From: Gary S. Gevisser

Sent: Tuesday, August 20, 2002 11:25 AM
To: Ed F.
Subject: Perfect Storm VII


Thank you for sharing you positive thoughts on "health and friendship." We have a choice in choosing our friends and partners, personal and business, but little choice it seems in choosing our kids to mention little of our parents and siblings. Like the sun, my "step children" whose father also happens to be a pathologist have both positive and negative features and I am constantly glazing in to see what causes them to switch on and off.


Our engineer friend who lives with them and their mother says that the sun is possibly "bi-polar" and this week's issue of Time Magazine has a feature story on bi-polar kids. I have yet to finish the article butt it probably has little bearing on most parents who constantly rip and tear at their children’s' emotional strings while using the purse strings to wreck havoc in keeping up with the Jones. All it really takes is just one small train smash after another until of course folks like yourself get to see it all on the tail end. Why do you think nature had us remove our tails, what about our heels?


The kids clearly don't have "my jeans" [sic] butt I have provided them with the armor to stand up to suggestions coming from the hindquarters. Kids are simply ill equipped to deal with their parent’s hot air, farts to boot, especially if either parent overindulges.


I would love to know if there is a positive correlation between certain types of diseases and "phat" [sic] people who are not so cool when it comes to the raising of their children who may exhibit stuff along the lines of spending an inordinate amount of time in their rooms all cooped up, waking up around noon, sometimes later and then at first light flying-the-coop, repeating the same rinse and wash cycle when they become parents.


I am, however, much more interested in the exceptions, those kids who despite horrific parenting manage to turn out okay; what exactly insulates them from being "p-errantly scarred" [sic] by the shortcomings of their parents, particularly the hypocrisy they hear day in and especially at night when the parents think they are sound asleep? I sure hope none of this rings tTOo loud a bell.


Sum parents especially in "broken homes" often get others to shoot their arrows, the better educated the more adept at conning others to hang out their dirty laundry. Some folks even bring in their parents to help out, and the planting of seeds go back and forth, like a see-saw until the kids get off their backsides and say, "Enough is Enough!."


When my travel companion, their mother, and I recently visited Peru we stayed at a hostel called Rupa Wasi which I had visited previously earlier in the year. In the mornings we would be awakened by roosters sitting on top of the roofs below darting in and around the hanging laundry. It was quite a sight. Unfortunately we didn't get a photograph. She has spoken about doing a painting of that scene.


Earlier today I updated the email I sent the Bank of America manager which now includes my travel companion's "latest peace" [sic] offering. This "pr-offer" [sic] is in charcoal and there is always the possibility she might decide to do it in oil. I took the photo of this rather well informed German gentlemen when visiting a war museum in Lima, Peru. I happened to come across a collection of Nazi memorabilia and there was a knife with the words "Blut und E..." engraved. Even though my name is German I don't speak German and so I asked this gentlemen who was standing next to, who seemed equally fascinated, to translate the words for me, "Blood and honor."


Those are quite sum powerful words. AND it is all in the translation. And the question is who is doing the translation for the young. We hide all this stuff from their eyes and we also hide the truth of how it all came about. By burying these relics we do the memories of the innocent quite an injustice, especially those who resisted, those who saw the writing on the wall long before war eventually broke out, who tried to get their neighbors to stand tall with them and beat off the Brown Shirt thugs, stripping them of their robes and what do have?


A couple of years ago I wrote a story about such an emperor without clothes describing such an incident that took place in 1933 just some 30 miles from Berlin. The reaction of my "Knotty" Jewish friends and family was quite sumthing. These "piece emails" [sic] were part of "my final peace" which I pulled together back on December 1st 2000 to coincide with the anniversary of the death of Israel's first prime minister, David Ben Gurion. This "mini series" was sent to Randall Kaplan a not so “lucky guy” who ran into me, although he and I have never met. At sumpoint I will place this "piece" on one of my websites, maybe the "" would be most apt?


Oh those roosters who bring home the bacon; just another excuse to visit Machu Picchu. The similarities are all tTOo apparent to me [AND my clos-et horse Marie – non-sic]. The striking resemblances, between the old of today and those that came before them who repeat the same dogma, who breath the same intoxicants into the blood stream of the young. There is no honor when the milkshake you concoct is made up of such evil spirits, no matter how good it tastes. Dates are to be recorded for the kids who have no idea what is really being served up. All they know is that what they are told by their parents who themselves took a beating and then they turn on the TV for relief.


A good friend of mine is the single child of two holocaust survivors. He is living proof of what it means to be raised by victims knowing full well who is the one who really suffers. Most of the Jewish people I know today are victims. In the past, going back perhaps as recently as the mid 1800s they were survivors butt that breed died off it seems with the death of David Ben Gurion. My great grandmother who was a survivor of a pogrom around 1850 came from the same tiny village as Ben Gurion, a place called Poinsk in what some refer to as White Russia. There is another much larger town of the same name. Eventually, this amazing woman who as a child watched her entire family being slaughtered would settle in Israel for a while. We have no record of whether she and David Ben Gurion ever met up again. It is likely though they did. As a 15 year old I met with him just 13 months to the day before he passed away.


Fortunately, neither of my step-kids suffer as much as other children I know who live in the same affluent neighborhood. Neither "my Jonathan" who is soon to be 10 and "my Danielle" a teenager still AND still very much wanting to do the right thing, exhibit tunnel vision, just a "byte of myopia" [sic] AND nor do they spend an inordinate amount of time in their rooms and they certainly don't sleep in until "noon sum times one" [sic]. They are thankfully still pretty early risers. AND s-he listen very well. It was in fact Jonathan who came and told me about this one woman whose children have given up on parenting her.


I often wonder about folks who sleep in late who rarely get to see the sun rise and absorb its treasures each and every day. I try as best I can to see both the sun rise and the sun set each and every day, especially now.


One is everything and nothing without the other. Both kids are interconnected yet separate and apart with their thoughts.


I met a photographer from the local newspaper here in San Diego last evening as Paul, our engineer-cum-carpenter friend and I were jogging along what is commonly referred to as "dog's beach." We had spent most of the weekend laying down a wood floor in Danielle's bedroom that is “around” 120 square feet. We could have probably bought an ocean front house if we were to have charged for our time. I mostly helped measure. Ocean front property even in Del Mar could get cheap, relatively that is as the “wars to end all wars” heat up. If however, we give the politicians a dunking come this November then all is not lost. I will be advocating that no one show up at the polls and we photograph those who do, asking them if they have checked out the Nextraterrestrial website as we get their name and permission to use their likeness, if not then we will stick to cartoon images superimposed on their bodies.


By the time all the glue had been applied to the base boards Paul and I needed a breath of fresh air. We both felt that a little smell of glue wouldn’t hurt Danielle’s taste buds. There was, however, quite a lot of dust but no collateral damage that I could see butt it was there. Her mother though is a great sweeper. She has even a better “write” [non-sic] and I wouldn’t mess with her left either, although she is pretty conservative in her politics, i.e. she wouldn’t right now leave it to her neighbors to raise her kids, certainly not in her last neighborhood which actually had an excellent view of Torrey Pines her favorite spot in this neck of the woods that gets eaten away with each passing tide.


The photographer approached us for our names as he had just taken a photograph of Paul and I and wanted to place the photo in today's edition of the San Diego Union Tribune. Sean Haffey must have decided that we weren't photogenic or not happy enough because the photo he ended up using included the picture of a dog that wasn't nearly as good looking as mine although he could be better behaved, which I doubt.


If you had been reading some of the other hyperlinks you will have come across the fact that I took my dog when he was just 8 months old to South America where everyone including the well-trained security staff at both Los Angeles International Airport and George W. Bush airport in Houston thought he was a guide dog. He does though tend to whine a little when I leave his side, which obviously I wasn't dumb enough to do while traveling to mention little of the first class treatment we both received while paying economy for one. And going tTOo the bathroom was quite a synch. Most important of all no one got burned by the experience including the captain on one of the flights who eventually ducked into the head once he found out that the dog was not a trained guide dog AND that neither Pypeetoe nor his golf-club-leash-head which was truly manufactured by a third world military contractor had been checked.


By the way the dog never once went to the bathroom even to pee on any leg of the trip butt as soon as we got off he would do his thing and most of the time I was well prepared. Before the captain raced off to the head he checked into the cockpit to see if in the fact the co-pilot had taken the plane off automatic-pilot as I had asked, "Who is really flying this plane?" just as he ended his third practice swing, "dog leg to the write" [sic]. I have another "I-brow" [sic] raising story that I will tell you about at a later time.


I do think, however, that there is a positive correlation between the obedience of a dog and the chaotic mind of its handler. I for one plan to advocate on our websites a series of questions would be partners should ask of each other before tying the knot.


Today I am very much into smooth sailing butt in order to set a true course we need to make certain we have the right rigging-webbing in place which means I am slowly going through a sifting process to make certain I have the best of the best writers, philosophers and mostly doers on board.


I responded earlier this morning to a friend of mine who I haven't “scene or spoken” [sic] to in some 20+ years. He received the same emails you did. If you are interested you can click on this "Wake up Call", WAK for short. By the way the word “braai” is South African for “bar-be-que.”


I have suggested to both my "step kinds" [sic] that they check out your website to understand what balance is all about. Their father's mantra, "Let me show you how" saves him not having to produce a calling card, a "telltail" [sic] sign of folks who run around in circles repeating the same mistakes day in, till when they check out. "A fishing mate" more so than a parent although their father is known to bring home several species of birds who once feeling entrapped send off alarms bells so high that only those on fishing expeditions tuned in to the highest of pitches can respond with an arsenal of weaponry to his fast balls thrown at or near head BUTT when it is my chance to pitch I deliver knuckleballs if necessary although I prefer simply to make love; feasting on fools though pollutes the mind to avoid as much as crooks.


There is the old question, "Who do you want to be in business with, an honest fool or a clever crook?" Of course the answer is your dogANDman “behaving wright” [sic]. Both Jonathan and his father love to fish and surf butt his father is as far removed from understanding the frequency of the waves as he is in understanding what makes people including his daughter tick. Wait till I start on the neighbors!


You will see that my emails will "bet shorter and sweater" [sic] in time. My travel companion, subscribes to the notion that every meal course should be crunchy, chewy, salty and sweat. I subscribe though to the “motion of horse for courses” [sic] and I am certainly no Titan, nor am I a knit-wit but I know "quiet a byte about sticking to my knitting" [sic].


Why do you think it is that we get "pins and needles" when we don't move...---...heckle enough? Do you think other animal species suffer fools as badly as "the sons of us" [sic].





From: Ed F

Sent: Friday, August 16, 2002 7:08 PM

To: Gary S. Gevisser

Subject: Re: Perfect Storm?


Thank you for sharing.  I am glad you enjoyed visiting my "Prometheus"

website.  I bank with "Bank of America" myself.  Health and