie hole, to feel what it is like to have your stomach slightly empty all the time. Not much good comes from being satisfied, being always in a state of pleasurable satiation. When you teach yourself to suffer, even a little bit, your mind opens up to reality. And much of the time, you find that reality is not always kind.

Marathon Completed: Mind and Body Suffer Together

We finished the SF Marathon yesterday with time to spare! I got a 3:41, and Mimi and Berta got 3:44. It was a nice race, cool, not too cold, a little rainy in spots, but in general a beautiful course that runs by along the waterfront and Marina, Presidio, through Golden Gate Park, along the Great Highway, across Haight Street and down to the SOMA area, up to Pac Bell Park and back to the Ferry building.

We (Mimi, Berta, myself) had told ourselves we'd stick to a 9:00 pace for the first 20 miles, to teach us the discipline and control needed to run negative splits, to run slower then gradually faster so you conserve your energy and don't lose it before you finish. So more or less we stuck to that, although at times we sped up to a 7:30 and sometimes 8:30's. At mile 20 I decided to bust a move, because at several other portions of the race I felt like moving faster but held back.

So at 20 I started jamming, but went a little too fast and had to pull back. The 6 miles after you've already done 20 is very long and painful. My legs felt stiff, unbendy, like cement, and I looked for the zone of mind where you don't think too much about where you are and what you are doing or how much farther you have to go: you just keep moving and understand that this is not forever, it will end. It really is a struggle of the mind against your body. Or, your body struggles against your mind. You can slice it up either way. Your body just wants to stop, and your mind steps in and keeps your body from stopping and relaxing. Or, your mind starts to get weak, you start to imagine it's OK to stop and walk, just to stop and give up, it's OK. When this happens your body kicks in and doesn't let your mind take over. You look for a rhythm, focus on form, relax your stride, take smaller steps (more efficient), loosen your arms, lift your chest, breath. Mimi tells me she looks at other people's shirts at the lettering and picks a word and spells it over and over, a little spelling meditation to take the mind elsewhere, off the present moment.

Right around mile 23 a young woman who I had seen the entire race and who looked strong caught up with me and I knew this was a race, a challenge. She had been in front of us the whole time and I told myself, I am going to catch her and finish in front of her. So here she was, at my side, a little awkward because I didn't know her. In a way, I like when someone challenges me, especially near the end of a race. I let her catch up and just as she started to pass me a little I sped up so we were side by side. I let her get a little bit a head and then I drafted her and lined up just to her side and imagined she was pulling me. I pushed close, then pulled back. We ran together without talking, passing people up, putting on the juice. Testing each other to see who has more energy at this point of the long race.

Right at 24 finally talk to her and say Hi and tell her I've seen her all race and wondered if she was going to beat me. She is nice and smiles and I tell her she's run a great pace all race. We don't talk much - conversation at this point is not very easy. At 25 we hit Pac Bell Park and start winding through little sidewalk passage ways then spill out onto Embarcadero. At this point I know it's less than a mile so I move fast and in front of her and don't look back and just push it. I beat her, but she came in not far behind me. We congratulated each other. It was nice. Mimi and Berta come in a few minutes later.

A great race! Now, it's on to the Seacliff Beach 50K in October. Should I?