To all who celebrate, Happy First Contact Day [FCD].
FCD is, of course, the holiday honoring "first contact" between humans and an alien species (the Vulcans) on April 5, 2063. The day also memorializes the historic first warp-speed flight of the Phoenix spacecraft which, as all schoolchildren know, caught the attention of Vulcans flying nearby and led them to land and say hello.
First Contact paved the way for later formation of the United Federation of Planets.
Live long and prosper. 🙂
The Artemis II space-craft will circle the Moon and see its "dark side" -- including areas never seen before by humans. I'm curious what we might find there.
My guess is a restaurant so good that aliens have kept its existence a secret to prevent the place from becoming too popular.
When we're young we experiment with alternate selves, looking for one that fits.
I once donned a carapace of bad-boy bravado (shown above). It felt ridiculous and I quickly abandoned it. But we don't learn without making mistakes.
I've discovered it's fun to circle back to our youth and explore things we enjoyed then in greater depth. Like re-watching old TV shows or reading books by favorite authors.
When I was a teenager I read a few Kurt Vonnegut novels. He was very popular then. I liked "Cat's Cradle", "Slaughterhouse Five" and a few others. But Vonnegut was exceptionally prolific: he wrote fourteen novels, three short-story collections, five plays and five non-fiction books. There's a lot in his literary oeuvre I haven't touched.
I'm heading over there now. Any suggestions? Did you like any of his books?
Words are like cars: they work better when you use them. And, like cars, they can transport us to new destinations.
My fleet of words are driving me to noetic insights. And I'm learning which parkway exits to take for that knowledge.
Most of my life my equable demeanor concealed a roiling cauldron of fiery emotion. Now, however, as I approach a new town called Serenity, I'm surprised to find beatific smiles on my face that I didn't put there. Mind you, I'm not complaining, just surprised.
A basic problem, it seems, is that humans develop perceptual and conceptual ruts in our thinking as we grow into adulthood. Children don't have this problem: they still view the world with open eyes, unhindered by expectation. But the self we create growing up conquers our consciousness. It hides as much reality from us as it allows to pass through. Adult brains "see" what they expect, not what actually is. This is why most people find it urgent to quickly label and put things in known boxes. Reflexive "non-thinking" diminishes our understanding and our discourse.
I'm learning that it's possible to reduce mental blindness by removing ego from our consciousness. Ironic certainly to hear this from a literally-blind person but the point is true. We can open our minds with various techniques, the most salient of which is becoming aware of our limitations.
Ludwig van Beethoven died on this day (March 26th) almost two centuries ago. His funeral attracted 18,000 mourners who treated him like a king.
Beethoven endured a life of excruciating pain and yet persevered. He chose to live for the opportunity to create music of sublime beauty. A music expert says, "Beethoven is the composer of the human soul. He is our composer."
The original Star Trek series was broadcast 60 years ago (1966-69). William Shatner, who plays Capt. James T. Kirk, turned 95 years old this week and is still alive. On Monday Shatner tweeted (on X) about the show:
"Star Trek exists in more than one world. It exists in the fantasy of science fiction - weird and wonderful things that play unimaginable possibilities of exploration and human endeavor.... [I]t also exists in...the exploration that human beings have made since the dawn of time...physically, mentally and morally. It’s that aspect of Star Trek that I’ve always loved, to look at something physically that doesn’t exist now...but...tackle[s] the eternal human questions: the agonies, the ecstasies. Star Trek should exist for a long time to come based on those truths."
During the past five weeks I re-watched all 79 episodes (spread over three seasons). I've completed my analysis, Captain, and here is the report.
According to my calculations the most emotionally moving episode is "Amok Time" (S2, Ep.30). The funniest episode is "A Piece of the Action" (S2, Ep. 46). And the scariest episode is "Cat's Paw" (S2, Ep. 36).
This report concludes there is intelligent life on the Starship Enterprise. I recommend beaming up for an enjoyable visit. Spock out.
Captain's Log, Star-Date 3018.2
After beaming down to the planet's surface with a landing party my crew and I embarked on my five-week mission to bravely explore new worlds. Specifically, we visited "Star Trek: The Original Series" [TOS].
Initially broadcast on Earth television in the 1960s, TOS was poorly handled by network executives (life-forms possessing inferior intelligence). Before VCRs, DVDs and other recording devices, CBS executives scheduled the show at late hours on weeknights where it was unlikely to attract an audience. This misjudgment resulted in low ratings, truncated growth and ultimately cancellation after only three seasons. Fortunately, the series was re-run a decade later (in syndication) at earlier hours (dinner-time) where enthusiastic young fans embraced the show. That fan-base grew into a powerful force and the show's reputation developed at accelerated pace.
My current report on the series is encouraging. The planet's inhabitants, while often engaged in flagrant over-acting, created intriguing characters with emotional depth. Ironically most in a Vulcan whose emotions are restrained. My sensor readings confirm sufficient data here to sustain life for numerous spin-offs including 13 television shows, 14 movies, innumerable conferences and avid fan-fiction. Kirk to Enterprise: there is enough here to build a cultural empire.
TOS writing broke new ground: its setting in a fantasy world (sci-fi) allowed it to explore themes forbidden on normal TV. Subjects like racism and oppression were probed. At the same time some retrograde views (especially on women) persisted.
Mr. Spock: "What we've just seen is not real."
Captain Kirk: "All the same, let's be prepared. Ready phasers and keep your eyes open."
One of our fondest family traditions is me playing April Fool's jokes on Robin.
Every year I amazingly manage to succeed in fooling Robin even though she knows a prank is coming and looks for it with every fiber of her being. Robin hates being fooled -- hence, my pleasure -- but loves ingenuity and attention. In the span of a minute Robin's mind races from puzzlement to surprise to annoyance to appreciation, usually with profanity erupting.
If April 1st ever arrived without a joke, Robin would be very sad. She would interpret that as "the honeymoon is over."
In the past I've devised many methods for evading her anticipation: coming out of left field; misdirection; deception. Occasionally I enlist friends to act as accomplices to throw Robin off-track. This year I concocted a simple plan founded on none of these techniques; rather, it exploits one of Robin's daily habits.
Because she'll be on high alert for any action I personally take, the joke has to arrive from another direction. Right now Robin shops online and gets regular delivery of packages from Amazon, et al. In this habit lies my plan.
Instead of me "doing something," a box will simply appear on our front doorstep. Like hundreds of others preceding it. Nothing suspicious there. The box -- large in size -- will capture her attention and stimulate her interest. Robin loves guessing what's in her packages even when the purchases are as pedestrian as paper towels. She enjoys "unboxing" things. It's like Christmas for a Jewish kid.
To allay doubt I created a fake mailing label using an old vintage typewriter a friend gave me last year. The box and its label look utterly ordinary. Unremarkable.
The essence of this year's joke isn't the box or what's inside it; the joke centers on the unboxing process itself.
During the past two months I collected a dozen cardboard boxes of every size. I didn't have to buy any; I just quietly put aside boxes arriving with Robin's purchases and diverted them from being thrown out. Yesterday I selected six of these boxes that neatly nestle inside one another. Like iconic Russian stacking dolls. The outside box is large (3 ft. x 3 ft. x 3 ft.) and the smallest one inside is only 10 inches by 10 inches by 3 inches.
Okay, so now you see where I'm going with this. On April 1st Robin will discover a big box on our front steps. She'll be delighted and wonder what's inside. She'll then open the box and see another box. Scratching her head she'll open that box and... what? Another box? She'll continue unboxing until she eventually realizes she's being pranked. I'm taking bets on how many boxes she has to open before a light bulb goes off. :)
To sweeten the joke, inside the last box is a pretty hand-made sign I created. The sign has a message on it and can later be displayed. It wishes Robin a Happy April Fool's Day with the year noted. This will hopefully melt the heart of an infuriated woman. Cooling off is required as the last part of an effective 4/1 joke.
Robin doesn't read my blog so -- shhh -- please keep this a secret. :)
Questions I've Been Asked Lately:
- What subjects do I need to know to understand the nature of physical reality?
- It's helpful if you have basic knowledge of philosophy, science (biology, neuroscience, cosmology), linguistics, mysticism and the history of psychedelic research (1950-1964; 1990-present).
- Is that knowledge necessary?
- No, I can explain salient concepts to you.
- What's helpful to understand this stuff?
- Personal experience with animals (e.g., pets) and nature (e.g., time in the woods). An open mind and curious nature. Habits of observation and reflection.
- Are you founding a religion?
- No.
- Do I have to submit to sex with you in exchange for enlightenment?
- No.
- Do I have to donate all my worldly possessions to you?
-No.
- Will learning this give me "rizz"?
- Probably.
- Will there be a test afterward?
- No, it's not school.
- What are the benefits of acquiring this knowledge?
- It'll erase your fear of death and reduce your anxiety about living.
Last week, after a lifetime of observation, study and contemplation, I had a major epiphany: I discovered the nature of physical reality. Cosmic enlightenment isn't unique to me: it's been achieved by others but I had to get there myself in order to believe it in my bones.
The subject is way too complex to explain online so, if you want insight, it'll cost you a beer or cup of tea.
A separate issue, that of human behavior, is knottier. I'm still studying the subject and haven't reached the same level of comprehension. It seems illogical that one can solve the puzzle of the Universe and not grok the minds of human animals within it but that's the case. I have working hypotheses but no firm conviction on the answer.
There's good news but you may not want to hear it: limited consciousness in adult humans, which often produces noxious behavior, ultimately doesn't matter. The fates of nature, planet Earth and the rest of extraterrestrial existence don't depend on what humans do and will endure long after this flawed animal species goes extinct.
We are many things simultaneously, the least interesting of which are ego-centered individuals. We are vastly complex assemblages of matter joined by multiple forces of energy. With unlocked consciousness we can peer at the horizon of knowledge and hope to grok the ineffable, that which lies beyond human perception.
By definition, the process is hard work. And you have to volunteer for the job.
Yours truly,
Ally, Undercover Shaman
Attuned To Noetic Knowledge
You may have heard: the rumor is true. musician Billy Joel finally unloaded his Centre Island compound. It consists of a main mansion (20,000 sq. ft.), two smaller buildings (guest house; beach house), helipad and six-car garage. The compound sits on 26 acres of waterfront property on exclusive Centre Island.
Billy's been trying to sell this compound for three years. Nobody nibbled. He bought the main property 25 years ago and added to it by purchasing adjoining properties. His total investment was around $35 Million. He tried selling it for $50 Million in 2022, dropped the price to $40 Million, then later desperately reduced the price to $30 Million. He finally found a buyer this month for $28 Million -- which is less than he paid for the property years ago. Billy Joel is the only person to lose money on New York real estate.
The buyer is anonymous. Rumors that I'm involved are unconfirmed. You'll have to come to my next party to learn what really happened. :)
I just discovered a new Canadian TV show that's both foreign and familiar at the same time. It's a fascinating combination.
The show, "North of North" (2025; Netflix), is about a small Inuit community in the northernmost part of Canada. That area, Nunavut, is the largest part of Canada (700,000 sq. miles: the size of Mexico) but least populated (around 35,000 people). It borders the Artic and is always cold. In Summer, the temperature may briefly reach 50 degrees but most of the year it averages around minus-10 to minus-30 degrees. There's always snow and people always wear heavy parkas.
What's interesting about the show is that despite the unfamiliar region, the people there (mostly Inuit [what we used to call Eskimos]) live contemporary lives. The main character is a 26 year old woman, an attractive single mom, with a narcissistic ex-husband, emotionally cold mother, odd co-workers and promising new romance. Its themes are universal: a young woman trying to find meaning in life, struggling with sexism, faced with limited options. She operates in a community that's close-knit but confining, like any small town. At the same time the show also includes references to distinctively Inuit culture, like a sea goddess and shamans. Critics praise the show as "warm and likeable;" they included it in last year's Top 30 Shows.
"North of North" is considered a comedy but it's more a drama with some humor. The soundtrack is well-chosen with popular songs you recognize. The first season was released last year; a second season was approved and being filmed. The show's characters are appealing and its plots are entertaining.
Give it a try!
We all need a "third place" -- somewhere other than home or work where we can relax, sip coffee and chat with friends. I found a new one today and am here to report on it.
One distinctive advantage to living in a metropolitan area is the presence of exotic options. Sure there are boring, pedestrian Starbucks around the world but wouldn't it be nice to try coffee from Yemen or Guatemala? To savor a Pistachio Latte? Or bite a tasty organic pastry?
On the way home from a bi-monthly drug-infusion today I coaxed my chauffeur into visiting a new specialty coffeehouse: Mokafé on Route 110 in Melville. (There are additional locations in NYC and NJ.) The Melville location is large and nicely-decorated. Perfect for a comfortable experience. Open until 2 a.m. most nights Mokafé is designed for fun. It is busiest between 9-10 o'clock at night.
Mokafé's owners are from Yemen, Palestine and Guatemala. Their culinary offerings celebrate the owners' cultural heritages. Mokafe’s coffee beans come from farmers in Yemen and Guatemala with whom the owners deal directly. The owners originally started as wholesale coffee distributors. When they opened a coffee-shop it was instantly successful and they've continued in that direction.
The variety of coffee drinks is diverse, as are the interesting pastries, cakes and sandwiches. Experiment with khaliat nahl, sabaya or a pistachio knafa croissant. And when you spot me and my chauffeur canoodling in the corner, come over and say hi. :)
When you face death, so close you can smell its breath, you realize profound truths. About the value of life. Small pleasures are actually bigger than small, rich opportunities abound, and life offers a platter of pleasures.
In age we can cherish redolent memories of delightful experiences. I've been lucky to have many. Remembering them, the people I shared them with, and the joy I found balances the scale against decrepitude.
Some years ago my good friend Aimee took me on vacation to an idyllic spot: the Thousand Islands of St. Lawrence River (near the east end of Lake Ontario). The area, separating Canada from the U.S., contains 1,864 individual islands. A century ago it was the summer playground of wealthy New Yorkers, attracted to ineffable natural beauty.
Aimee and I took a ferry boat from Alexandria Bay to Singer Castle and Boldt Castle, locations now available to the hoi polloi. The June day was sunny, bright and dreamy. Cool zephyrs greeted us like friends on the boat-ride. The atmosphere -- and indeed entire day -- was sublime.
I'll never forget the peace, calm and pleasure I felt that day. Health, eyesight and a caring friend were present, with not a hint of trauma waiting in the near future.
My favorite actor, Hank Azaria, has had a long career of amazing performances. All elevated by bright intelligence and startling accuracy. I first noticed Hank in "Quiz Show" (1994) where he transformed a tiny part into a pivotal part of the story.
Hank's greatest achievement, in my opinion, is "Brockmire" (2017+) based on a character Hank created. He plays a 50-year old baseball announcer who's flawed but brilliant, funny but destructive, and traditionally sexist. Most notable of all is how Hank nails the voice of the character.
In the show's four-season run, it was hilarious and deeply insightful. Plus, who doesn't love Amanda Peet? :)
Great art and artists are often underappreciated. Don't let that happen here. Go watch "Brockmire". Its messages are growing in importance, especially from the last season which imagines the dying future of baseball in the 2030s.
Punxsutawney is a fun, quirky place.
First time I visited was by accident. I was riding home, alone, from North Dakota on my first motorcycle trip. This was back in the day when GPS didn't exist and I wasn't using a map (1999). I was just heading east toward New York. Passing through western PA on rural roads I spotted a large statue of a strange creature. Then another. Then a sign signaling my arrival in the Groundhog Capitol of the World. Surprise!
I returned ten years ago on my BMW touring motorcycle. Intentionally. I now had GPS. You can see the bike in one of these photos.
What will Phil say today?
The music of Johnny Cash has soul. Authentic feeling. You sense the man has seen some shit. Life at its nadir and peak.
For my birthday last November I requested tickets to a "jukebox musical" of Johnny's songs. We attended the show last night at a theater in Northport. The musicians were talented, their performance was glorious. It was like sitting in front of a warm hearth to escape Winter's cold.
The occasion warranted breaking out one of my favorite shirts. I bought this beauty thirty years ago when visiting Boston. Returning to a city I'd spent three years in for law school (1979-1982) I enjoyed being there again. This time I had money in my pockets; as a student I was dirt-poor and frequently ate falafel from King David's food truck.
On this trip I walked down Boylston Street, Boston's upscale shopping Mecca. I spotted a boutique with a catchy name: "Rock 'n Roll Cowboy." I took a look inside. The store had chic clothes with motifs I'd never encountered before. I noticed this classic country-style shirt and fell in love. But... it was expensive. Obscenely so.
After debating the voice of my immigrant-parents (in my head), I took a plunge and pulled out my wallet. In retrospect, that was the right choice. The shirt is made of high-quality material, is embroidered not printed, has real pearl buttons and appears brand-new after three decades of wear. When a thing can become your treasure for a lifetime, it deserves respect regardless of cost.
I hear the train a comin'
It's rolling round the bend
And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when
I'm stuck in Folsom prison, and time keeps draggin' on
But that train keeps a rollin' on down to San Antone.
When I was just a baby my mama told me "Son,
Always be a good boy, don't ever play with guns"
But I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die
When I hear that whistle blowing, I hang my head and cry.
I bet there's rich folks eating in a fancy dining car
They're probably drinkin' coffee and smoking big cigars
Well I know I had it coming, I know I can't be free
But those people keep a movin'
And that's what tortures me.
Well if they freed me from this prison
If that railroad train was mine
I bet I'd move it on a little farther down the line
Far from Folsom prison, that's where I want to stay
And I'd let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away.
I just finished a fascinating book about life in America a century ago. Back in the 1920s baseball was everyone's obsession, Babe Ruth became our first national celebrity, and mass communication (radio and print newspapers) spread news with astonishing speed. (The book, an award-winning best-seller, is "The Big Fella" by Jane Leavy [2018])
Primary sources quoted in the book illustrate how language evolves. Not just slang, like phrases I gleefully played with as a kid in the 1960s ("Right on, man!", "groovy"), but vocabulary spoken in ordinary conversation. Some words commonly deployed then have since been replaced by new ones.
Here's an example. Today we talk about "grit" -- that laudable quality some folks have to persevere through hardship. We admire the force of their character, their determination. Back in the 1920s, a popular word used for this was "moxie". A person who had moxie was strong, vigorous and capable of enduring anything.
The word moxie itself is interesting: it originated in the 1870s as the (capitalized) commercial name of a "medicinal" elixir. (The beverage was actually just a carbonated energy drink with no medicinal value.) Widespread ads for "Moxie" later led "moxie" to evolve into a personal characteristic.
"Hey, it takes moxie to climb Coney Mountain!"
Our language is full of marvelous words. I delight in obscure ones. We also frequently encounter common words whose meaning we don't know. For these, there's no excuse not to "look them up," especially when read on electronic devices.
One word I've seen dozens of times but didn't comprehend until yesterday is "winsome". What does it mean?
Winsome denotes something that is sweet, charming or attractive. Like a winsome smile or a winsome personality. Knowing this word super-charges your ability to bestow a flattering compliment. Don't you want to possess that power?
My friend Helen is exhibiting her artwork in Cold Spring Harbor. Tonight we attended an Artist Reception for the show.
The work (watercolors) is beautiful. Helen is patently talented and the subjects of her paintings are joyous. While at the reception we had several nice chats with Helen.
A bonus of the event was running into someone I knew 60 years ago and haven't seen since (Tom). Tom's father Tony worked with my father when they were both police officers in Lloyd Harbor. Our families socialized together at annual Police Department events, like summer beach parties and Christmas parties. I remember Tom and his brothers but haven't seen him in over a half-century. Catching up was fun. I learned he, too, used to ride motorcycles.
Here's a picture from one of those 1960s Christmas parties. Can you find me in it?
I don't expect you to be interested in hockey but good writing entertains us no matter what its subject. For example, I'm reading a book about Babe Ruth I doubted would appeal but find it fascinating ("The Big Fella"). Written by brilliant female sports-writer Jane Leavy, the Babe book ensorcells me with detailed description of how celebrity emerged in this country a century ago. Babe was more than a baseball hero; he was America's first celebrity. He become as famous for his off-field persona as on-field play. This happened because of the emergence of mass communication in the 1920s. That is the real story in the book.
Back to hockey. After a promising start this season, my favorite team (NJ Devils) fell apart. Terrible mismanagement by GM Tom Fitzgerald has many fans demanding he be fired. Team owners are resisting that pressure, however, so we fans have a solution -- tell the White House there's oil under the Prudential Center (where the Devils play) and ask for regime change. 🙂
A second problem with the team is that a star-player, foolishly given a lavish contract, is under-performing. The team will lose lots of money when it trades the player for a used Zamboni and a box of Skittles. (Zambonis are machines that clean arena ice.)
Finally, some good news: the Devils' hated rivals, the NY Rangers, are also collapsing. Germans have a word for this -- Schadenfreude. (Taking pleasure from someone else's misfortune.) Last night the Rangers gave up ten goals to Boston. It was like watching your mother-in-law drop the tasteless casserole she brought for dinner.
