Vichy Water – Author's Blog

August 25, 2011

The Earth Moved For My Birthday. Earthquake. Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial. Me and Hurricane Irene: Storm Fascination? More Life Absurdities. NJ Clearwater Festival (Asbury Park, NJ) Thursday August 25, 2011

Filed under: November 2009 — Tags: 1970, mighty, mouse, performed, young — earthood @ 1:13 pm

Me in Hurricane Earl last year

Yesterday, August 23rd, I celebrated my birthday, the numerical achievement, which doesn’t escape me, but is irrelevant to the conversation we’re about to have, although I discussed the number with my friend Ruth, a Seattle psychic. We both don’t dig three numbers in a row, etched on the back of Damien’s neck; it’s all fairytale concoctions to sell movie tickets, keep folks in line, ignite imagination, or depict after-life undesirable retirement locations.

One of my favorite movies, with Don Ameche, 1943’s Best Film Nominee “Heaven Can Wait” depicts the ‘bad guy on the bottom floor’ as ‘His Excellency;’ it was the sinister moustache which gave him away but a nice personification. At the end, the nefarious character touchingly pushes the ‘up’ elevator button for aged Henry Van Cleeve, hinting that there might be “a small room vacant in the annex”(heaven).

Stephen Hawking

Hurricane Irene Now I originally saw the movie as a teenager. Don Ameche’s character, ‘Henry Van Cleeve’ at movie’s end was an old man at sixty-something. He and his movie wife, beautiful Gene Tierney, had celebrated their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary; a lot of years together for 1943. Well I just celebrated my 34th wedding anniversary in my sixties and I played tennis twice this week; pretty effective at the net (take that, John McEnroe). Henry Van Cleeve was an old man at my age in 1943; this fascinates me and so does living to 150 years.

Back in May, an idol of mine, physicist Stephen Hawking, said that there is not God as we imagine it and there is no life after the death of the body. Regarding his vision of life and death, the scientist sees the brain as “computer which will stop working when its components fail. There is no heaven or afterlife for broken down computers” he said and completed, that life after death was a fairytale told to the people that are afraid of the dark. One point of this blog is that I disagree with Stephen Hawking; “Imagine that Archie,” as Edith Bunker used to say. All I’m prepared to say at this time, is I’m rather convinced; I’ve got a pretty full-up diary of strange celestial synchronistic angelic-intervening occurrences which have long since passed coincidence or mathematical improbability. Maybe you’ll have to read my second novel.

Charlton Heston: A dead ringer for Moses.

I spent yesterday responding to hundreds of Facebook birthday greetings; old school, personal touch. Somewhere after 1PM, my heavy computer desk started to sway back and forth, so I grabbed it, believing it was a dizzy-spell excessive email manifestation. Funny: I was actually angry at myself for being dizzy. Then I noticed my office door swaying to the same cadence and knew it was an earthquake; certainly not ghostly dudes from ‘Amityville Horror.’ I ran to the television; Channel Six in Philadelphia was already reporting on the earthquake and shame on Channel Seven in New York, still soap operating. My first communiqué: I sent an email off to Ruth in Seattle. A few months ago my psychic friend from the old neighborhood in Newark told me to expect an earthquake here in New Jersey. Politely, I said it’d never happen. As the crow flies, I ingested prideful resignation; once again she was dead-on. After my reality onset, she wished me happy birthday and explained the significance of the earth moving on my birthday; just add it to the diary of a mad blogger and novelist.

Movies always pop into mind. ‘Diary of a Mad Housewife, starring Carrie Snodgrass (finally a movie in 1970 played entirely from the housewife’s point of view) Dig social change, ERA, not as much Charlton Heston’s NRA(hopeless oratorical pacifist) I love when Lenny Bruce thought Moses was a dead ringer for Chuck Heston(or someone similar).

So the earth moved on my birthday; I do feel special and meditated/communed heavy duty last night, after swallowing 1/4 of a moist chocolate layer cake and repenting with 90 minutes on the exercise bike. So spirits supplied an earthquake on my birthday. Flamingoes at the National Zoo in Washington, DC huddled together just before the quake and until the shaking stopped.

Zoo gorilla just before the earthquake in Washington DC.

A zoo gorilla picked up its child and climbed high-up several minutes before the earthquake; examples of sixth sense (if you believe). I remember Scrooge saying, after the ‘Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come,’ “I do believe. I do. I do.” Stephen Hawking, explain the earth moving on my day besides being a 365 to one shot. So we had a serious earthquake on the east coast which affected twenty-two states; something about the geology under our eastern feet here that allows easy transmission of geologic tremors.

Last spring, I blogged about the safety of New York’s Indian Point Nuclear Plant; if we got an earthquake; I think we’re covered there to 6 on the Richter scale. Our surprise earthquake centered in Virginia hit 5.9. Nine out of ten nuclear plants in America that are considered suspect and dangerous when it comes to earthquakes are located right here in the surprising east coast.

On August 31, 1954, Hurricane Carol devastated the East coast while mother was giving birth to my youngest sister. Maple trees on my street bent in 70 mile per hour winds eventually strewing broken arbor casualties all over. When clouds and winds abetted, I biked around the block repeatedly, pondering symphonic forces of Mother Nature responsible for my newborn sister and the extensive damage. And so began my love affair with hurricanes and nature’s power magic. I can’t explain inner desires to feel wind and ocean spray on my face. Many times in the life, I’ve dreamed of flying down to Galveston, Texas, becoming a county lineman after a hurricane hit but most importantly experiencing in situ, all that nature could throw at me. As I aged, a need to be at the epicenter of meteorological maelstrom prospered; if I were prosperous (a rich man) I really would’ve flown to cyclonic tropical events.

hurricane Irene. 2 days ago. from high (up)

EZ pass lane from Garden State Parkway Essex County

One day I concluded that I was just like ‘Mr. Roberts,’ Henry Fonda in the movie. Doug Roberts had to get into WWII before it ended; his life revolved around getting into the Pacific War which was slowly dying away and fighting for freedom and America. Gosh, seeing the movie many times, I felt for Henry’s character; to me, one of the noblest and saddest celluloid characters I ever fell in love with. But I realized that I was like Mr. Roberts; my war was to be in a hurricane. Often when big-wave producing storms approached New Jersey, I drove to watch the waves, on my dock at the bay, a rocky jetty in Belmar. But everything I saw was the Little League World Series; small teen waves and moderate breezes. New Jersey never gets hurricanes; well, once in 1938 it was really bad.

Reggie Jackson. 1977 World Series. and I caught a ball.

In 1977, I caught a baseball at game three of the World Series; Yankees versus LA Dodgers; I was tall and knew how to claw rebounds and baseballs. And yes, a lot of beer went flying around as elbows swung violently protecting my baseball. So everything is possible.

The 100 degree Alamo last August

We (65 million Americans) might get really nasty dangerous Hurricane Irene on Sunday. It’s a monstrously large storm, 400 miles across; can’t help but think global warming had a hand in this, warming oceans to well over 80 degrees; the natural fuel for storms; a hard rainy picture of things yet to be on our earth, like ‘Scrooge’s Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come.’ An hour ago, listening to weather channels and message boards, I started to get cold wet feet; do I really want 100 mile per hour winds and 12 inches of rain messing around with my neat orderly suburban world? Goodness, gracious sakes alive: I’ve become a chicken, dancing ceremoniously around my wood-floor kitchen, to steer the storm out to sea (OTS). I don’t want Hurricane Irene; a familiar echo of ‘not in my backyard.’ Of course cynicism time: Is the media over-hyping; millions of people spending excess retail monies on batteries and water. I told my son to come home for the weekend; he lives in Brooklyn; maybe we’ll need him to bail water, gently row the boat, climb the crows nest and try to dissuade me from driving to the Jersey Shore early Sunday morning before full impact. I’ve got to make sure my jetty is alright and let salt water spray moisten my eyebrows.

Speaking of being alright: Why is Cuba’s infant mortality rate lower than America’s? We spend more money on health care than they do. And some dude just bought new bifocal eyeglasses and paid $1000 (there isn’t much competition anymore in retail, wholesale, designer eye and sun glasses. Yes it’s all basically owned by one foreign man, through a multi-national foreign based corporation.) I won’t say anything else because as Bill Murray (Tripper) said in ‘Meatballs,’ “It just doesn’t matter.” And it doesn’t. Resignation reigns bovine supreme.

Edith and Archie Bunker. The old LaSalle ran great.

I love the EZ Pass lines at the Turnpike; you breeze right through, no waiting, while the cash lanes are backed up 1/2 mile. EZ pass is 15 years old and when tolls go up dramatically in September for the cash customers, people will still wait in cash lines, not buying EZ pass. Maybe it’s why people still smoke. 21% of adults still smoke and 1000 children start the habit each day. But help is on the way.

Mighty Mouse is here to save the day; I liked that flying caped mouse; he made me feel good even though mice have not culturally been treated well as urban dwellers. Once I tried to draw Mighty Mouse and become a cartoonist. Confession: I drew that flying mouse with tracing paper and tried to pass it off as original art for a back of a magazine contest. New warning labels on cigarette packaging are here: “Warning: cigarettes can kill you.” I don’t think. Images take up 50% of the packaging, some showing diseased lung tissue. I still don’t think. Remember ‘The Alamo’ and short EZ pass lines.

My hero. Mighty Mouse.

Last summer, I fulfilled one of those water container lists: I went to Texas for research on a second novel and stopped in San Antonio to see ‘The Alamo’ baking in a hot sun. Texas’s governor(my lips are bitten and smitten) debunks global warming even though my ten Texas days were all well over 100 degrees. Jon Huntsman, also running for higher office, acknowledges global warming and as Edith Bunker said, “Isn’t that nice, Archie?” It is.

Absurdities of the day: Burger King is doing away with their iconic boy burger King advertising character. Some call it a royal flush away. Personally, I’ve always wondered why this hamburger loving red-headed king dude never had a woman queen; like a burger queen to help attract female carnivores. Funny: McDonalds got rid of Ronald; big food chains concentrating on the serious side of atherosclerotic food purveying. I want to say something political (independent I am) but once again, “It just doesn’t matter.” More absurdity: Melanoma rates are higher for the rich (who won’t be getting tax increases). Many lifestyle-related cancers disproportionately affect the poor, but new research finds the opposite to be true for the most lethal form of skin cancer: melanoma. In a California study, non-Hispanic, white teens and young women living in the most affluent neighborhoods were nearly six times as likely to be diagnosed with melanoma as white teens and young women living in the poorest neighborhoods. Oh and California’s unemployment just hit 12%.

Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial

On August 28, 1963 the ‘March on Washington’ took place. I was eighteen and should’ve been there; my eyes have always been on the prize. “Keep Your Eyes on the Prize” is a folk song that became influential during the American civil rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s. Although the song was composed as a hymn before World War I, the lyrics to this version were written by civil rights activist Alice Wine in 1956. It is based on the traditional song, “Gospel Plow”, also known as “Hold On”, “Keep Your Hand on the Plow.” Mavis Staples sings “Eyes on the Prize” (a very graphic YouTube video)

Mavis Staples. a graphic YOuTube Video. Eyes on the Prize.

My spiritual leader, Dr. Joachim Prinz, from Newark, N.J. was a good friend of Dr. King and actually spoke right before “I have a dream.” This Sunday is the unveiling of a memorial to the March and Dr. King. Once again, 48 years later, I anguish about not being there with 500,000 people. First I’m going. Then I’m not. “First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.” From Donovan.

Donovan singing ‘There is a Mountain’ on YouTube

Now with Hurricane Irene, I’m not sure. The Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial had financial help from some major corporations: GM ($10 million), Tommy Hilfiger ($6 million), and the Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity ($3.5 million, Dr. King was a member). I can’t keep missing these amazing events (like Woodstock in 1969 too).

Finally, last Saturday I attended the Clearwater Festival in Asbury Park, New Jersey which focuses on environment, oceans rising. I kept blinking eyes; walking streets of Haight-Ashbury, with a marigold flower in my hair, chewing on a reed of hay, listening to Scott McKenzie sing on a new portable radio, resting on my shoulder. It’s good to be alive, sun shining warmly on face, in Asbury Park, hearing Springsteen on a sound stage (one year he did show up). People really care; life changing causes on tables with pamphlets.

Lisa Bagwell art

The red-headed ducks

An imaginative artist, Lisa Bagwell, created art sculptures from garbage and plastic discarded things found on a beach. One caring politician showed up: Congressman Frank Pallone. On the way to my car, crossing a bridge, I bumped into a pair of red-headed ducks. I yelled “Aflac” and they ran away; maybe they thought I sounded too much like Gilbert G. Then down Ocean Avenue, we discovered the Long Branch Vintage Auto show instead of doing diet ice cream; I love watching folks load up on the hot fudge because the ice cream is ‘diet’.

What if I had to paraphrase this blog today? Pretend I’m in Freshman English 101. Subliminal: Somalia. Damn, I care about a lot of things all of a sudden these last eight years. Environment. Living to 150 years. Spirit. Absurdities: Politics: I know; it just doesn’t matter because half the people will never get it. And the Kyoto Protocol unsigned. And ocean’s rising and warming; go ask Alice or Irene. A white rabbit just tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I liked the earth quaking on my birthday. “Excuse me, you rascally wabbit, but is your name ‘Harvey’?” “And yes, I greatly appreciated the earth moving for me.” An epiphany, it was. And there are lots of miles before I sleep or drift away to an awaiting limo or parallel world; whatever comes first. And I know I’ve been floating and stinging like a butterfly (huh?) all over the place. So I’m going to reign myself in (my new editor Lisa, tells me that all the time) and wish 65 million people along the east coast peace and especially to be safe these next few days.

Congressman Frank Pallone, Jeff Tittel(Sierra Club NJ head) and ME

A Bonneville and Me (Long Branch NJ)

LINKS:

August 2011. Guest on Alicia Cramer Show (podcast) “Thin Healthy Happy” :
http://wausauhypnotherapy.podbean.com/2011/08/02/calvin-barry-schwartz-interview-on-living-life/

Are you in search of another blog that is also outspoken, unique but
unbridled which means uninhibited ???? Meet Linda Chorney:
http://lindachorney.wordpress.com/

CONTACT INFO:

website: http://vichywater.net

Facebook: Cal Schwartz

Twitter: Earthood

Book Trailer (hey it’s 65 seconds long!!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qj2ko9gcC_M

Comments (2)

August 19, 2011

Summer Duck Out. A Real Charlotte’s Web. Springsteen Energy. Fading Tuna Fish. More Life Absurdities. Say Something Stupid, Political. Moving Movies. Thursday August 18, 2011

Filed under: November 2009 — Tags: edith, http://www.vichywater.net/blog/2011/08/, mighty, mouse, web — earthood @ 12:15 pm

: me. jersey shore.

Yesterday was more dentite(dental office sitting routines); a follow-up to my sinus bone implant. Last Saturday, on a local municipal tennis court, I asked my doubles partner, a periodontist, “What was the implant made of?” “Cow bone,” he said matter-of-factly. So I said, “But I haven’t ingested any cow substance (red meat) since 1975.” To which he shrugged shoulders. “Will I reject it?” “No, it’s absorbed by your bone fairly quickly.” But I’m still firm in my resolution not to consume red meat; the list of reasons why, continues to grow as I hope that cow bone in my jaw does. After the periodontist, I lazily strolled next door to my orthodontist who was all backed up; kids returning home from camp; brace wires need tightening.

I never went to sleep-away camp (the poor son of a women’s shoe salesmen but no pity please) so I still watch ‘Meatballs’ with Bill Murray to see what I missed. I get all choked-up at the end when everyone says goodbye; a passage to a new time of life. For a couple of summers, I went to a local Y Day Camp; not the same as being away from home. I could’ve used the developmental experiences, away from young sisters, a grandmother in a diabetic wheel chair and general malaise malcontent from hot lonely summers in Newark city. The summer I was twelve was my last camping experience; it was checkered. The best I came away with from the camp awards banquet (featuring Good Humor Toasted Almond Bars) was a ‘Third Most Improved Softball Player.’ One of the kids yelled, “My grandmother could’ve won that award.” I thought, “Not mine.” Mid-summer, early in the camping day, we played bombardment (dodge ball). I was wiry, always avoided confrontation so I failed to attempt to catch the ball, violently discharged towards me by the other team. The camp head counselor warned me to try and catch the ball; failure to try would result in my having to box (fight in the ring) the biggest, meanest, toughest kid in camp later that day; Howard J. was twice my size, red-haired and smiled sadistically at me when I dodged the ball. The fight was on for 4 PM. I was Gary Cooper at ‘High Noon.’ I was also petrified; my camp comrades did little to assuage my fears. Soon we were playing softball in nearby Weequahic Park. A bus came to fetch us for swimming. I ducked into a bunch of trees and waited for the bus to leave then walked all the way home, by myself, crying. Mother came to camp the next day and reduced the head counselor. I bumped into Howard J. (I still protect his last name) fifteen years later. Funny: I was twice his size with light dreamy brown hair.

Margaret Mitchell

Driving home from the orthodontist, I got stuck behind a school bus ferrying kids from camp. An overcast sky and inhalation of bus exhaust sent me off to late September and I decided that lazy crazy days of summer officially ducked away and are Gone With Margaret Mitchell’s Wind. Often I wonder why she never had another major publication after winning the Pulitzer Prize. Ms. Mitchell was killed by a speeding car when she stepped off a curb in Atlanta. If you see me walking the streets of Laredo or Manhattan, I’ll be flush-up against store fronts; far from the maddening streets of incorrigible taxi-cabs and messengers on brakeless bikes, delivering cool pizza or United Nations parcels. Reminds me of a scene in ‘North by Northwest,’ one of Hitchcock’s best, when a little boy covers up his ears before a shot rings out in a cafeteria. Thing is, how’d the little boy know there was going to be a gun shot?

I’m going to miss this summer of my content. My servitude with braces in my mouth is nearly done. I’ve had ample down time on the wondrous jetties of Jersey and discovered a myriad of Jersey musical venues. I wonder (there’s a bar in Asbury Park called the ‘Wonder Bar) if the vibrations and particulates of Springsteen and Bon Jovi’s spiritual atomic energies has created so much home-grown wonderful music. Part of my contentment is also this new gig writing about the joys of Monmouth County for OUR TOWN/Barfly newspaper/publications.

Last week, I ventured to a small waterfront town called Keyport to see/hear Sandy Mack and the Asbury All Stars in a totally amazing blues concert. Ambience: darkening skies, puffs of clouds, water vistas and a bridge all lit up in the distance; a bridge over untroubled water, perhaps leading to Sedona or Guadeloupe. Just so you know, sitting there absorbing Sandy Mack’s blues music, I pinched myself five times; my highest ranking.

Keyport NJ Sandy Mack blues concert. Sun setting. water vistas.

Life is strange. I said that in the August 3rd blog. The other night I was taking out the garbage, walking under over-hanging branches to get to the side of my garage, when suddenly I felt trapped, ensnared; something grabbed my face. I saw a flash of light and a pattern in front of my eyes. Whatever, it wasn’t letting go. My breath was taken. I just couldn’t imagine. Then out of the corner of my eyes, I saw something dark, moving away. I managed to break free, turn around, gasp and used the old ‘WTF’ expression; it was nearly 1 AM; everyone was sleeping, so all through local houses, not a creature was stirring except this large arachnid spider whose net I got caught in. Damn, I never saw it coming. And it must’ve gone up rather quickly; I walk there all the time. Here’s cerebral on the spot thoughts:

wilbur and charlotte rapping.

Years ago I saw the movie ‘Charlotte’s Web.” I liked spider (arachnid) Charlotte and Zuckerman’s famous pig, Wilbur. Redemption; I never ate pig because they were presumably too intelligent to eat; of course since 1975, I don’t eat red meat at all.

Mini potbelly pigs are gaining popularity and recognition as great pets due to a combination of extraordinary traits that many people would not think of when considering a pig; traits such as cleanliness, diminutive size, friendly disposition and intelligence. Imagine: my wife has rejected thirty years of getting a dog overtures so one day soon, I’ll walk in with a pot belly pig. Debbie Reynold’s voice was Charlotte in the 1973 cartoon movie.

A few weeks ago, I saw Debbie’s daughter, Carrie Fisher ‘job’ her father Eddie Fisher, in a remarkable solo autobiographical performance ‘Wishful Drinking.’ Because of the relationship I had with Charlotte from her movie, I decided to think things over and not over-react by bringing out nuclear bug sprays or shovels awaiting winter’s next onslaught. On the other hand, I saw a small fly stuck in the web, trapped and doomed. I leaned close to see if the fly had a human face or voice. I saw the movie ‘The Fly’ with Vincent Price; obviously still significantly impacted. The power of the media even if it was 1950’s vintage. Confession: days later, I’m still bothered and somewhat haunted by the experience; lingering strands of abandoned web glisten in morning sunrise.

(a scene from vincent price in 'The Fly')

Five cans a week was I; cans of tuna that is; nothing quite like a tuna sub sandwich, a beer and a cigarette or two. Twenty years ago, those were days of my smoky summer discontent, ballooning in weight. Now, tuna is a personal luxury, down to once or twice a month. You see, I’ve got this aversion to mercury messing with my cerebral thought processing cells. Nasty stuff it has become. And some tuna like North Atlantic Blue Fin is virtually extinct; a saving grace for unborn children who need cerebral development without mercury? Here’s the deal with tuna; there’s so many things wrong with eating the fish; I found this neat youtube video to watch. Enjoy:

a startling Greenpeace video on tuna

Are the world’s most majestic marine game fish – bluefin tuna, swordfish, marlin, sailfish and sharks – in real danger of disappearing forever? Of course they are. The primary cause of this decimation of the Atlantic Ocean’s greatest game fish has been a 30-year absence of proper stewardship by those national and international governmental bodies which are responsible for managing the fishery and conserving the resource. The above video will nudge us to understanding the problem: Industrial-scale fishing operations conducted throughout the world’s oceans use destructive and indiscriminate gear types primarily to catch swordfish and tunas. But the fishing lines big companies use, averaging over 25 miles in length and armed with hundreds or even thousands of hooks, also accidentally capture and kill much greater numbers of unmarketable juveniles, non-target fish and other wildlife including marine mammals, sea turtles and marine birds. So what I am saying here is, give peace a chance and that I’m not only cutting down on tuna because of mercury but because big companies fish with disregard. Seems like old times; like when drug companies disregard side effects or car companies forget to recall. Subliminal: Somalia.

So here I am writing my blog; a reed of ceremonial hay dangles between pursed lips. An old straw Rutgers hat brings me to a sleepy river down south; the fish are jumping and the cotton is high. I feel absurd. I love writing absurdities.

Gershwin ‘Summertime’ video Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong:

Carrie Fisher

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MIDOEsQL7lA

Somewhere in hot parched Texas (no global warming? Texas and 22% of their children have no health insurance) there’s a county fair where butter on a stick is deep fried in butter. Healthful(?) living under the governorship of a man who threatened Federal Reserve head Bernanke with physical harm for (a) being treasonous by printing new money and (b) if he ever comes to Texas while he’s governor. Ah gee, Edith, “Stifle yourself.” In the title of this blog I said “How I Want to Say Something Stupid, Political.” So here it really goes. “Something Stupid, Political.” That’s all folks. I’m done. Like why bother. All the energy in the world; enough to get us through a million wormholes or away from the same number of celestial black holes in outer space; won’t make a dental difference in talking/changing/understanding American politics. Hey, one in seven Americans are on food stamps. This just in: for the first time since 2004, the record business is up. And so is the plastic bag business. Our world uses (eats) 1 million plastic shopping bags every minute of the long, hot, almost end of summer day. Hooray for Hollywood and China where they banned plastic bags.

I get eleven email notifications a day informing me of having won a lot of money overseas. Here’s an email (slightly doctored) I just got:

“Dear Email User

Good news to you from the British Puratanical Oil Plc Cash Offer, You’ve won 750,000.00 (Seven Hundred And Fifty Thousand Great British Pounds GBP) in the satellite software email lottery. On line Sweepstakes International program. Conducted by British Premier Oil Plc in which your e-mail addresses was pick randomly by software powered by the Internet.

Below is the claims and verifications form. You are expected to fill and return it immediately so we can start Processing your

claims:

1. Full Names:

I like to be formal: Sir Charles Tuna

2. Residential Address:

Ben Bernanke. Fed. Reserve. Maybe he should stay away from Texas.

3. Direct Phone No

4. Fax Number

5. Occupation:

6. Sex:

7. Age:

8. Nationality:

9. Annual Income:

10.Won Before:

Contact Person:

Alfred Newman

Tel: +443014455360

Sincerely,

Lucretia Borgia

British Puritanical Oil Plc Promotion Team”

Why do I mention all these bogus emails about my supposed wealth? Being an insufferable paranoid, I believe one day the real email will come along when I went ahead and trashed it. So once again, I could’ve been a contender ‘On the Waterfront.’

A final absurdity of the day: renowned clothing retailer Abercrombie and Fitch has decided to pay ‘The Situation” Mike Sorrentino from ‘Jersey Shore’ NOT to wear their clothing on the reality show. No further comment.

Finally, last night I saw the movie ‘Sarah’s Key’ in Red Bank, N.J. and sociologically speaking, the silence in the theatre was paradoxically deafening. Last week, I saw ‘The Help’ in front of a mesmerized audience. Next week: a remembrance of the ‘March on Washington, August 28, 1963;’ the summer of my coming of age, slipping from auditory wetness behind ears to becoming a college student, trying to listen to the world. In my freshman year of college, a speaker from South Vietnam spoke at a convocation about the changing face of southeast Asia. I went, absorbed and heard something. This summer, which was just like my freshman year: I absorbed, felt and heard. Yesterday I was saddened when summer ducked out, although it’s still August. Why? Because I’ve absorbed so much summer life; almost to an enlarged cephalic state; I can’t get enough. A special song comes to mind: ‘Simple Gifts.’ President Obama had it played at his inauguration. Summer was realization of simple gifts; sunsets, jetty sitting, Jersey shore music, boardwalk aromas and a wonderful wife and son. But watch the rebound: In 14 days, Rutgers football team kicks off. And a few months after that, with a few snow storms to shovel through, I’ll listen to Nat King Cole sing ‘Those Lazy Hazy Days of Summer’ and life, simply gifted, goes on with enough bathing suits in the upstairs closet already for next summer.

Nat King Cole on Youtube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hv4gYHlqTds

Simple Gifts: Jewel singing youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=amcGIfMu0bw

Lyrics:

“Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free

’tis the gift to come down where you ought to be

And when we find ourselves in the place just right

‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.”

CONTACT INFO:

website: http://vichywater.net

Facebook: Cal Schwartz

Twitter: Earthood

Email: earthgood@gmail.com

BOOK TRAILER:

LINKS:

August 2011. Guest on Alicia Cramer Show (podcast) “Thin Healthy Happy” :
http://wausauhypnotherapy.podbean.com/2011/08/02/calvin-barry-schwartz-interview-on-living-life/

Are you in search of another blog that is also outspoken, unique but
unbridled which means uninhibited ???? Meet Linda Chorney:
http://lindachorney.wordpress.com/

Comments (4)

August 11, 2011

Dentites (Dentists). I Love an Ostrich. More Absurdities. Me, Monmouth County and Bobbie Magee. Yup, More Notions on Living to 150 Years (important JUST IN stuff). Thursday 8-11-11

Filed under: November 2009 — Tags: 1970, full, mighty, mouse, to — earthood @ 9:37 am

me. a favorite pix. by my jetty. protecting it from hurricane earl

Dentists? But what’s a ‘dentite?’ Yesterday, I had intense, futuristic dental surgery, implanting sinus- bone artificial flowers and waiting nine months to see if it grows. “It’s alive,” the Baron said. A unique computation: three percent of my earth time has been spent sitting in ‘dentite’ chairs. Moments ago, I checked ‘Urban Dictionary’ for ‘dentite.’ Not there, nada, doesn’t exist. The opposite, ‘anti-dentite,’ from ‘Seinfeld’ means, “someone who doesn’t like dentists.” I do. I do. Some of my best tennis partners are dentists; no wonder why; great eye-hand co-ordination.

Dentist.....my first dental chair. amazing how i saved pix.

When I was eight, my first tooth extraction was followed by regurgitation in the dentist’s face. My mother, embarrassed, was told to rinse my mouth with peroxide and teach me manners. At home, my father held me while mother tried forcing a clear malodorous liquid. I kicked, screamed; they knew not why. Peroxide is colorless, odorless. My protestations resulted in turning the peroxide bottle around to find it was really carbon tetrachloride, a poisonous cleaning fluid which could’ve put me in Forest Lawn; perhaps my second encounter with a saving spirit. When I was a little taller, my next dentist tried to get me a basketball scholarship at Rutgers University. (Dr. Jack G.) And then, when I stopped growing, I married a dentist’s daughter. I can’t seem to recall if there’s a book called, ‘The Dentist’s Daughter.’ I like the title; perhaps?

A year later, my father-in-law dentist arranged for me to get orthodontic appliances three days before a physical. Proudly I hailed and wore the necessary braces until two weeks after my divorce, when it became perfectly clear, that I wasn’t the dentist’s son-in-law and I was fair game to be charged for three years of here-to-fore free service.

(similar pliers used to self-remove braces)

So one rainy Monday afternoon, I found a pair of rusty pliers, scoffed down a million units of penicillin (Prophylactic move) and proceeded to pull-out one quadrant of braces every month, to the horror of my young sisters. It was messy, they cried, but I got them off in four months free of charge. A funny thing happened 38 years later (last September); I had braces put on again to the delight of the pediatric patients who thought I was either someone’s grandfather or a planted aberration, extolling joys of the appliances. One of my recurring blog themes is living to 150 years. Periodontal cleaning and hygiene is an essential tool to that goal. Gum disease is linked to heart disease; something about oral bacteria messing around with blood vessels and allowing plaque to build. Strangely and perhaps masochistically, I love the feeling of a deep probe four times a year attacking gum and teeth plaque. After my last cleaning, I thought about doing a shrink’s couch for analysis why I love the pain of periodontal cleaning.

i love the Ostrich.

I can’t remember when I actually fell in love with the ostrich; maybe when I became a regional sales manager years ago; I thought this large flightless bird native to Africa could serve me as tongue and cheek example how to deal with problems. Now, if I was a betting soul and I’m not (I dislike gambling mostly because I never win), I’d bet the candy store that most of you readers believe the ostrich deals with problems by sticking their head in the sand. I did. I preached to my world; be an ostrich; the good news when you take your head out of the sand; the problem will be there or not. I love fifty-fifty odds. Well, contrary to a life time of thinking that bird, who can run forty miles per hour to escape guys like me, sticks head in the sand; it simply is a myth probably started by Gaius Secundus (Pliny), a Roman author, naturalist and philosopher. Now the plot thickens. My friend Ruth from Seattle, a pretty gosh darn good psychic, told me several times, that way back, I was Roman, probably a warrior.

I’d like to think I was a naturalist philosopher at the court of Mel Brooks (History of the World: Part I) or Julius Caesar himself. Needless to say, the ostrich is critically endangered. It’s worth saying again that by the end of this century, fully half of earth’s animal species will be gone forever unless we tip-toe into ‘Jurassic Park.’ In South Carolina, as we speak, a scientist is growing meat (hold the hooves and tail) in a test tube. I’d still miss the ostrich and the other half-million species.

This stream of consciousness absurdity dissertation on the ostrich was meant as a metaphor of sorts how we stick our heads in the sand. Ask my cousin in Texas with thirty straight days over 100 degrees if global warming is a myth; heads should roll rather than be in sand. The Kyoto protocol (greenhouse emissions) is in sand. Somalia(subliminal).

Last week I watched the movie, ‘Secretariat.’ As mentioned above, I don’t like gambling, so no horse racing for me. I never thought about what happens to these wondrous animals after racing for us. Secretariat sired 600 foals but how many proletariat ex-race horses wind up in a Mexican food processing plant? ‘TROTT’ in California is a non-profit entity dedicated to providing retiring racehorses with opportunities for new careers after racing. Through rehabilitation and retraining, they make sure each horse donated to TROTT has the chance to learn new skills necessary for life in a non-racing home; heads not in sand.

http://www.trottusa.org/index.html

Secretariat

Solar energy is a head in sand deal. 10,000 times more sunlight is hanging around than we use. The feds recently came up with new diet guidelines involving more vegetables; but head in sand; additional cost of $400 more per year to adhere is not affordable for a lot of Americans. Is the FDA’s head in sand? Lipitor (statin drug for cholesterol) is so widely used it takes in $11 billion and people joke that one day it’ll be put into our water supply like fluoride. But good old Pfizer, the manufacturer, is losing their patent and lots of money; now they’ve got their heads out of sand by proposing to take the drug over-the-counter and still rake in money. Bad idea I think. You’ve got to be monitored regularly for liver function, lots of side effects and what about patient compliance with a drug sold on shelves next to ear plugs, support stockings and lubricants (ocular). And Pfizer was the ‘Avandia’ company; the diabetes drug that caused heart attacks which someone forgot to mention. Well, it’s comforting to know Pfizer is consistently, whatever. Hey, 82% of Americans said congress is doing a bad job; head out of the sand but America ranks 70th in the world for women in national legislature; back to the sand. A political leader that gives not takes; Mayor Bloomberg recently personally donated $30 million to the Young Men Initiative to overhaul probation, training and mentoring of young minority men in New York.

surf boarders in sea bright, monmouth county.

JUST IN: Scientists are reporting the first clear success with a new approach for treating leukemia; they’re turning a patient’s own blood cells into assassins that hunt and destroy their cancer cells. They’ve only done it in three patients so far, but the results were striking: Two appear cancer-free up to a year after treatment, and the third patient is improved but still has some cancer. Scientists are already preparing to try the same gene therapy technique for other kinds of cancer. Wow!! This is just the kind of news that gets us to 150 years. That’s all folks with sandy ostriches.

Time for integration of my new writing responsibilities into blog: Through magic, ten days ago, I became associated with OUR TOWN/Bar Fly Newspapers/Publications. Yours truly is now a columnist/reporter covering all of Monmouth County; events, music, arts, theatre and people. Funny thing: I do it anyway, always running, exploring, absorbing and listening.

from Left: Ritchie Blackwell. Linda Chorney. Nick Clemons. pix courtesy of Scott Fadynich

My first few hours: Last Saturday, by a lake in a park, I saw amazing singer Linda Chorney with Ritchie Blackwell accompanying and the Nick Clemons Band sing. Nick is the talented son of the late immortal Clarence Clemons. I pinched myself. Later: I found a special painting by Michael McCrink in the Monmouth Beach cultural center that I got stuck in; couldn’t get out for a small eternity. I didn’t want to get out. Kind of like Alice’s rabbit hole in wonderland.

Janis Joplin

Later: I reviewed the movie “7 Years Underground; A 60’s Tale” about Cafe Au Go Go in Greenwich Village during the 60’s. Hey, I really made it back to the 60’s for 87 minutes. Later: I talked to a couple of real surfers with surf boards. I’ll never be bored now. Oh and Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Lenny Bruce and the whole musical world passed through the Cafe Au Go Go. When I see Janis, I think “Me and Bobbie McGee.”

“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose,
Nothing don’t mean nothing honey if it ain’t free, now now.”

Janis Joplin you tube video Me and Bobby McGee

Michael McCrink painting i got 'stuck' in.

Last Wednesday, I went to see Ray Kurzweil (Transcendent Man) and Dr. Michio Kaku (Physics of the Future) and a tour de force of intellect talk live about the future on a big theatre screen. A friend in Wisconsin drove three hours one way to see the same lecture. I love living in the most densely populated state. Everything is thirty minutes away.

me and Dr. Kaku

And I love repeatedly shoving things into my head. A few minutes ago a new Facebook friend talked about aging and how the mind takes over in a negative way. Every birthday is a nail in the coffin for him. As long as I keep playing beer pong, doing keg stands, running all over and biking nowhere for 90 minutes a day(stationary bike), I’m not going anywhere(not aging). Funny: at the lecture on Wednesday (and I’m saving you two hours) the most important thing I gleaned; If we can all make it through the next fifteen years with most things working, technology will be all grown-up and will allow us to get to the magic 150 years and beyond. I tend to get a little piggy with that notion. I’d want to make sure I still ‘can’ and ‘enjoy’ or why bother, if you get my drift. I just thought of something else. I remember, since becoming a writer and blogger (serious responsibility) spending only just a few fleeting moments with my head in the sand (and definitely not up anywhere else). Have a nice day.

CONTACT INFO:

website: http://vichywater.net

Facebook: Cal Schwartz

Twitter: Earthood

Book Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qj2ko9gcC_M

Comments (3)

August 3, 2011

It’s a Strange World After All. My New Career in Journalism. And I ALMOST Became a Politician. Harry Belafonte. Ray Kurzweil Tonight. Cinnamon and Alzheimer’s. I’ve Got Almost Nothing To Say About The Debt Stuff. August 3, 2011

Filed under: November 2009 — Tags: as, dental, mighty, mouse, performed — earthood @ 5:19 pm

my new brand name pix. taken at my jetty in belmar last september during hurrican earl

You must know I’m a spiritual guy by now. I walk around in a permanent state of déjà-vu because I spent too much time hanging around barefoot, the red vortex mountains in Sedona, Arizona; Google it; a definite side-effect. I’ve got this diary filled with strange unusual happenings, many since February 24, 2004. I’ll delve deeply into this spiritual journey in the novel I’m writing now; yup, a rarified commercial plug. So, this ‘strange’ theme in title; streams of consciousness made me do it. Last Friday, around 4:44 PM, it rained relentlessly like an old fashioned 1950’s thunderstorm. I was on my way to the movies; one of those multi personality places where they let you immerse your sodium (salt) enriched (poisoned) popcorn in fake atherosclerotic oily greasy butter by yourself, off to the side, so you don’t embarrass with viewable gluttony.

popcorn. the poisonous fake butter/fuel for RV's is saturated

Did I read that a creative country singer uses that fake butter as fuel for his RV? That’s strange. Personally, I stopped the popcorn and butter shtick years ago; sometimes in a deep dreamy state, I hear the personification of the inner walls of my ‘leftist’ side arteries thanking me. Subliminal: Somalia. But I was all psyched for a Friday night (before 5 PM) discounted movie. Remarkably the ‘Rains of Ranchipur'(great movie with Lana Turner and Richard Burton) stopped, the sky lightened, so we wouldn’t have to schlep umbrellas.

From a distance, I saw lines of people outside. No one waits for Friday 5 PM movies outside anymore since the opening of “The Ten Commandments.” We never made it out of the car. Two kids advised us that they were evacuating all the theatres due to bed-bug infestation. How are we ever going to the movies again? On the way home, dejected, brooding, silent, when prophetically, the rains returned. There were running streams of water, flooding many streets. As the car bumped up the driveway, the sun again shined brightly on my old Kentucky home (glad they changed the lyrics). With a violent kick, I dislodged my shoes and stood pondering; do I run barefoot into the streams of street rain run-off? Five minutes went by and I settled for a small puddle near the garage; a strange episode.

Two days later we were down the Jersey shore at my reserve clause jetty in Deal not Belmar. I sat for nearly an hour meditatively staring; lots of ships heading to Kilimanjaro. At a random moment, amazing singer Linda Chorney came on my i-pod (inhabited by mostly 60’s songs) singing ‘Mother Nature Symphony’ which ‘sends me.’ I looked down between the boulders; I was sitting mid-jetty, just beyond the latest tidal surges. I saw a small white object; a piece of adhesive tape lying in the sand between two boulders and I knew right away it’s a strange world. Three weeks earlier, I sat exactly on the same boulder. A small bandage I’ve been wearing on my index finger unraveled and I peeled a small strip off and dropped it.

Linda Chorney new album

Actually it bothered that I did that; not adhering to clean ocean’s mentality. But three weeks later with countless waves thrashing over my adhesive tape, it waited for me to pick it up and drop it in the proper receptacle; my disbelieving pocket. After I recovered my abandoned tape, a young foreign father with two small girls holding his hands, walked on the jetty. It was cute how they held him tightly. He lit a cigarette. I wasn’t his fan anymore. Soon his cigarette dropped between two boulders. I wanted to say something but the tape in my pocket rubbed against my thick skin.Strange on a few fronts; like why even bother blogging about it. I don’t know.

All of a sudden, its June 1976 and recently divorced Calvin is at Club Med in French Guadeloupe playing water polo in the warm Caribbean with notably, a couple of Montreal Canadiens (hockey), Rick Chartraw and Glen Goldup and Johnnie Carson’s son Ricky. If I had to pick my most prized possession, as many of you know I’m thoroughly modern Rutgers devoted, it would be my Rutgers graduation ring from 1969. I was proud of that red-stoned ring more than my two diplomas.

I was the goalie and the game got intense. Those hockey players roughed me up; I felt like Dave Schultz from the Philadelphia Flyers. My ring went flying off my finger. The game stopped and everyone looked for my rare and precious beautiful ring. It was gone for the ages; never replaced. At 4 AM that night, I slipped out of the disco and went back to the sea and looked. The waves were gentle but unyielding.

Now its 1999 and I’m selling eyeglasses all over New Jersey. One fine day, I come home to a phone call from Rutgers University advising me that someone from Paris, France wrote the alumni office a letter and since its written in French, they couldn’t read it, except for ‘Calvin Schwartz Pharmacy Class of 1969.’ Would I like to come in and claim the letter? I did ask if Rutgers had a French department and also if the word ‘bebe’ (French for baby. I was being cute) was discernible. Long story short, someone found my ring in the ocean 23 years later, saw my name engraved on the backing and tracked me down at Rutgers. No, I never got the ring, even after help translating letters back and forth. The return of the ring was dove tailed to an extended all expense paid visit to New Jersey. Strange world.

club med. right where we played water polo and my ring disappeared

( ford trucks being recalled. a gas tank could fall off)

Strange. This morning I read about a South Jersey politician who just resigned. After online sexting and photos brought down Congressman Anthony Weiner, how in the world could a Cumberland County freeholder send a nude self portrait over the internet? Hey, it’s 2011 and about 1.1 million Ford pickup trucks have been recalled due to defective gas tanks, which could fall off and burst into flames. I don’t get it. Technology and making things better? Strange. Hey, maybe in 100 years scientists will be able to duplicate our brain with a hypothetical super computer but the power consumption to do that would require one billion watts or the output of a nuclear power plant. Strange, the human brain, by contrast, uses just twenty watts.

cinnamon bark. wards off alzheimers???

On the health front and living to 150 years; another shtick of mine. A cinnamon compound may prevent Alzheimer’s. With an estimated one in eight Americans over the age of 65 afflicted with Alzheimer’s Disease, and even with gains that extend the length of the average lifespan, the disease is projected to exert a major societal and economic burden in the coming years. Michael Ovadia, from Tel Aviv University and colleagues isolated CEppt, an extract found in cinnamon bark, and introduced the substance into the drinking water of mice that had been genetically altered to develop an aggressive form of Alzheimer’s disease. After four months, the researchers discovered that development of the disease had slowed remarkably and the animals’ activity levels and longevity were comparable to that of healthy counterparts. The extract inhibited the formation of toxic amyloid polypeptide which make up deposits of plaque found in the brains of Alzheimer’s patients. By the way, long before this, I’ve been using cinnamon powder on my cereal every morning. I read somewhere diabetes and cinnamon don’t get along, if you get my drift.

Alright. The much anticipated Vichy Water Blog comments on the debt crisis. Gosh, I hate politicians and politics and I knew all along it would be settled after playing chicken with a bus at a cliff while it rained all over us citizens, submerging our ankles and knees. And they kept telling us it wasn’t raining; both parties; but what about all our ankles? I see things sometimes; not overly premonitory but enough to be shaken and stirred. The late great planet earth, so these voyagers from the Millenium Falcon, texted back to the gang, “that it wasn’t a war or plague, it was what was beneath their hair and the air they breathed and beauty not the beast which did them in.” We just don’t get it. I know, why bother, live for today and never cross party lines. Strange, but years ago, actually right after I lost my ring in the ocean, I contemplated a political career. If ever a time, then it was a right time. Newly married, living in an apartment in Brooklyn on the fifth floor, five inches away from a local community hospital, I used to get bored with city life. One night around three AM, I opened our window and yelled into the ward five inches away, something about Miss Scarlet O’Hara and not being able to find the doctor. Ashamed at my juvenile behavior, the next night I strolled into a political party’s local Brooklyn office, offering my youthful, insincere exuberance.

campaign manual ebook. not so thick anymore

Three months later, I was asked to run the campaign of a local politician running for state senate in New York. What did I know? They gave me an eight inch thick campaign manual and a promise to take me to Albany with a plethora of cushions for a long time. My candidate was crude and rude and was called the ‘Rodney Dangerfield of Brooklyn politics.’ I love epiphanies. I got one two months into the lifeless campaign. That was the epiphany. I was a fall guy, out of the information loop, like Harry Truman during Roosevelt’s pursuit of the bomb. I bombed out and quit long before and closed that chapter of my life and never liked politicians since; but to think I could’ve been a contender on the waterfront.

On the Waterfront my favorite scene. yeah i could still be a contender.

Later tonight, I go to see Ray Kurzweil, the futurist, live on the big screen in a movie theatre. I know, but its two counties away from me. Report next week. Suddenly, I’m sitting on the brick stoop steps of my house in Newark. Strange. One of the gang has a portable radio and the ‘Danleers’ just came on to sing “One Summer Night.”

Danleers One Summer night:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3KVMsExZ7Ps

The bells of Good Humor ice cream grew stronger. I ran to my fiduciary mother for a dime for ‘Toasted Almond.’ The lone stick dangled from my mouth. I was a cowboy sitting around a camp fire. Harry Belafonte came on to sing ‘Jamaica Farewell.’ He was part of my life; that voice of caring and concern. He filled my senses which have lasted all this time. So I just listened to ‘Day O’ and ‘Shenandoah’ on this new music thing called ‘Spotify.’ And they still make ‘Good Humor’ Toasted Almond but strange, the car companies won’t allow me to order a roll-up non-electric window. And maybe one fine day I’ll catch Harry Belafonte in concert.

Harry Bellafonte

Finally. More strange. Through the power of synchronicity, magic and due diligence, I saw an ad for a reporter for OUR TOWN publications (now together with Bar Fly magazine) and nicely strangely, I’ll be covering Monmouth County for all events, music, art, sports and human interest. It’s what I do anyway. Life is strange. You hear it’s never too late. You read my ramblings on living to 150 years and I’m embarking on a new career almost half-way to that goal. Life is strange.

Here’s the Moody Blues singing ‘Isn’t Life Strange.

Moody Blues Isn’t Life Strange

Suddenly I think that after the next rainstorm, with streets swollen with run-off water, I’ll take my shoes off and splash carefree and barefoot and post a picture of me doing it. Then I think some of you might use ‘strange’ in a sentence.

PLEASE CHECK MY NEW LOOK WEBSITE:

http://vichywater.net

CONTACT INFO:

Facebook: Cal Schwartz

Twitter: Earthood

Email: earthood@gmail.com

BOOK TRAILER:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qj2ko9gcC_M

IN SEARCH OF ANOTHER BLOG: (outspoken, unique, unbridled which means uninhibited)????

This is a link to said blog:

http://lindachorney.wordpress.com/

Comments (1)

July 26, 2011

Bermuda Cruise Vacation. I Still Hate Sodium (Salt). Future Think (Living to 150 Always on My Mind) Amy Winehouse (27). July 26, 2011

Filed under: November 2009 — Tags: ewing, j.r., johnny, southside, wallpaper — earthood @ 3:17 pm

The Celebrity 'Summit'

I love July. On the fifteenth, I saw Paul McCartney live at Yankee Stadium. On the seventeenth, I left on a cruise for Bermuda. Here I am back from cruising in what I’d like to call the Bermuda Oblong (not a fan of the other geometry, ‘triangle’). And somewhere, well into the Atlantic Ocean, which wasn’t overly pacific (calm), I realized my ship was headed towards that geometric triangle nemesis and I thought about tricking fate and all that jazz, so I coined the term, ‘Bermuda Oblong’ which had the instant effect of making me feel better (safer). Anatomy at Rutgers taught me about the medulla oblongata and under naked, smog less skies, I thought about my cerebral correlation between Bermuda and the medulla oblongata which contains cardiac, respiratory, and vomiting centers and deals with involuntary functions such as breathing, heart rate and blood pressure. Watch how I develop this. (How the mind works at sea)

(Christopher Columbus. I thought about him on the eleventh deck)

I can’t tell you how many times walking to a deserted part of the ship, I thought about Christopher Columbus and the ‘Pinto’ and the rest of his fleet and all they endured on the voyage to the land that would one day be in a debt crisis. Columbus’s ships were like a dingy for the ocean liner I was on. And the 1000 feet of cruise ship wasn’t enough for me. I wanted endless ship as we neared the triangle (oblong). That first night, by myself, I thought I saw a white whale (the real ‘Moby Dick’) I love Gregory Peck; one of my favorite actors.

Gregory Peck. 'Captain Ahab'

Why did Gregory take the Captain Ahab role? Why did Robert Shaw take the Sam Quint role in ‘Jaws?’ It made sense as the ship rocked. Both were great roles with undefeatable adversaries and brilliant writers and directors. I love Gregory Peck’s acting so much I almost wanted him to beat the white whale even though I’m a whale watcher and lover. Love chemistry and meclizine chewable tablets/chew just one per day. I was ‘Superman;’ fearless and impervious to sea sickness since I pre-medicated. Ah, but the medulla oblongata controls vomiting. Everything was coming together; clear as the starry, starry night. So if I got sick, the Bermuda triangle (oblong) would be at fault. And the oblongata also controls blood pressure which is influenced by another nemesis of mine; salt, sodium, sneaky additions to food processing to make it taste good and seduce you. Why was salt on my mind; because if anything happened, I’d be afloat in a life boat, in a life jacket surrounded by a sea of salt.

Only about 6% of our daily sodium comes from salt added at the table. Another 5% comes from salt added during cooking. Most of the rest — up to an estimated 77% — comes from processed or restaurant foods. You can help counter the negative effects of a high-salt diet with physical activity. Studies show that the more physically active you are, the less your blood pressure rises in response to a high-salt diet. A little bit later, I’ll talk about physical activity on the ship. Too much salt can have detrimental effects on the heart, kidneys, and blood vessels. Limit sodium intake to 1500mg/day. American men consume between 3,100 mg and 4,700 mg of sodium per day; women consume between 2,300 mg and 3,100 mg. (duh, men eat more.) Salt and other forms of sodium are used to bind and stabilize ingredients and as preservatives, flavor enhancers, and color enhancers.

Damn, salt is all around us, like the movie ‘The Blob’ with a young Steve McQueen. And if we had to adjust to a low salt diet, it could take 8 to 12 weeks to do so. Its quicker/easier coming off other things like ten martinis a day; shaken not stirred. And I wondered about sea salt. It’s the same damn sodium content; so the fast food, sweet little girl, ‘Wendy’ who’s been hawking sea salt in her French fries; its still poison for our bodies. Ah, the things you think about in the middle of a salty ocean in the middle of the night.

Back to ship stuff: I left the house last Sunday and 37 minutes later, Bayonne, N.J. ship terminal; no airport, no scanning or touching body in security checks and therefore no taking off sneakers (I bought clean white socks anyway), no river bridges or tunnels; just a peaceful NJ Turnpike without many cars on a Sunday morning heading north or to Bayonne, originally inhabited by Native-Americans. Before going to staterooms, guests were directed to the lunch buffet on deck ten; endless food; wondrously portentous of things to come. After lunch buffet, we saw the women’s soccer finals in the ship theatre; a hundred people yelling “USA. USA.”

Buffet means the wedding scene in ‘Goodbye Columbus’ to me; the power of movies (media). Ever since, I’ve been a recluse at a buffet, opting to wait until everyone’s plate is full and then trying the invisibility gig with my plate only partially placated. ‘Goodbye Columbus’ was written by Phillip Roth, who went to my Newark high school, a decade apart. As legend tells, perhaps some of that story may’ve happened to Phillip in real life; and a similar story, ‘Goodbye Niagara Falls’, happened to me (mentioned in last week’s blog.) I love the personal spice of embitter; seems to make for poignant writing later in life.

First day at sea (two day voyage to Bermuda and three days in port) I hit the crowded gymnasium which had four exercise bikes for the 2000 sailing guests. I had to wait 40 minutes to bike and read about the futuristic next hundred years. I love what I read during my first 20 minutes on the bike. The birthday card with a computer chip that sings to you has more computer power than all the Allied forces in 1945. And then we throw the card away. I had to jump off the bike and let it recycle to zero; because it was crowded, we were only allowed twenty minutes. I need ninety minutes. Yes, I’m an exercise cheat and me being 6′ 6,” I’m hugely obvious. Maybe that’s why I was left alone. Eventually, we’ll have access to the internet in our glasses or contact lenses. A few blogs ago I told about an online eyeglass company that sells a complete frame and lens for $6.95! And one day we’ll have a driverless car and advanced GPS will do most of the work. We travelled with good friends. My friend Kenneth is a ‘Bondologist’; means he knows James Bond trivia so the contest he (we) won sitting at the Martini Bar, drinking club soda, got us to the bridge of the ship to meet the Captain amidst more security than an airport. The GPS the ship uses is accurate to 45 feet in the middle of a vast ocean. Oh, they filled up a million gallons of fuel before leaving port.

Back to the future while biking: Mind reading is coming. Today we have fMRI (functional magnetic resonance imaging). fMRI can locate the presence of oxygen contained within hemoglobin in the blood and can even detect the motion of thoughts in the living brain to minute resolutions. I can just imagine our lawmakers down in Washington who can’t even peaceably solve the debt issue (I don’t like the word-‘crisis’), trying to come up with laws dealing with mind reading. Ah, if you could read my mind now. An interesting spiritual thought. If we’ll be able to read thoughts, what about………? Enough future.

Our dinners on the Celebrity ‘Summit’ ship were at 8:30 and we sat next to the Captain’s table which means our sometimes ‘loosey goosey’ Jersey shore manners were left in the stateroom with round view of the white capped ocean, partially obscured by condensation droplets on the window. I remember the movie ‘Diner’ where a minor largesse character fascinates the gang of young boys by ordering everything on one side of the menu. Yours truly did that each night to the ‘Appetizers.’ Why not, I was on vacation. A whole menu of appetizers yielded a ‘big salad’ from ‘Seinfeld.’

I hit the gym every day and sarcastically noted it was easier, with no waiting, to get on the exercise bike non-stop each day. I wondered why. Curiously, on the last day in port, having done all the touring days before, I embarked on a three hour work out and more future read. At the witching second hour, the massive gym was down to three guests; me and a pair of Pennsylvania psychologists. We huddled, whispered, “telomeres” and “you know why we’re only here” and then they left, leaving me to solitary thoughts and i-pod music from the sixties.

Blog confession time: By the fifth day of excessive eating, three daily meals, 5 PM Sushi, and un-frozen pizza at midnight, something strange was happening. I’m an old movie romantic and suddenly at breakfast that morning, I couldn’t look at food anymore and grabbed a banana, scratched under my arms, and spinned wildly around mentally; all because I had just thought about the movie ‘A Clockwork Orange’ and could I be experiencing what Alex (Malcolm McDowell) did; a form of aversion therapy. I dig the author, Anthony Burgess and wonder how and why the etiology of the story. Was he misdiagnosed with six months to live and what we read/see is the product of staying awake for those last months of only writing? I don’t know.

I rubbed my eyes; were they being held open by images of chocolate croissants and egg-white omelets (funny how all good breakfast treats are French). I wanted no more food indulgences. Thank goodness for exercise and ocean air. I was cured back to voluminous food mastication by dinner; the left side of the menu belonged to me. Subliminal: Somalia

On most days after working out, I used the indoor pool for thalassotherapy, an unproven medical use of saltwater for therapy. The pool was hot and salty with powerful soothing whirlpool jets; close your eyes, look to the heavens through glass, hear echoes of distant mythological voices and confirm a vacating effect. Damn, there was no one around to feed me grapes from the buffet.

Now to Bermuda: On day one, with three day unlimited bus/ferry pass, we went to Horseshoe Bay Beach because. With three cruise ships around, by high noon I was back at the Jersey shore, without my jetty, sitting under an umbrella, stuck in a rented chair that wouldn’t let go and sounds of silence deleted by the thousands of beach tourists. Give me liberty or give me a deserted beach next time.

(bermuda coastline and pastel homes)

downtown Hamilton, Bermuda

Clouds formed and precipitated a gold rush to the buses, ill prepared. But Bermuda was magical. I sat by the bus window, my face pressed close to glass, my nose taking in large amounts of un-regulated emissions, looking out at sheer simple perfection and idyllic beauty. I love the quaintness and how every blade of grass, leaf and flower were accounted for. Pastel (even deep purple) homes were impeccably kept. No wonder why Michael Bloomberg, Michael Douglas and Ross Perot have homes here. I thought about the song ‘Everywhere’ by Fleetwood Mac. I love Bermuda; sheer earth-bound perfection. No moped in my Bermuda sojourn; if I broke my jaw playing tennis in Baltimore, can you imagine what I’d do on a moped

( a painting in a St. George's art store which moved me)

lady gertting dunked in St George's. I offered her a glass of water. No further comment.

On day two, we ferried to St. George’s, as quaint as Webster could define. I walked into St. Peter’s church where they have been worshipping since 1612. I spent a few quiet moments just as if I were at my jetty. At high noon we saw a dunking of a woman for being a ‘nag’ and strolled into an art store where I took a picture of a painting which still moves me. I wanted to know what was in the room behind the propped window.

From there: ‘Crystal Cave’ by bus, past a banyan tree and then deep into mother earth. Finally, a bus to Hamilton, Bermuda; a big little shopping quaint city; then a ferry back to the dock at the bay, all the while thinking how often I’d like to come back to this magical island. Two days later we were back driving through Bayonne, on the way home from near nirvana, satiated, rested and in need of massive amounts of catching up on news. Bermuda farewell until.

Inside Crystal Cave

: Inside St. Peter’s Church. from 1612

Norway news was on CNN on the ship’s television and glued myself instead of a late afternoon nap. Then Amy Winehouse. So I was saddened coming off the ship. At home, first function was You Tube and listening to her sing, “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow.” Why everything? It’s almost a “Blowing in the Wind” question. Why so many gone at 27? Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Curt Cobain and now Amy Winehouse.

Amy Winehouse video:

watch?v=NDXgKIpJyIk&feature=share

Somewhere in the confluences of self-introspection, I can’t help but ask, “Where was I?” I can’t explain, but it’s always there; some kind of guilt. I don’t know. Is there a wormhole waiting for me, where I might make a difference? A parallel world? A place Maria (Natalie Wood) sang about at the end of ‘West Side Story.’ I think without knowing what it means. Now it’s exercise bike time. Note, I didn’t say ‘exorcise.’ An hour after coming home to a cool house (and it’s been over 100 degrees for 24 straight days in Texas. Poor cousin Stuart. And they say no global warming.), I ran to the front door, put on an old pair of shoes and ceremoniously clicked heels together, almost yelling, “There’s no place like home.” And there isn’t. My wife yelled from upstairs, “What did you say?” I was too tired so I said, “Never mind.”

(I got up at 6 am to catch the passing under the Verrazano bridge)

CONTACT INFORMATION:

website: http://vichywater.net

Facebook: Cal Schwartz

Twitter: Earthood

E-mail: earthood@gmail.com

Vichy Water Book Trailer:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qj2ko9gcC_M

LINKS:

link to magical Jersey shore. Also check out the ‘Jersey Shore Icon Contest.

http://www.visitthejerseyshore.com/

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Vichy Water – Author's Blog Just another WordPress weblog

August 25, 2011

The Earth Moved For My Birthday. Earthquake. Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial. Me and Hurricane Irene: Storm Fascination? More Life Absurdities. NJ Clearwater Festival (Asbury Park, NJ) Thursday August 25, 2011

August 19, 2011

Summer Duck Out. A Real Charlotte’s Web. Springsteen Energy. Fading Tuna Fish. More Life Absurdities. Say Something Stupid, Political. Moving Movies. Thursday August 18, 2011

August 11, 2011

Dentites (Dentists). I Love an Ostrich. More Absurdities. Me, Monmouth County and Bobbie Magee. Yup, More Notions on Living to 150 Years (important JUST IN stuff). Thursday 8-11-11

August 3, 2011

It’s a Strange World After All. My New Career in Journalism. And I ALMOST Became a Politician. Harry Belafonte. Ray Kurzweil Tonight. Cinnamon and Alzheimer’s. I’ve Got Almost Nothing To Say About The Debt Stuff. August 3, 2011

July 26, 2011

Bermuda Cruise Vacation. I Still Hate Sodium (Salt). Future Think (Living to 150 Always on My Mind) Amy Winehouse (27). July 26, 2011