This and that from re Thai r ment, By 3Th. November 8. 2010

1998 USPS stamp commemorating Crayola crayons....

1998 USPS stamp commemorating Crayola crayons. Note the Roman numeral date “MCMIV” at the bottom of the gold medal seal (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today’s factoid:

1994, Crayola produced a 16-pack of crayons that released realistic fragrances when used. In 1995, Crayola changed 13 of 16 scents because of complaints received by parents that some of the crayons smelled good enough to eat, like the Cherry, Chocolate, & Blueberry scented crayons. Eventually the 13 crayons with food scents were retired in favor of non-food scents.

Today’s news from Thailand:

Although an international travel magazine lists Bangkok as the best city in the world for tourists, the Thai travel industry continues to lag its rivals in Asia in tourism growth. Spokesmen for the Thai travel industry blame this state of affairs on “political instability” and the current rash of floods.

This all goes to prove Petrillo’s Rule Number 4 for interpreting the news, “a spokesman for any interest will always claim bad news for the interest he represents on someone else.”

The associated Rule Number 6 is, “One can be assured that the media will present the information obtained pursuant to Rule 4 as an “informed source” and never an “opinionated” or “interested” one.

Papa Joe’s fables and tales:

THE TALE OF THE RAISING OF THE LINGAM

One day in the late 70’s or early 80’s while sitting around with a friend drinking wine and smoking some dope and discussing mystics, rimpoches, gurus and yogas we had known which is what we aging hippies often did in the late seventies or eighties, my friend who I shall call Peter, told me the following tale:

During the Sixties Peter worked for an American NGO in india. At that time many of the young American guru groupies who frequented the Sub-continent during these times, travelled through the country like locusts. They were usually stoned, broke , homeless, diseased and smelly. Noe and then, some of them would end up camping out in one of the rooms in Peter’s home for a while, bathe, eat some food get a little healthier and move on.

After his stay in India Peter settled down in San Francisco, which was at that time also often the disembarkation point for those returning from their Indian adventures, One day, as could be expected, one of Peter’s previous boarders showed up at his house in not much better shape than Peter had last seen him and again after a few days he moved on.

Now it came to pass, as they say, that about a decade later Peter had the occasion to visit Boston for a few days. His friends, with whom he was staying while in Boston, invited him to a party in the prestigious Beacon Hill neighborhood being thrown in honor of a spiritual teacher and mystic that was all the rage at the time.

It goes without saying that when he arrived at the party Peter discovered the guest of honor, dressed now all in white linen, with long clean hair in a pony tail and a well trimmed beard was his one time guest. The Guru,, recognizing Peter grasped him in a warm embrace. Peter could only ask the obvious “What happened?”

The maharishi as he was now known took Peter aside and told him the following:

After leaving SF and crossing the country by begging on the street corners of many of the nations best cities, he found himself broke, hungry and homeless in Boston with winter coming on and was desperate.

So, he went to the supermarket and with the little money he caged that day, bought some rice. Next he scoured some of the empty lots of Boston for a rock of just the right size and shape. When he found it, he took it and the rice to a local park and between the roots of the tree dug a hole. In the hole he first placed the rice and then on top of the rice he stood up the columnar shaped rock, narrower pointed end up and covered it all with dirt that he carefully patted down so the ground looked natural and undisturbed.

Later that day he went around to as many people that he could, both those that he knew and those that he did not and announced that as a result of his stay in India and years of meditation, he had gained the ability to make the sacred lingam rise from the earth and that at a certain time the next day at the park he would demonstrate his power.

That next day he went into the park. At the appointed time he fell to his knees and began chanting and repeatedly bowing until his head touched the ground. He chanted and chanted, and bowed and bowed each time he bowed he sprinkled a little water. After a while, some on the onlookers became impatient while passers-by stopped to see what was going on.

Suddenly cracks appeared in the ground between the roots of the tree. He continued to chant, bow and sprinkle. Soon the pointed tip of the lingam appeared pushing through the earth. It continued to rise majestically until it stood fully tumescent in the sunlight.

“And that” concluded the swami, “was how it all began”.

Peter could not help himself but to ask, “And what do you make of all that?”

The master thought for a moment and replied, “If you do not use the proper rice your lingam won’t rise.”

Pookie’s continuing adventures in Thailand:

I thank all those who have commented on my quandary regarding my travel plans. The almost unanimous response seems to be “go for it”.

That being the case, what do I do with my condo? Keep it available for my return? But that would be costly. Give it up? But traveling with even the little amount of junk I have collected here is too much. Sub-lease it?

Mopey Joe’s Memories:

TOO MANY JOES (CONT.)

JOE (CONT.)

Joe was 17 when he arrived in America with his family. They settled in a little town about sixteen miles north of New York City called Tuckahoe, where somehow his father was able to buy or rent a modest house on Midland Avenue.

Joe’s father (probably named James) I barely remember and his mother I remember as a little wizened, shriveled old woman no more that four feet five inches tall. Their house’s smell always reminded me of old people, slightly musty,garlic and spices.

Joe never learned to read or write and barely learned to speak English his entire life.

His first job in America was as a teamster loading and driving a horse-drawn wagon. About a year after his arrival, Joe was loading his wagon with a co-worker, Joe on the wagon lifting the cargo raised to him by the co-worker. For some reason the co-worker called him a “filthy guinea”. Joe climbed off his wagon and killed him. The stories vary as to whether Joe killed him with his hands or with a knife and whether the victim was black or white.

In any event, Joe fled to Pennsylvania. Why Pennsylvania? I do not know. Maybe at that time it was a better place for fugitives than New Jersey.

After about 6 to 9 months his parents persuaded him to return. They retained a well-known Irish-american defense lawyer. who later became a long serving judge. to defend him. Joe pleaded guilty to a manslaughter charge. This is one of the reasons I suspect the victim was black. If it had been a white man he probably would have to plead to no less than murder 2 since at the time the only thing lower on the social scale than the italian immigrant was a black man (In modern times, the Italians have been replaced in by Latinos). Anyway, Joe served his time and was released in about a year.

Upon his return, he found that as a felon and an illiterate he could not get a job. He began walking along the sides of the railroad tracks that ran through the village picking up the bits and pieces of coal that fell off the coal tenders of the steam locomotives as they went by the Tuckahoe station. When he had picked up enough coal he would go from door to door in the village selling the coal at a low price to the residents for heat. After several months of this he amassed enough capital to open up a business selling coal, oil and kerosene. The business prospered.

Pepe’s potpourri:

1. The wisdom of Miracle Max:

Miracle Max: “Have fun stormin’ da castle.”
The Princess Bride.

2. Today’s very last album cover (I promise):

I am almost at a loss for words. This is either a satire or an insult to balding men, men with scraggly beards, hairy white men, white men, men with hairy belly-buttons as well as the women who love them. It is also an insult to homosexuals, flute players, baseball players, musicians of all kinds, nudists, copy writers and graphic artists. Also, he looks to me a lot like Nicholas Cage.

Today’s quote:

“A battle that you win cancels any other bad action of yours. In the same way, by losing one, all the good things worked by you before become vain.”
Niccolo Machiavelli, The Art of War.

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Categories: October through December 2010 | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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