Big Mountain Jesus

Okay, I engaged in the subject of politics in my last post and, so far, there have been no negative reactions. Having taken this risk without any ramifications, I am now going to push my luck and forge ahead into the realm of religion.

Let me now tell you about the controversy over Big Mountain Jesus. He stands near the top of Big Mountain overlooking a broad valley on a 25 x 25 foot parcel of land at Chair 2 of the Whitefish Mountain Resort, MT. Evidently, Big Mountain Jesus' plot of ground is/was part of public lands administered by the Flathead National Forest. He has been there for nearly 60 years through a lease arrangement with the U.S. Forest Service. Alas, the lease expired last summer and suddenly Big Mountain Jesus has run afoul of the Establishment Clause in the United States Constitution. As it stands right now, unless a new lease is granted (or some other innovative arrangement is made), Big Mountain Jesus will have to find a new home.

Well, what the heck, it's only a six foot, concrete statue. Yet in contemporary America Big Mountain Jesus has become much more than that. He was built, lovingly, by WWII veterans to honor the Army's 10th Mountain Division (coincidentally headquartered at Fort Drum in northern N.Y.S.). Big Mountain Jesus has been tenderly cared for by Knights of Columbus Council #338 in Kalispell, MT. For his creators, Big Mountain Jesus was a loving reminder of the innumerable statues and monuments the 10th viewed during its sweep of Europe during the war. Yet most of them are now dead.

Controversy and public outcry arose last summer when Council #338 applied for a new lease. Before making its final decision in the matter, the U.S. Forest Service prudently decided to learn more about how the public felt. More than 100,000 comments later, the period of public comment is about to end. Both positive and negative reactions to the statue's current location have been recorded by Christian and atheist groups alike, including the American Center for Law and Justice as well as the Liberty Institute and a Wisconsin-based organization known as the Freedom From Religion Foundation. And a recent turn of events has taken the matter in a new direction when the Montana State Historical Preservation Office announced that the Big Mountain Jesus site may be eligible for listing on the National Register of Historic Places. So there you are -- and oh, by the way, there is a tangible fear that moving Big Mountain Jesus might cause him to crumble and fall to pieces. A decision about his fate will be made in the next few days. Watch for it...

My sources of information for this blog come from today's "Watertown Times" (home of Fort Drum) written by Gordon Block, and an on-line article from the "Whitefish Pilot," written by Heidi Desch. I am also borrowing a photo by Matt Baldwin who works for the above newspaper too.

So what do I think about the Big Mountain Jesus controversy? I was raised a Lutheran; my mother was dutiful and lived in dread fear of her own pious bible-reading mother. When I went off to college I became enchanted by the town's Unitarian-Universalist Church and several of my professors who were members of that same liberal religious organization. Unitarians would not, for instance, refer to the fellow in the photo as Jesus Christ, but as Jesus of Nazareth. Quite a difference if one thinks about it. Well, even after all these years I remain a member of the Unitarian-Universalist Church in nearby Canton. But as my wife is quick to point out, I am now a "fallen away" Unitarian. That said, I still think of myself as a religious person, but one who questions and still seeks answers.

I was looking at some photos last evening that I'd taken a couple of years ago in the scenic village of Waddington, which overlooks the St. Lawrence River. The dominant subjects in these photos were Canadian geese in the midst of their annual migration. On the opposite side of the river is Morrisburg, Ontario, Canada. It struck me that the geese could care less about such a thing as a trifling international boundary. They fly back and forth like I go out to my mailbox, with impunity. And nobody really cares. And both Canadians and Americans share similar enthusiasm for these magnificent birds.

And then yesterday, on our usual route to Lake Placid, we passed by the statue of St. Peter in front of the Church of Santa Clara, almost a wilderness outpost with an Adirondack history dating back to the lumbering days. We ALWAYS wave at St. Peter, just for good luck -- and we've been doing it for many, many years. Even though he's not St. Christopher, I like to think that it would be downright wrong not to salute him. And I do not think of myself as superstitious, even though this simple act might be certain evidence of it.

Frankly, I respect the Establishment Clause; it is one of the bedrock principles of my nation. But I sure the heck am equally respectful of symbols and traditions that remind me so centrally of the culture in which I am immersed -- for better or worse. I truly hope that Big Mountain Jesus gets himself placed on the National Register of Historic Places. And I will be disappointed if it is determined that he must find a new home. Here in the Adirondacks we still have lean-to's and fire towers in "Forever Wild" designated lands. Sometimes preserving the best of our past means making an exception.

Carry on,

Paul in Potsdam

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Offer from Canada

Before anyone gets all riled up, today's blog is meant as good fun. As I said when I set down my own rules for blogging that I didn't really have many axes to grind -- and I don't. In the past week or so, however, I finally succumbed to the siren song of watching the Republican candidates yelling at each other. Whew! I'll be glad when all of that is over. And tonight we all get to listen to our President give the State of the Union Address. The evening news tells me that it's going to be populist in tone. I suppose that means our POTUS will have the advantage of his having his own podium and won't have to share it with any naysayers -- hopefully, this year without any on-air naysayers.

Well at any rate, today I watched a YouTube video from Canada. It sure stopped me in my tracks. At first I laughed, but then (and this is always dangerous) I started thinking. What if...

I do apologize for some of the language that exists in the video, and certainly for certain self-deprecating stereotypes that appear to also float through it. At any rate, I do think it's high time we start getting serious about who we really do want to run our country. We currently have a choice between blue and red, but just think if Canada joined in the fray. I won't go any further. You will have to decide for yourself. Think Maple Leaf.

So here it is: <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BrhA0sEkuaM>. And please don't complain that you weren't forewarned. Your feedback will be appreciated.

Carry on,

Paul in Potsdam

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The Quebec Connection

Today it was announced by the U.S. Government that it is embarking upon a revamped plan to "harden" the U.S/Canadian Border against an onslaught of drug trafficking. It will be called the "National Northern Border Counternarcotics Strategy," and will pinpoint several Native American Tribal Areas from Maine to Washington State.

Interestingly, one of the primary conduits of illicit drug smuggling in the entire country is right here in my own back yard. The new strategy will focus in our region upon the St. Regis Mohawk Reservation, where both drugs and aliens are moved across the St. Lawrence River on a regular basis. Part of the initiative will be to provide Tribal Police with additional resources, including better inter-governmental cooperation, financial assistance, improved monitoring systems and air/marine operations, especially during the winter months.

These days, it is impossible not to feel the increased presence of the U.S. Border Patrol. For instance, a week ago on our way to Lake Placid we were confronted with a road block on an Adirondack highway between Potsdam/Malone and Saranac Lake. Route 30 drops directly south from Malone, passing through considerable private timber tracts. It is a lonely stretch where mountain lions have been spotted in recent years. Then, on our way home from Burlington, VT this past Tuesday, and because of the inclement weather, we traveled north to Rouses Point (less than 40 miles from Montreal) and hence along the Canadian Border on U.S. Route 11 to Malone, etc. We saw several more Border Patrol vehicles but were not stopped.

Between Rouses Point and Malone, probably a stretch of 40 miles, there is nothing but woods and fields and a few secondary highways that simply shoot straight north across the border, a mere couple of miles away. One would think that monitoring here would be somewhat straight-forward, especially with the use of drones and small planes. However, the use of atv's and snowmobiles do complicate surveillance.

But beyond Malone and west along Route 37 to Massena and the International Border Crossing at Cornwall Island on the St. Lawrence River, one travels directly through the St. Regis Mohawk Reservation. And this reservation functions as a single autonomous territory in both Canada and the United States on either side of the St. Lawrence River. It is dotted with islands, large and small, and presents a very challenging landscape. Simply put the reservation is a porous sieve.

So one might think that with improved governmental assistance the Akwesasne Mohawks would be happy. So far, their silence is deafening. This is the same reservation where former Governor Mario Cuomo needed to place the New York State Police on 24/7 patrol for more than a year. That after he tried to collect cigarette taxes. Now his son Andrew is attempting a new and similar thrust to diminish the state's debts. But now the ante is up -- the Akwesasne Mohawks have a thriving tobacco industry of their own right on the reservation.

But that was then and now is now. The Mohawks currently have a thriving casino and bingo palace on the reservation, and seem to be a bit caught in the middle between a presumed geographical nexus for transporting illicit products -- high potency marijuana, ecstasy, tobacco and aliens -- and attracting visitors to come and gamble.

There was a time not very long ago when tensions between the Mohawks and Canadian Border officials produced drive-by shootings over Canada's decision to arm their border agents at Customs and Immigration. The Mohawks claimed sovereignty and imminent danger to their own citizens. They stopped traffic on the international bridge. Yet it doesn't take a genius to question the motivation of suddenly being so against guns when they themselves tote guns on a regular basis.

Our local Congressman, Bill Owens, and our U.S. Senator, Chuck Schumer, have worked hard to keep legal traffic and post-9/11tourism alive between our two countries. Now they have succeeded in obtaining more funding to help stem dangerous drug trafficking. Yet new passport regulations, and the blockage of the Canadian pipeline out west will undoubtedly create even more diplomatic problems. And locally, we have the ever-temperamental, contentious Mohawks right in the middle of the action. It's going to be an interesting spring in the North Country.

If you would like a bit more dramatic presentation of these complex problems, I would highly recommend that you Netflix a movie from a couple of years ago called Frozen River. Melissa Leo was nominated for an Oscar for her performance as a down and out salesclerk from Malone, living in a trailer with her two kids and working at the local Dollar Store. In an effort to improve the quality of their lives, she begins trafficking in aliens via the Montreal -- St. Regis Mohawk Reservation route across the river. I found it very authentic and riveting. Regardless of its toughness, it's a heart-warmer, and even comedic, if one can move beyond the bleakness of her poverty. Highly recommended.

There is one exchange in that film between mother and young son that goes something like this...

Son: "Mom, what will happen to our trailer when we move out and into our new double-wide?"
Mom: "Well, what they'll do is grind it up into little tiny pieces, put them on a boat in the St. Lawrence and send them all the way to China. And once there, the Chinese will stamp out new pieces of crap, send them back to the United States, and I'll sell them at the Dollar Store."
Son: "Really?"
Mom: "Yep."

Carry on,

Paul in Potsdam
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Small Dog to the Rescue

If you live in Potsdam, NY, you don't live here for the shopping. After awhile, you get to know where you need to go when you need something more than a television or a new chainsaw. Probably the best civilized retail store in the county is the St. Lawrence University Book Store -- where one can definitely purchase important items other than books -- like art supplies for instance. However, if you need a new suit you have to drive to Syracuse or Albany. If you desire something other than a Ford Truck or a Prius, you must head everywhere else but north. Heck, I even use travel and vacations to purchase new underwear and shoes.

You can imagine the angst, even in a two college town, when the SUNY Potsdam Book Store lost its Apple franchise a year ago or so because they didn't sell enough machines. Aside from the not altogether unique alternative of on-line recourse and/or the Apple Help Line, you are stuck.

Since before the holiday season, my wife's little I-Book 4 had been heating up. Often, Safari would quit in the middle of a surfing session or a bridge game. She knew it was time, but procrastinated until she was on the verge of a complete crash. Each day, I'd say: "Ready to go to Burlington? We'll be taking off for Hilton Head soon..."

Well Monday morning, upon awakening she decided that the time had come. I welcomed the opportunity to get out of Dodge, especially since I had just recovered from a severe head cold, had been forced to chainsaw down my favorite front yard white birch, which Friday drooped onto our electrical service to the street, and I had to spend much of Sunday morning shoveling and then checking out neighborhood houses for other kinds of damage (our neighborhood was in need of such services this past weekend).

We were on the road by 8:30 a.m. The Republic of Burlington is just under three hours distant. Aside from Fletcher Allen Hospital at the University of Vermont, I think the next best thing is Small Dog Electronics <http://www.smalldog.com/>. Even with a very windy ferry crossing of Lake Champlain (with six foot waves and our minivan's first participation in a rodeo) we arrived at Small Dog in South Burlington before noon.

It didn't take us long to ascertain that my wife's choice would be a new 13 inch MacBook 2.8 GHz dual core/Intel core i7, with 750 GB for my photos in South Carolina. A neat, fast, little package with resolution matching the big dogs. And it was hard to believe that our new rep in training was a new rep in training; she didn't even fit the typical Apple sales person under 25 techno-geek persona. This mature woman quickly established rapport and didn't hesitate to ask her youthful cohorts whenever she had a question she herself couldn't answer -- and those were limited to cash register protocol. She then marched us to the service department where we were promised that all of the old files would be copied over and the new machine would be ready by noon today. No muss, no fuss and no charge.

As I sit here now writing up today's blog, my wife is already sitting on our couch at home going through today's news; nope I think she's now playing bridge. So here are my three hip, hip, hip hoorays for Small Dog Electronics, the best Apple store in New England. Yes they even have friendly dogs wandering around the store, but the dogs don't seem to answer very many questions. They're just kind of hanging out there to make you feel at home I think. Soon it will be my turn to make a hardware purchase there. It's going to be tough.

At any rate, we didn't drive home and then drive back again today. We stayed for dinner and then took in The Descendants, which the night before at the Golden Globes had just won Best Motion Picture Drama and netted George Clooney Best Actor. As beautiful as Hawaii is, it still gives me the creeps, and if you watch this movie you may just end up feeling like I do. That said, Clooney and the rest of the cast are terrific. Who says that the descendants of kings and queens aren't just ordinary schleps like the rest of us, and that paradise is just as **cked up as the rest of the USA? Go see it and decide for yourself. Clooney genuinely redeems his character. My wife compares him to Paul Newman. She might just be right.

Carry on,

Paul in Potsdam

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Race to the Oscars

Tonight begins the grand race to the 2012 Oscars and we are treated to Ricky Gervais as host. Last year, Mr. Gervais walked the thin edge, and for a few of his colleagues in the entertainment world it was a bit too much. Lots of skewering and few were spared -- especially the most prickable ones. I think Gervais may have paid a bit of a price for this, but here we are again with him. Frankly, I hope he remains true to his character, and lets the dialogue flow unfettered.

I have mixed feelings about these award shows. Part of me wants to race right out and see every nominee, and part of me says, who are you kidding? But, Hollywood and the entertainment industry need all the build-up they can muster -- especially this year. I guess I will go until 9 p.m. when the next episode of Season 2 of Downton Abbey appears on PBS's Masterpiece Classic. Even Ricky Gervais cannot overcome the draw of Downton Abbey.

So far this season, I have managed to see the following films beforehand: The Tree of Life, Midnight in Paris, The Adventures of Tintin, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, War Horse and Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. I can only say that none of them can be compared easily with another. Interestingly, two of them are uniquely different Steven Spielberg movies.

Let me comment on all...

The Tree of Life. Malek's exploration of the meaning of life is pretentious and overblown. Brad Pitt is good but not great, and the photography was sensational. Enough said...


Midnight in Paris, the Woody Allen comedy is a complete triumph. Not only is this vintage Woody but Paris has never been lovelier. It looks like a winner to me.

The Adventures of Tintin is a remarkable 3D movie. We were fortunate to see it in Toronto at an Imax. The reviews are mixed, but for me it was a delight. The special effects were amazing -- the whole thing in my opinion is an animated Indiana Jones on steroids. And it is funny and fun. Spielberg's first attempt in the genre of animated films is entirely successful. Click, click, bam, bam. It will keep you going for at least an hour or so.

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (American version) is edgy and brisk. Rooney Mara will blow you away. This one's a must see among my recommendations.


War Horse is also fresh in my memory. I was a little concerned that I'd be jumping back to Anna Sewall's Black Beauty, but this is a war movie like only Spielberg can create them, and it's based on a WWI book. And it is heroic, through and through. My wife told me to bring tissues, but I didn't need them -- well, maybe to wipe away a tear or two at the ending, but that doesn't give away a thing.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. Well at least one person in my family liked it, but it wasn't me. My wife told me it was too bad that I kept slipping away. I thought it was too bad that I didn't slip away all together.

Now the three films that I'd like to be able to comment upon on are Hugo, The Artist and Moneyball. We probably won't see them, this being Potsdam, until we head south in February.

So tear yourself away from the football game for awhile and tune in nasty Ricky, at least until 9 p.m.

One last thing, I don't care what YOU think about the movies. I could not live without them. They are the last true magic in my life. I am transported. Ah, if only real life, even once in a great while, could emulate the movies. And this year there are some truly memorable moments in movie history.

Carry on,

Paul in Potsdam
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A Bad Weather Day in the North Country

For most of the 2011-2012 winter season Potsdam's weather has been so mild that even the robins have stayed around long past their scheduled  time to fly south. Temperatures have averaged about 8 to 10 degrees warmer. We've had a couple of days of snow flurries but my plow guy hadn't visited once. Heck, with heating oil prices averaging about $3.55 per gallon, not too many folks have been complaining. The only folks who have been disappointed are the deer hunters, skiers, snow-mobilers and ice fishermen.

Well, yesterday winter finally arrived with a vengence. All the local schools closed in anticipation. With about an inch of old, spotty, existing snow on the ground (we actually had mustered a white Christmas), the day began with temps falling into the mid-20's and freezing rain. As soon as the droplets hit the trees and ground, a glaze of ice formed on everything. White birches and white pines never do particularly well under these conditions. Soon everything was drooping, and one favorite front yard birch sagged onto my power lines out to the street. In the back yard, white pine branches that I normally walk under were literally touching the ground. Sigh...

Winter Berry in ice

Then in mid-afternoon, the rain/sleet mixture suddenly turned to snow. That, of course, added additional  weight to the overladen branches. Fortunately, what began as a rain/snow event with elaborate weather advisories simply tapered off. By evening all was quiet, even though the on-going forecast promised more of the same during the night. All the public schools stayed closed again today.

Part two of our first winter storm held off until about 7 a.m. this morning. Then it began sleeting again. Our roof gutters rapidly clogged with a mixture of slush and newly formed ice. It wasn't long before they were overflowing. Then, like yesterday, the sleet changed over to snow again. This time heavier flakes were falling, at times approaching white-out conditions. Not long after, it began snowing very heavily. I could hear the tell tale signs of destruction in the forest behind the house. Large pine branches were cracking loudly like gunshots, then snapping-off and crashing to the ground along with a rising plume of snow and ice. I estimate that my chain saw will have two or three days of whining during the next thaw, and pickup may have to wait until spring. It's kind of discouraging.

View off the deck beyond the pool

In the meantime, gusting winds from 25-40 mph started wreaking more havoc. About 2 p.m., it was announced that nearly 14,000 National Grid customers in St. Lawrence County had lost all electrical power. In nearby Ogdensburg, there was only one gas station open. Reports of several road accidents began pouring in. SUNY Potsdam, my former employer, decided to cancel classes for the rest of the day. This usually happens about once every three years.

And to top it off, both Clarkson and St. Lawrence University postponed tonight's home games against Yale and Brown. This is as rare as it gets. Postponing hockey in the North Country?

So now the snow has tapered off again. "Lake enhanced" changed over to "lake effect" and now rapidly dropping temps have turned off the showers completely. By morning, the prediction is for a high of 4 degrees with a wind chill factor to minus 20. Sunday will be more of the same with a high of 0.

My wife and I are home and snug. The plan is to lie low. No hockey for us. Maybe a little Netflix streaming and, for me, some football. I refuse to turn on the golf tournament from Hawaii -- just too depressing. At any rate, the storm has come, and it will go -- and folks will wring their hands and talk about that nasty Friday, January 13 in 2012.

Paul in Potsdam
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Entertainment Systems on Wheels

Well, I'm a die-hard who grows very attached to his vehicles. And for several months I went through the agony of watching the auto manufacturer Saab go from a limited but enthusiastic ownership group to a defunct company. I believe our household went through at least five of them in a row, dating back to about 1980 or so. Saabs were distinctive. They all had a pet growl. They were also a bit stodgy and expensive to repair. Regardless, Saab owners shared a camaraderie that for many years even included flashing one's headlights when one met and passed another one on the open highway. It was almost like the brotherhood of motorcyclists giving that familiar high five sign to each other.

This past year, our 2004 Saab 9.5 wagon began showing signs of inexplicable decline after only 75,000 miles. Strange things began happening -- like a headlight flying off on the Massachusetts Turnpike. Next, the car's engine suddenly turned off in rural Franklin County along the Canadian border. It had to be towed forty miles. Not long after that, its high beams began acting erratically. It took my private Saab mechanic a couple of weeks to figure that one out. And by the beginning of summer I needed a new set of tires and was not far away from replacing the exhaust system. I did the arithmetic. It was time to trade.

After a couple of fretful nights thinking about abandoning my dear old friend and over two decades of customer loyalty, I bit my tongue and began looking for another manufacturer. After all, by June Saab's future was almost destiny. I didn't want to be trapped.

Accordingly, the search for a replacement began. I initially sought green and energy-efficient, then began balancing that need with all the additional travel and carting about of our southern friends and their golf clubs. It became evident that, even though we were grandparents, a minivan would be the perfect answer. I did the research and it went like this: Sienna, Odyssey, Chrysler Town & Country, and Dodge Grand Caravan -- in that order. Then the Tsunami hit Japan. Sienna's and Odyssey's disappeared from showrooms and the car lots were quickly exhausted of all Japanese imports. There were no parts to be had either.

So one afternoon I stopped by the local Chrysler dealer and checked out the Town & Country, simultaneously comparing it with the Dodge. I entered a whole new world that Saab, in its traditionalism, never ventured.

I was introduced to mind-boggling technological advances, as well as genuine quality in an American (actually Canadian) vehicle built in Windsor, Ontario. Okay so I was really considering a Fiat...

For those of you who have not car-shopped in the last half decade you are in for some big surprises. Let me begin with Stow & Go seating. All the rear seats actually disappear into the floor, and if you're going to still need those seats for passengers, the seat stowaway compartments can hide half of Fort Dix. If you have a short wife, then consider the feature with moving brake pedals and accelerator. Short legs, no problem. Automated entry? No problem. Automatic doors? Open and close them from a ceiling console. Headlamps that automatically turn on and off the high beams? Of course. Automatic mirror rear-view dimming? Likewise. Removable factory installed crossbars? Sure, why not cut down on drag. Windshield wipers that automatically detect moisture and regulate sweep? Easy. Heated steering wheel? Sure. Four to six electric seat heaters? Your choice. Ambient surround lighting? Pretend you are a Boeing 767. Several power outlets? Locations everywhere. Remote start? Absolutely. Blind spot monitoring? Comes standard. Parking assist system? A camera guides you. Back-up camera? What a wonderful invention.

So let's now move on to the entertainment packages. How about U-Connect for hands free phone conversations? Simply tell your dashboard who you'd like to chat with. It's voice-controlled and automatic. Satellite radio? Free for a year. Simply talk to your radio and tell it what you wish to listen to. And how about that 30 gigabyte hard drive that allows you to transfer hundreds of Cd's to your system? Wow! And then there are the USB computer connections, with a hidden one for your iPod in the glove compartment, or on the dash for your iPad? All of my iTunes saves are immediately available for instant play and controlled by my radio/media system. And finally, how about the Garmin Navigation System with detour and accident updates? That one was a must.

So I entered an entirely new world that Saab had squandered away in its conservatism. My sacrifice? I went from 32 mpg to 20 city and 27 highway. It's the only "if" in the entire process. Then again, life seems to be a series of gives and takes.

It didn't take long for us to wrap up a deal; the car market these days is phenomenal. So now we own a Chrysler Town & Country. I call it my luxury pickup; our friends call it the blue bomber or meals on wheels. And this year, I'm actually looking forward to the Hilton Head Island trek from northern NYS. I'm even thinking about throwing in the Keurig.

So... after all this description I still have not yet come to my point. In today's NY Times, I read and reflected on the current auto show in Las Vegas. There is a dilemma underfoot. How far does the auto industry go in allowing port apps, games, music and movies to a car's entertainment system?

For every new innovation, will we have to devise alternatives to crashing our Smartphone on wheels?

I don't have an answer. In the meantime, I have drawn the line with movie downloads. We are not going there.

BTW, I do love the new Chrysler Town & Country. Sorry Saab, but I think you had become just another Kodak Brontosaurus.

Carry on,

Paul in Potsdam
<http://www2.potsdam.edu/loucksap/>
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Marijuana Smoking Doesnt' Harm Lungs

First let me say that I haven't smoked marijuana in more than 25 years. I'm probably beyond any statute of limitations regarding using this still illegal substance in NYS. Yet unlike Bill Clinton, I probably ended up inhaling a little bit of cannabis. The only thing I have to say on the subject of "getting high" is that there is a reason why it used to be called dope. It's because it turned one into a dope. When I was high, I became a philosophical genius; and no one else, unfortunately, ever really understood my "deep" analysis.

Yet, having said that, I can now unequivocally agree with the medical experts who say it doesn't damage our lungs -- mostly because THC is a sedative and not an irritant. Okay! I can't blame marijuana for making me a slower runner.

On this subject I only wish to report that those slide strips in the basement of my elementary school were bullshit. I did not go crazy, although I certainly worried about that prospect as a college student. I've never used cocaine or heroin, and pot did not lead to further drug addiction; my personal addiction turned to running and the runner's high. An aphrodisiac? Are you kidding? It made my wife paranoid.

I must say though that I had a fraternity brother in the '60's who smoked some weed up on the roof of the fraternity house. He then proceeded to walk off the edge of our three story building and fell nearly forty feet into the soggy yard following a rainstorm. He was not injured, only stunned (if one could actually claim that term under the influence). We could never figure out why he wasn't seriously maimed. Perhaps it was because he'd fallen into a quagmire. Or maybe it was because of the relaxing effects of the marijuana itself. Mr. Rag Doll simply got up from the ground and said, "Wow!"

Regardless, I am neither an advocate or opponent of the drug. It does seem to me, however, that the on-going use of marijuana, over an extended period of time, does demonstrate a certain immaturity of sorts -- and I don't think I'm being overly severe here in my assessment. I still have adult friends who use marijuana on a regular basis. And none of them are suffering from terminal diseases which in certain western states allow for the drug's use for medicinal purposes. I think folks out there just enjoy being dopes. And in the case of my eastern friends, they are just extremely lovable dopes.

For me smoking marijuana was a rite of passage. Seriously, I could only use it for recreational purposes. There was no point in smoking before an exam. It extinguished the ability to focus. One only sat in the exam room pondering his navel -- nothing more.

So that's what I have to say about using marijuana from the perspective of being a 68 year old former user. I still drink wine, but wine is not quite the same. With wine the results are supposedly good for the heart. But I think that's bullshit too.

One thing that I must admit to, however. One of my jobs included being the scheduler of social events at a certain college. I once engaged the services of Arlo Guthrie for an evening. After a fantastic performance, I went backstage to present Arlo with his check, certainly not a small, nominal amount. Arlo, who was sitting in the Green Room, thanked me. I noticed he was smoking. Arlo then offered me a toke. It was one of my 15 seconds of greatness.

Carry on,

Paul in Potsdam

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<http://madstop68.blogspot.com/>

In Defense of the PSA

My wife tells me that other people don't really want to hear about my cancer. She says that my clinical situation is a private matter between my family and myself, and my urological team in Burlington, VT. Well, I think she usually she offers me excellent advice. That said, several male friends in my age group express great interest in my medical history and don't hesitate to question me about the most minute clinical details associated with prostate disease and its treatment at social gatherings, both formal and informal. After all, it's our version of breast cancer.

Women, as though scripted to do so, immediately excuse themselves from such conversations and move on to more gentle pleasantries. Well, I can only say that breast cancer is certainly no laughing matter, but then again neither is prostate cancer. A lot of people die from both (in pretty much the same ratios) and both raise deep psychological questions about losing our sexuality, our womanhood or our manhood to say nothing of our lives. It is apparent that our looming mortality is never a comfortable topic at cocktail parties.

On the other hand, if we've decided as a society that it's more appropriate to understate the disease of cancer (of either type), I personally believe no one would be served well. Ignorance is NOT bliss. And medical conditions should NOT be subject to financial exigency by insurance companies. If a woman undergoes a mammogram and is found to have a tumor, everyone recognizes that quick medical attention and the possibility for surgery is of the utmost importance. Yet, if a man has an elevated P.S.A. we are just as inclined to say, let's wait awhile, maybe this isn't as bad as it sounds. And at any rate, we all know that if it turns out to be cancer, it will likely be the slow-growing variety. Something else will get him before the prostate cancer.

My adage is a short one: never, ever, trust authority. About a week ago, a key government health panel, the United States Preventive Services Task Force, concluded that healthy men should no longer routinely be screened for prostate cancer using the prostate-specific antigen or P.S.A. blood test. This finding, of course, is a numbers balancing game. Basically, it has been concluded that although the P.S.A. does detect more cancers, it doesn't save more lives, and worse yet, overly aggressive treatments will leave men impotent, incontinent or both.

Likewise, about a year or so ago, it was also recommended that women in their 40's should no longer receive routine mammograms. That decision set off a firestorm of controversy. Is there a pattern here?

Now let me ask this question, what would YOU do? Frankly, if I were a woman I'd continue to press my physician for annual or even bi-annual mammograms, even though they are unpleasant and rude. And as a male, please rest assured that I feel my life now depends on receiving regular P.S.A.'s. I say this as a survivor, but I would also say it if I only had a vague, fluctuating result on the P.S.A.

I will now discuss what happened to me. Over the course of two or three years, my family physician routinely had my P.S.A. tested and recorded. I also received what us men don't ever appreciate: the DRE or digital rectal exam. As it turns out one is as important as the other. Then again, family physicians, especially it they are female, don't much enjoy conducting the DRE. I'm also told, btw, that it's all about feel -- doing them on a regualar basis improves clincial  diagnosis.

In my case, consecutive P.S.A.'s began showing a definite upward trend, something I quickly pointed out to my physician. He retorted that I shouldn't be concerned, that my P.S.A. levels were in the high normal range. Eventually, and for this and other reasons, I changed physicians. The new one (actually she was a P.A. assigned to me), ordered a P.S.A. and then noted that it had climbed beyond the normal range.

I was referred to a urologist for a biopsy. Let me state that prostate biopsies are VERY unpleasant. During my first one, I became nauseous. I was told to relax. When the results came back the urologist immediately scoped my bladder. Sounds pretty suspicions doesn't it? He then told me I had prostate cancer and that I'd be dead in six months. What an asshole!

Because I have a few connections, within a week I ended up at the University of Vermont Medical Center in Burlington. I was also fortunate enough to be assigned to the Head of Urology and a research scientist there.

We reviewed my results: a rising P.S.A., the presence of rubbery lumps on my prostate (via the beloved DRE) and the calculation of a Gleason Score in the range of 6+ out of 10. My physician decided to place me on his list of "active, watchful waiting" patients. He is medically conservative. The P.S.A's continued on a regular basis. After treatment with certain pharmaceutical substances the P.S.A. actually dropped for awhile but then eventually started rising again.

So I think you get the picture. It's not just the P.S.A. It's a combination of P.S.A.'s (a barometer of sorts), the DRE or prostate palpitation, and biopsies. I stayed on "active, watchful waiting" for a couple of years. Then my urologist ordered a new biopsy (much less painful than the first, but only because I was distracted by the technician). The new Gleason Score turned out to be an 8 out of 10. The urologist  decided it was game over and referred me for a robotic, radical, nerve-sparing prostatectomy.

Without the P.S.A's monitoring my general condition, however, it was only a guessing game. I say this with all due repect to the DRE (mostly my physician's sensitive feel) and that final biopsy.

The risk was in waiting. Doing nothing meant almost certain metastasis. Active aggressive therapy meant real risks. I can only say that the alternatives to bone cancer in addition to prostate cancer nearly eliminated any cause to move forward. I opted for surgery, and I believe to this day, that my physicans and surgeons at Fletcher Allen saved my life.

I am now two plus years beyond the radical prostatectomy. P.S.A. readings are a whole new ball game. Theoretically, I should be receiving .000 as my reading. I generally fluctuate between .135 and .250. At .300 I go into the oncology unit and chemotheapy.

Currently, I am considered to be in complete remission. My next appointment in Burlington is not until mid-April. My last one was in November.

I'm now working on age 69 and am pretty healthy, although slightly overweight. I do exercise regularly and believe that keeping my weight at a resonable level seems to be a wise regimen. As they say, it is what it is. I've lost to death three friends and neighbors in the past couple of weeks, so perhaps all of this is a bit more on my mind right now.

Let me suffice to say that life is back to almost normal. I thank the folks at Fletcher Allen for that.

Regardless, if you are a male, demand at your next annual physical that you receive a P.S.A. -- as well as a DRE.

Better to be safe than sorry.

Carry on,

Paul in Potsdam
<http://www2.potsdam.edu/loucksap/>
<http://loucksap.smugmug.com/>
<http://madstop68.blogspot.com/>

The Blue Bra Under the Abaya

Sally Quinn, a prominent writer for the Washington Post, recently wrote a stirring piece about an Egyptian woman who, in the process of participating in a protest, was knocked down by soldiers. In dragging her away, they tore her outer garment or abaya. And to the surprise and shock of many, underneath that abaya the woman was wearing a very feminine blue bra as well as blue jeans.

The woman involved is unknown. She has not come forward. Local media criticized her for not wearing more. To Quinn and a surging population of women in that country and now several others in the Middle East, the blue bra is a vital symbol, not only of a changing culture, but also a growing statement of their inner freedom.

Quinn notes in a larger context that "...it is time for all women to own the blue bra, either a real one or one of the spirit. Let's not allow that young woman in Egypt to have been beaten, stripped and exposed in vain. Let us make her humiliation our triumph."

And Quinn did not stop there: "That blue bra [became] the ultimate symbol of women's power, the one that threatens men above all. It makes them so crazy that over the centuries they have encoded it into their religions that women are kept down and denied the same freedoms that men have. There are very few religions where women have not been oppressed.

Men know that women's sexuality is something they cannot live without; It is something that renders them powerless. Women can have babies, women can breast-feed, women are the lifegivers. The blue bra is a bold statement of that."

Despite being a heterosexual male, the story really resonates with me. Perhaps it's because I'm a husband and the father of two grown daughters -- and I don't live in the ultra-conservative Middle East, but in liberal America. And each of the three women in my life genuinely understand the power of their femininity, although they never flaunt it.

Because I am a male I wish neither to overstep any boundaries here nor produce any sexual misunderstandings. This is a delicate subject. Yet I join Quinn and hopefully millions of other women who have realized in a very singular way that they possess qualities gender politics can never dismiss. And they don't have to be blatant.

The fact is -- "when a woman goes out into the workplace, or the public square, or anywhere else, that men are always going to wonder, is she wearing a blue bra?" As Quinn would affirm, let the answer always be yes. Finding equality can be a very difficult pathway, but enjoying freedom is already attainable.

Carry on,

Paul in Potsdam
<http://www2.potsdam.edu/loucksap/>
<http://loucksap.smugmug.com/>
<http://madstop68.blogspot.com/>

UND moves on...

One of the most successful DI hockey programs in the United States finally threw in the towel a couple of weeks ago. Frankly, it is a relief. The Rebel yell has been silenced once again -- this time by the almighty NCAA.

You might ask at this point who I am talking about. Contrary to what you might be thinking, I am not referencing the University of Notre Dame, but, instead, I am talking about the University of North Dakota. Back in 2005 the NCAA ruled that team logos and nicknames must be cleansed of racial identities and offensive stereotypes. Evidently, the "Fighting Sioux" of UND didn't get the message. And if they did, they fought the edict until the bitter end.

Since the 1930's, UND, with the blessing of Sioux indigenous peoples of that state, have used the questionable moniker, and built their identity around the image of a proud warrior. A successful hockey player there named Ralph Englestadt even gave the school $100 million dollars to build the finest hockey barn in the nation. And he embedded the logo into the very structure of the building, making it damnably difficult to alter or adjust the nickname.

As with all political contests, however, the entity with the most power always ends up victorious. The vise simply kept tightening, in spite of intervention by the governor of the great state of North Dakota, as well as by the lack of a required response by the presumably offended aboriginals.

The UND hockey team is a perennial powerhouse in the WCHA: it has won seven national titles and more than a dozen conference championships. They are a team to be reckoned with EVERY year. Playing UND is like a sentence uncommuted. If one gets past this team, the cojones-rating skyrockets.

All of this is incidental to local Clarkson University's defeat at the hands of UND last evening in Winnipeg, Canada. I, of course, was reminded of the on-going controversy in today's local newspaper where it was mentioned that UND played its first game without the "Fighting Sioux" icon, even though a little investigation shows that UND will continue to wear its present uniforms until next year. Evidently, the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back, was transitioning into the Big Sky Conference by UND, as well as sanctions imposed by the NCAA that UND could ill-afford to flaunt. Who said it's about pride and not money?

The end has not come peaceably. Ill-will and bad feelings will linger for years. Sports identities are like that, especially when you have a well-oiled program.

My prognostication? UND will survive. I can only wonder, however, what they will now be called. Will the nickname become the official state flower of North Dakota -- the wild prairie rose? How about the state bird -- the Western Meadowlark? Will they eventually learn the NCAA waltz? It's going to take some time to settle such unsettling emotions. I would perhaps suggest a Pleistocene Age reptile -- something like the UND Champsosauruses, or Mastodons, or Brontotheriums.

Big time sports legends engage delicate emotions and instill strong feelings about winners and losers. Wins and losses hinge on playing in a comfort zone. One can only hope that UND will find a new equilibrium. Meanwhile Clarkson is finally home again after a horrible road schedule. Somehow the innocuous Clarkson Golden Knights need to find Excalibur, while unidentifable UND is currently on a 7-1-1 streak.

At any rate, I continue to be embarrassed by my high school nickname, the Southwestern Trojans. And who would ever name a college team originating in western Pennsylvania, the Gators? No wonder my undergraduate institution has won only one D-III national championship in football.

Carry on,

Paul in Potsdam
<http://www2.potsdam.edu/loucksap>
<http://smugmug.loucksap>
<http://madstop68.blogspot.com/>

Changed my life?

On this rainy Saturday afternoon, after my primary chore for the day was accomplished (taking down the outdoor Christmas lights before the rains came), I thought I'd settle in with a magazine and wait for the Syracuse - Marquette game. Syracuse has managed to capture my attention this season because they are maintaining a perfect winning record, in the midst of the Bernie Fine scandal.

So there I was sitting in my recliner turning the pages of a dismally boring issue of Golf Magazine. Actually, the pages began to get heavier and heavier until I eventually stopped on a full page advertisement and request by HBO to send in my feelings about a sporting event that had changed my life. As I sat there pondering this weighty matter my head drooped foreward and I lapsed into "la-la land."

I woke up when our neighbor called about a half hour before dinner. Alas, I had missed the game -- but learned later that Syracuse won by a score of 73-66, and still maintains its perfect season record. Well, this event did not change my life one iota, especially since I completely missed it.

The HBO request though still rattled in my head. Then the answer came to me. There WAS a sporting event that changed my life. It was an event that had previously stirred memories of world tension and the Cold War. Years before, I sat through the Cuban Missile Crisis and wondered if a nuclear winter was in my future (and everybody elses).

The 1980 Winter Olympics, by good fortune, was held in nearby Lake Placid, NY. A colleague from the college called me a few days before wondering if I would be interested in the USA/Soviet Hockey game. He was literally trying to give away tickets that he couldn't use. Fool that I am, I turned them down. We had company coming and commitments had already been made to attend ski jumping, speed-skating and figure skating. And four days in a row traveling to Lake Placid in mid-winter was a sketchy idea to begin with... I said no. And at any rate, it was a waste of time, the Soviet team was the best in the world.

In 1999 Sports Illustrated named the "Miracle on Ice" the top sports moment of the 20th century. And the International Ice Hockey Federation chose that game as the century's number-one ice hockey story. (Wiki) I hope you appreciate the irony here.

"Do you believe in Miracles?" The Field House (capacity 8,500) was packed. The home crowd waved U.S. flags and sang patriotic songs. The game was aired live on CTV in Canada, but not on ABC in the United States. Thus, American viewers who resided in Canadian border regions and received a CTV signal (residents of Potsdam) could watch the game live, but the rest of the country had to wait.

Before the game Herb Brooks, the American coach, read his players a statement he had written out on a piece of paper, telling them that "You were born to be a player. You were meant to be here. This moment is yours."

I won't bore you with the game's details. In short, the U.S. team, a somewhat unconfident "rag-tag" group of America's best college players were now pitted against an elite professional team. It was like nearby St. Lawrence University playing the New York Rangers and beating them.

Professional broadcaster Al Michaels said: "11 seconds, you've got 10 seconds, the countdown going right now! Morrow to Silk. 5 seconds left in the game. Do you believe in miracles? YES!"

It wasn't event the gold medal round. The U.S. team still had to beat Finland the next day. They managed to win that one too, 4-2.

So yes, I DO believe in miracles. And my life is the better for it.

Carry on,

Paul in Potsdam

<http:www2.potsdam.edu/loucksap>

<http:smugmug.com/loucksap>

<http:madstop68.blogstop.com/>

Genealogy

Dear reader,

I an an inveterate tracker of ancestors. I have made many advances.

I am related through the Bradt family to Cornplanter, the great Seneca chief during the War of the Revolution. There are connections to the blood lines of the Sculyler family in Beverwyck or Albany. I have a Dutch ancestor who arrived in New Amsterdam on the ship Endracht in New Netherlands in 1624, and in my Schermerhorn line, I am connected to the Astor family. Phillip Schuyler is an uncle, and Philip Gansevoort is a cousin by marriage. I am a Palatine who arrived in 1710 from the Rhineland Pfaltz, with Mebies and Dygerts in the mix. In short, I am (and my descendents) are the forefathers of Revolutionary America in the Mohawk Valley. We were patriots to the core, a fact that I am quite proud of.

As an undergraduate, I was attracted to English Literature. I should have majored in history. It is just so much more fun!

The goal in front of me is to record all of this in a narrative that my kids will understand and respect. Now that's a challenge...

But for the time being I continue to pursue my roots. It is just SO addictive.

I don't expect any of you to indulge in my habit. Then again, I AM German/Dutch on my paternal side. As for my maternal lines, I discovered via DNA testing that Finland settles in nicely. Philip Hilduinen sounds a bit strange even to me, but his exploitations make me proud. I seem to have evolved from explorers and adventurers. I think that's a good thing.

So that's my blog for the day.

Carry on,

Paul in Potsdam
<http://www2potdam.edu/loucksap:>
<http://smugmug.com/>
<http://madstop68.blogspot.com/ >

The coloring contest...

My mother shopped at Loblaws. Anyone remember that grocery chain? Actually, I saw a Loblaws from the train window on my way to Toronto recently. Maybe they're now completely Canadian.

At any rate, back in 1952, at the age of nine, my older sister convinced me that I should enter the Jamestown, NY Loblaws coloring contest. Cynthia, may her soul rest in peace, was always agitating me to heights of glory. Since she was an idol of sorts, I took her challenges very seriously.

This is the way it unraveled. One picked up the coloring book and colored away like crazy! There would be 10 winners. Thinking back upon the experience, I have no idea what constituted the grand prize. I was simply challenged by the event. Cynthia, in her own inimical way, simultaneously enchanted me into either carrying the day or suffering inconsolable defeat.

I did color away like crazy! I submitted my entry. I was like Ralphie, daydreaming of glory against Black Bart.

Cynthia entered the contest too, but I don't think her heart was in it. I worked very hard at staying within the lines. And I used unusual color combinations. Maybe I was just dyslectic...

Drum roll please. I won third prize!! My sister finished 10th. It is the only contest I've EVER won, although I once won $25 in the NYS lottery for having four numbers.

So guess what my award was? A trip to Hawaii? Hardly. How about a gift certificate for a gallon of ice cream? Enough of such dreaming...

Third prize was a Kodak Brownie Camera with accessories! It's the only major award I've ever won. And can you imagine? My own camera at the age of nine? It may even have been my 15 seconds of fame. It was even marked FRA-GILLE!

The whole package came in one big box. And it was a brazenly epic event. Cynthia remained gracious. She was not one to hold grudges. But for me it was an introduction to a whole new world.

I think I wore out my Kodak Brownie camera. And even my dad used it on family vacations. Our shoebox, snapshot collection is extant to this day. And frankly, I think it was the beginning of my  lifelong affair with the art of photography.

Today, Kodak is filling the news. As a young adult, I used their mainstay products, Kodacolor, Tri-X and Kodagold. And Rochester, NY was not that far from where I grew up. My high school's brightest and best became employees at Kodak. It was a blue chip stock and worth every penny spent on it.

In the news tonight I learned that Kodak's stock is under 50 cents a share. And the New York Stock Exchange is about to delete Kodak from the big board. Alas, they have tried. They even have patents valued at a little over a billion dollars sitting out there for auction. There aren't even any takers. Kodak is about to go into Chapter 11 proceedings. In Rochester, it is the end of the world.

I'm not going to offer any insights or explanations. Quite simply, we don't use film anymore. And unlike the tobacco industry -- that re-adjusted to selling alcohol in foreign markets, Kodak tried entering the market against SONY and Samsung. And then they tried making ink jet printers. It is a sad demise.

One can only project that Kodak is at the end of a long and prosperous run. It is sad, but it is, likewise, the dawn of a new era. Think digital...

Carry on,

Paul in Potsdam
http://www2.potsdam.edu/loucksap
smugmug.com/loucksap
madstop68.blogspot.com/

Dear reader,

I generally watch the evening network news. And I've read how marketers choose to advertise their products during the news hour. Obviously, it depends on the audience. I hate to admit it, but I qualify as a senior citizen, and the products they advertise are geared toward my age group -- everything from Dulcolax to GERD relief.

There is, however, at least one commercial per evening, regardless of the network, that pitches male sexual dysfunction remedies. It is the Cialis commercial. It always begins with a simple touch or random exchange of eye contact between a heterosexual couple. And invariably and without exception, it ends with cautionary remarks about the dangers of priapism with the same two people sitting in separate bathtubs at the seashore or overlooking a grand vista or watching a sunset.

So here's my question. What the heck do the bathtubs represent here? I mean, these couples are never shown embracing or in a pose representing their sexuality or expectations for great sex. They invariably end up discussing the dangers of using Cialis and then hop into their separate bathtubs.

Is that crazy or what? I mean, the whole pitch ought to focus on enhancing the male sexual experience while emphasizing consensual carnal pleasures -- and instead they give us two fools soaking in separate bathtubs. How crazy is that?

I'm just saying that Madison Avenue and Big Pharma are very carefully avoiding what comes naturally. Well, actually, it isn't really natural at all. It's downright stupid.

Carry on,

Paul in Potsdam