For my Bubba in Puerto Rico

Shalom Leah,
Just wanted to point out a few things about where you now stand.
"Puerto Rico" - it's Spanish name means "don't drink the water" (in French it's "keep your hands off my daughter") Actually means "rich port".
Population - approx. 4 million, San Juan approx. 434,000 (note: there are approx. 2.7 million Puerto Ricans living on the U.S. mainland)
Homosexual population - .3 million (plus one, as soon as your plane lands)
Language - Spanish is the primary language, but English is taught in schools and should be widely spoken and understood.
Religion - Catholic and Protestant, plue one Jew. Actually there ARE Jews in Puerto Rico. If you want to celebrate Passover visit the "Shaare Zedeck Congregation" in San Juan near the tourist district.

Shaare Zedeck Syn. J.C.C.903 Ponce de Leon AveSan Juan, Puerto Rico, PR 00907Phone: (809) 724-4110
Time Zone - East Coast U.S. (add one hour)
Weather - hot and humid, hurricane warnings run from May to October. Currently, 90 degrees F at 52% humidity with winds from the SE at 10 mph. Forecast calls for scattered clouds. A FLASH FLOOD WATCH is currently in effect and will probably remain in place throughout the Spring. This is because it never rains in Puerto Rico, it pours. Heavy rains and thunderstorms expected tonight. When downpour comes expect 4 - 8 in. in a matter of hours. Travelers are encouraged to stay away from rivers, creeks and overflowing toilets.
Politics - Granted to U.S. as a territory from Spain in 1898. The current governor is Aníbal Acevedo Vilá, Esq. Puerto Rico has both the U.S. Constitution and a Commonwealth Constitution. The local populace are extremely independent-minded (respect that!). They're not a U.S. State because they don't WANT to be. Most recently, local residents vehemently protested the placement of a U.S. Navy bombing range on the island, protesting it peacefully but with vigor. It is understood that the U.S. is a protecting power, not an authority, and while this is appreciated it is also maintained by the Puerto Ricans as a tolerable evil (in other words, they like us well enough from a safe distance). These guys are smarter than we think they are; during the 50's and 60's the Puerto Rican government encouraged a massive migration movement to New York in order to transform their agricultural economy into an industrialized one...and it worked. It also balanced out the indigenous ratio since the number of actual Puerto Ricans IN Puerto Rico is roughly equal to their population. Stated succinctly, they very quietly kicked out the idiots and the uneducated immigrants and changed their path away from where most Caribbean nations have trod. Pretty slick! Now it's their home and they're proud of it.
Economy - Best in the Caribbean with a growth rate of 1.9%. Industrialized with a high standard of living. Currency is the U.S. dollar, but be careful because the DOLLAR is often referred to as the PESO. San Juan is a big cruise ship port. Airports are located at San Juan, Mayaguez, Ponce and Isla de Vieques (an island on the east side). There is now more industry than agriculture, since sugar production was surpassed in the 1940's (although rum should still be cheap). Imports and exports doubled between 1987 and 1997. U.S. minimum wage laws apply. Recent U.S. budget cuts have the local money-changers a little pissed, but that's more a Clinton thing than a Bush thing. Biggest business seems to be pharmaceuticals (followed by clothing), so bring back anything good that you score! Tourism accounts for 7% of the GNP, but tariffs collected go the Puerto Rican treasury, not the U.S. Treasury. Construction follows closely as a mainstay of jobs. In spite of fairly good employment and industry, the percentage of the population below the poverty level is still 44%, so when you try to sell yourself and don't get much, don't take it personally. Unemployment rate is about 12%. Average income for a family of 3.6 is $27,000 US per annum. After the U.S. and the Dominican Republic Puerto Rico's biggest export partners are the Netherlands and Germany. Biggest import partners are U.S. (55%), Ireland...who'd a thought? (23.7%), and Japan (5.4%). Puerto Rico receives NO economic aid (there's that independence thing again). There are plenty of water treatment, waste water treatment and electrical utilities in the infrastructure.
Geography - Typical Caribbean tropical foilage with high-rising moutains to the center of the island. Highest point is Cerro del Punta at an elevation of 4,389 ft. There are a few lakes and rivers and the crappie fishing is purported to really suck. No word on the catfish.
Culture and Commerce - You should recognize major commercial chains from supermarkets to Starbucks. The island should be very similar to any U.S. commerical cesspool and offer all the creature comforts of home, but if you really want to blend in you should get a tan (sorry). San Juan has the 4th largest port in the western hemisphere. In conspiracy theory domains there are reports of a massive sterilization campaign of Puerto Rican women during the 60's and 70's, and this was conducted in conjunction with the above-mentioned migration efforts. If the goal was population stabilization then it seemed to have worked. While this report is unsubstantiated it might be common knowledge on the street and in hospitals, so please don't check in for any surgery while you're there.
History - Puerto Rico's original name was "Boriken", which means "land of the brave people". The original indigenous peoples are the Taino-Arawak, who had a highly developed social, relgious and agricultural society, and they date back to 4,000 b.c.. In 1493 Columbus landed here on his second voyage to the Americas (after returning home with a bad case of gas). Columbus was a positive boon to the Puerto Ricans, since nearly the entire native population was destroyed by the Spanish when their colonization efforts were stalwartly resisted. Revolts were led by the Caciques or Chiefs who saw their people being devastated by the gold mines and diseases brought on by the Europeans. The greatest chief was Cacique Urayoan who had a vision of white-skinned folks riding horses who would bring disaster to the island long before the arrival of Columbus (lucky for us he was wrong, eh?). Surviving Taino-Arawak's fled to other Caribbean islands where they were assimilated into native populations. The original culture lives on by way of Taino words introduced in the regional Spanish dialect, musical instruments and songs, folklore and a burgeoning gay porn industry. When the Spaniards ran out of Taino's they began importing Africans for slaves, a practice that was abolished March 22, 1873. There should be numerous archaeological sites in Puerto Rico, since it has been established that the ancient natives had extensive contact with the Olmec culture of Mexico and (inexlicably) the Numbian-Kemetic culture of Africa from 1450-800 b.c..... in spite of the declaration by KU anthro professors that trans-Atlantic travel didn't exist at the time (jerks! I tried to tell them!!!). Surviving Tainos and newly arrived African slaves often banded together to throw off their slave masters, and such cultural exchanges led to some very intersting cuisines which may still be served in lesser-known restaurants today. Leaving out a lot of other fascinating details, what you need to know is that Puerto Rico WAS an independent nation....for exactly ONE WEEK. Within 7 days of throwing off the Spanish, U.S. forces invaded the island in 1898 and pretty much took it by force. Spain drew up the paperwork later and made the transfer all legit in white circles. Note that the Commonwealth Constitution was enacted on the anniversary of the invasion by U.S. forces, so remember that these folks DON'T forget anything! Their legal status continues to be anomalous; they are neither fully independent nor fully a part of the U.S. Puerto Ricans are considered U.S. citizens but they cannot vote for president, for instance. They are exempt from U.S. taxes but their representative in the U.S. Congress is called a "resident commissioner" and cannot vote. They were allowed to elect their own governor (Luis Munoz Marin, an advocate of independence) in 1948. A nationalist movement still persists and over a dozen activists are currently imprisoned in the U.S. for such paltry misdemeanors as detonating bombs and inciting sedition. Like I said, they never forget.

Hope this helps, love. Check the place out and tell me what you think. From what I've learned in an afternoon I really like these people...but how they treat my Bubba will determine whether or not we move there or I target the entire place for extermination.

I love you, honey. Happy Passover (Moses says "hi")
Spencer

Surely one of my saddest days...

Dear Diary,
You suck.
Love,
Spencer

Well, so much for the traditional diary entry. Tonight I rejoined a meeting of the Lee's Summit (masonic) Blue Lodge #263...and was immediately attacked by a local politician who seems to enjoy stirring up trouble. A good fiction writer would couch this tale along "good vs. evil" lines (making myself the good guy, of course), but my most beloved wife is well along the path of teaching me truth, since I have a hard time listening to God, and my new perspective just doesn't see it that way. The masonic mess, as I've come to call it, is little more than another personal disaster that my bad decisions have created and I am reaping what I sow, at the risk of sounding like a baptist!

Luckily, there are gentlemen in that organization that for reasons altruistic or selfish saw fit to extend both courtesy and understanding, so for the most part I was made welcome. I may not have intentionally created trouble but a strange combination of people-pleasing, betrayal, selfishness, bent idealism, cowardice and greed for glory and sensual pleasure placed me squarely into a disaster of my own making, since no one else is foolish enough to take credit for it. I did realize, at least, that no matter how difficult the act of facing one's own mistakes may be there is true vindication, atonement and restoration in dealing directly and responsibly with one's own mistakes, and that I tried to do to the best of my ability. It blew, but I gave it my all.

How many other disasters have I created? Readers of this blog should already be well aquainted with my tirades and confessions, so I worry very little about offending or shocking anyone. In the immortal words of Popeye the Sailor, "I yam what I yam", so there it is. But the examples of this bizarre combination of "wanting to do good vs. wanting to do good for ME" are legion. Let's look at a few, shall we?

If I go back as far as convenient memory serves I can at least name football in high school. Most kids received some basic instruction in sports and I, being jealous of this notable lack in my male socialization, lied to the try-out coach and said I knew a little quarter-backing. I didn't. At first practice the ball was hiked...and I just stood there. "Forty-three right what???" I wondered to myself. The embarassing silence from my "team mates" was palpable as they went through with the play wondering why the hell the ball wasn't in play. I lasted just long enough to realize how much I hated push-ups and laps, then quietly slid away.

Then, I think next year, there was wrestling. Some progress here, although I joined late and technically never attended an actual practice or learned any wrestling "moves' before being thrown into a tournament. I fought valiantly and courageously, and was pinned in a matter of moments. Shamed, I stomped off the mat and (like the child that I was) threw my headset to the floor. For this the coach slapped me dead across the mouth in front of BILLIONS (okay, dozens) of spectators. Luckily no one from my family was there, and no real friends - most of whom continue to think that rolling around on the floor with other men while wearing tights is rather gay. But there were two chances for me to look stupid that night, and I seized them both. After getting bitch-slapped by Coach Morrin I, after a "thoughtful" moment alone in the hallway, I returned to the mat to try even harder...getting pinned a few moments later than last time. But this time, having tried my very hardest and having learned the stinging lesson of good sportsmanship, I came up smiling. So endeth my wrestling career.

Some time later in high school, about my junior year I believe, there was Stephanie Byrd. She was one grade year above me and of dubious and well-earned reputation. A good friend (though I didn't think so at the time) who knew the value of honesty told me once during drama class that she was a total whore and I really could do better and would be doing better to get away from her. I responded angrily, though without any meritous retort I recall, and actually separated myself from this truthful friend to spend more time with Stephanie. Dear Stephanie then went on to fuck everyone everywhere, including my brother and his best friend Chris Arey. This debacle went on to consume over a year of my life and enough emotion to fill a broadway musical.

Later, in college, I followed another "sweetheart" to MU where I proceeded NOT to get into journalism school (like I planned), not to pursue an archaeology degree (after seeing "Raiders of the Lost Ark), not to get good grades which resulted in expulsion (like I said it was so easy to do), not to be a good roommate and not to keep said sweetie as a girlfriend. This was also my first experience in bouncing checks, but I digress. What's important was that I MEANT well and DID horribly, for all the complicated reasons listed in italics in the first paragraph. What's important here is that, several years later and hoping to invoke feelings of goodwill and self-worth, I attended said sweeties wedding to a fine man...uninvited (at least by anyone who really mattered in such a situation). It was a disaster. For whatever reasons said sweetie couldn't even go on to pose for her wedding photos and I was asked to leave by her father, who mistook me for the guy (Steve Foster) who thought me going would be no big deal. I'm guessing that Steve was actually allowed to stay, however, and after I corrected the case of mistaken identity and took my lumps so to speak, I left with as little trouble as possible. My only crime? Showing up uninvited and quietly congratulating both bride and groom. At my ten year high school reunion this quaint catholic couple were in attendance and the groom, who just so happened to be a professional boxer, came very close to beating the living hell out of me. Perhaps it was sincere apology and my unwavering won't-back-down-from-you stance (because to retreat in the face of fire only encourages more aggression) that he accepted my apology and all was well. Hell, how was I supposed to know he was a boxer?

That little crisis being laid to rest I then went on to other adventures: I worked for my father's company where my only claim-to-fame was pointing at the embezzlers who ruined him and saying, "You know, dad, I think those guys are stealing from you." Other than that I did very little, burned a lot of gasoline, drank more than a few bottles of wine, and became interested in conspiracy theories.

The convoluted nature of conspiracy mentalities attracts the complicated personality, so I was a shoe-in for fame and trouble. Sometime in between I joined the masonic lodge and became very active, impressing many fellow masons with my flair for drama and talent at research. Then I went to work for Bill Cooper (who was later shot to death by the Apache County Sherrif's Department) and somehow my reporter's name got stuck on anti-masonic articles written by Bill's organization. It's almost as if I wasn't satisfied with being an idiot, I had to be a traitor too! After leaving Bill to enjoy a lead breakfast one morning and coming home to Missouri with my tail between what was left of my legs, I then thought "Hey, I've pissed off everyone in THIS world, now let's give God a try." And so I became a Baptist, enjoying no small amount of fame and ego-boosting by writing various plays and skits and basically parading around (all the while having a tryst with a deacon's daughter) like a superstar. My coup-de-grace was to marry the most respectable Baptist woman I could find, a Christian of impeccable character, and making a complete disaster out of that marriage in a record 7 months. She was a good woman and (this is NOT self-pity here) she didn't deserve to endure my painful maturity and quest to discover who the hell I am and what the hell I want. That being said, I now formally apologize to Jennifer Aniston and hope she has found a better life, with this admonition to stay away from Missouri boys!

Oh, but it just goes on and on, doesn't it? There was a three year stint at City Hall; a fine job there that ended in disaster more than loosely associated with being expelled by the Baptists and divorced from my wife. If I remember correctly I blamed my supervisor, who of course was nothing less than a good friend, and personally insulted him (wrongly) before resigning. During and after the divorce I discovered the joys of alcoholism and blamed the Baptists. Then I went to Dallas to become a reporter (great job, that) and dumped those nice people for a slightly higher paying job at HNTB...where I promptly resigned after meeting Lori and figuring we could afford for me to "write fiction" (which I funny because that's basically all I've ever written when I've chronicled my own life...I just didn't know it or believe it at the time!). Let's see, I was a satellite installer - quit that. I joined the merchant marine, but never went to sea. I volunteered for a NOAA cruise, hated it, puked like a pig and jumped ship first chance I got (just another variation of quitting) at the precise moment that I had proven myself and had the chance to make some more real friends (just another version of betrayal). There have been numerous home improvement projects, attempts at martial arts and creative expression, even dog breeding...which was easy because the dogs did all the work. All along the way I've managed to insult (drunken or sober) nearly every friend I've ever had and alienate most if not all of my family. The sudden death of my mother affected only so far as to make me slightly more bold in being nasty and ill-tempered and less of a people-pleaser, which makes sense because Mom was one of the few people in my life along with Lori and maybe Rocky and a few others who have actually been worth pleasing.

The greatest wake-up call came, of course, from my best friend and instructor in truth, one Lori Ann Friedman, who one day looked me dead in the eye and said, "That's bullshit." I was astounded. I was insulted. I was outraged. ME??? BULLSHIT??? Are you kidding, my dear? Look at the history here. When have I ever, EVER, bullshitted you or myself or....Oh, I guess I've always been bullshitting myself, haven't I? That's what made it so easy to lie to everyone else about who I am and what I'm doing, because I actually believed my own lies. This penchant for self-deception seems to be a signicant Gentile trait because we're so naturally good at it, while your average Jew can see right through it. Normal Jews who didn't go through hell during their childhood are abrasive enough to tell you about it. Sweet, loving and long-suffering Jews like my beloved Lori take a little more time, but eventually they get there.

Which (and watch out - here I go justifying myself...AGAIN!) kind of makes sense in the big scheme of things. Maybe her efforts to help me grow up are helping her as well. One can only hope so, because I'm running out of people to piss off and opportunities to piss away and career choice to piss down the drain. Hell, I'm just running out of piss, period, and I never did have much vinegar. Did I tell you the one about wanting to joing the Navy? No? Oh yeah, the Reserves you see. Because I wanted to serve my country (idealism), wanted a steady income/free ride from the government (selfishness), wanted the admiration of people seeing me in uniform and the chance to be a hero (glory seeking), took all the tests and entrance exams (I guess part of me was serious) but then chickened out at the last minute (cowardice), thereby making an ass out of the very good guy recruiter who invested so much time in me (betrayal), and only went as far as I did because I didn't want to disappoint him or Lori who had already been lured into having high hopes for me (people-pleasing). It's pathological, and it really smells. If this phenomenon needs a social-psychological label then I think I'll call it Meathead's Combo, because it is such a varied and vast combination of a plethora of motives and inducements and because I am (as the inventor of this freakish thing) a meathead!

I don't know who I am. I don't know what I'm doing. I have no idea where I'm going (hopefully the Bible is right, but surely even God has had enough by now!). What I do know is that the happiest and healthiest I've ever been has been with Lori, and for that I am eternally grateful and determined NOT to quit.

Unless of course something better comes along...

Jjust kidding, Lori. You are the light of my life and my salvation in this world, while God Himself must be my salvation in the next. But He gets credit for both because only He could have been wise enough, understanding enough, forgiving enough and shrewd enough to send me you. I love you, my dear, and thank you for always being there.

a quote...

"Soul is a way of life, but it's always the hard way."
- Ray Charles, 1968 Time Magazine interview