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Yearly Archives: 2023

Back to O’ahu

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Martine by a Banyan Tree in Kapi’olani Regional Park

This fall, Martine and I are returning to Honolulu. If I had my druthers, I would prefer tracking down obscure Maya ruins in Yucatán, but if I did, I would have to do it alone. And I am getting to an age where that is becoming a bit on the dangerous side for me. Also, as I enjoy traveling with Martine to places that she likes, it adds an extra level of enjoyment for me.

Last year, we concentrated our efforts visiting the Iolani Palace, the Bishop Museum, the Zoo, the Aquarium, and the Foster Botanical Garden. This time, we could visit Queen Emma’s Summer Palace, the Lyons Botanical Garden, the military museum at Fort DeRussy (Martine worked for years as a civilian Army employee), and any number of other places—possibly including another visit to the ethnological riches of the Bishop Museum.

Tomorrow morning, Martine and I will drive down to the Auto Club in Culver City and pick a flight and hotel. I wouldn’t mind staying at the Malia again, even though it is no longer owned by Outrigger Hotels. The area of Waikiki around Kuhio Avenue and Lewers Street may be a few blocks from the beach; but as we are not beach people, we don’t mind. It is right by the bus stop at that intersection which will take us anywhere we want to go.

We still have our HOLO senior ride discount cards for the Honolulu bus system. We just have to add a few dollars of stored value to our cards. That way we can avoid the expense of renting a car and paying big bucks to garage it at our hotel.

The Master

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Gautama Buddha

The following is a section from the Shambhala Pocket Classics edition of Dhammapada: The Sayings of the Buddha as translated by Thomas Byrom. It is called “The Master.”

At the end of the way
The master finds freedom
From desire and sorrow—
Freedom without bounds.

Those who awaken
Never rest in one place.
Like swans, they rise
And leave the lake.

On the air they rise
And fly an invisible course,
Gathering nothing, storing nothing.
Their food is knowledge.
They live upon emptiness.
They have seen how to break free.

Who can follow them?
Only the master.
Such is his purity.

Like a bird,
He rises on the limitless air
And flies an invisible course.
He wishes for nothing.
His food is knowledge.
He lives upon emptiness.
He has broken free.

He is the charioteer.
He has tamed his horses,
Pride and the senses.
Even the gods admire him.

Yielding like the earth,
Joyous and clear like the lake,
Still as a stone at the door,
He is free from life and death.

His thoughts are still.
His words are still.
His work is stillness.
He sees his freedom and is free.

The master surrenders his beliefs.
He sees beyond the end and the beginning.

He cuts all ties.
He gives up all his desires.
He resists all temptations.
And he rises.

And wherever he lives,
In the city or in the country,
In the valley or in the hills,
There is great joy.

Even in the empty forest
He finds joy 
Because he wants nothing.

An Experiment in AI

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El Castillo at Chichén Itza Being Struck by Lightning

Except for this first paragraph and the photo caption above, this post was created by ChatGTP. I wanted to see what the program could do with a topic I proposed (“Discuss the many dialects of the Maya language”) accompanied by a picture of a Maya pyramid being struck by lightning. Let’s take the picture first: ChatGTP seems to think that the Castillo at Chichén Itza is the only Maya pyramid. Personally, I would have chosen the Temple of the Dwarf at Uxmal. In the AI discussion of Maya dialects below, ChatGPT starts with the patently false statement that Maya is also known as Yucatec Maya. Not so, Yucatec Maya is the most populous dialect of Maya, but the statement confuses a part with the whole. The rest is not objectionable, except that ChatGPT does not attempt to quantify the number of speakers of each dialect.

The Maya language, often referred to as Yucatec Maya, is a language spoken by the indigenous Maya people in Mexico, Belize, Guatemala, and Honduras. While Yucatec Maya is the most widely spoken and recognized dialect, there are actually many dialects within the Maya language family. These dialects exhibit variations in vocabulary, pronunciation, grammar, and even some differences in syntax.

Here are some notable dialects of the Maya language:

  • Yucatec Maya: This is the most prominent dialect and is primarily spoken in the Yucatán Peninsula of Mexico, including the states of Yucatán, Campeche, and Quintana Roo. Yucatec Maya has the largest number of speakers among the Maya languages.
  • K’iche’ Maya: K’iche’ is one of the largest Maya language groups, spoken mainly in Guatemala. It has several regional variations, and the dialect spoken in the city of Quetzaltenango (Xela) is considered the standard. K’iche’ Maya gained recognition for being the language of the Popol Vuh, a sacred book of the Maya.
  • Tzotzil Maya: Tzotzil is spoken in the Chiapas region of Mexico, primarily in the highlands. It is one of the most widely spoken indigenous languages in Mexico, and it has a significant number of speakers.
  • Tzeltal Maya: Another major Maya language of the Chiapas region in Mexico is Tzeltal. It is closely related to Tzotzil and shares some similarities. Tzeltal is spoken by a sizable population and has various dialectal variations.
  • Mam Maya: Mam is spoken in Guatemala and parts of Mexico. It is known for having a considerable number of speakers and is recognized as one of the major Maya languages.
  • Q’anjob’al Maya: Q’anjob’al is spoken in Guatemala, mainly in the western highlands. It has a significant number of speakers and is recognized as an official language in Guatemala.
  • Ch’ol Maya: Ch’ol is spoken in the state of Chiapas in Mexico. It has a substantial number of speakers and is considered a separate branch of the Maya language family.
  • Itzá Maya: Itzá is spoken by the Itza people in the Petén region of Guatemala. Itzá is considered a distinct dialect within the Yucatec Maya branch.

These are just a few examples of the diverse Maya language family, and there are many more dialects and variations within each branch. Each dialect has its own unique characteristics, influenced by regional differences and historical factors. The preservation and revitalization of these dialects are crucial for maintaining the rich cultural heritage and identity of the Maya people.

One Word: Plastic

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Do We Eat a Credit Card Worth of Plastic Every Week?

In 2019, the World Wildlife Fund quoted research from the University of Newcastle, Australia, to the effect that all of us eat a credit card worth of plastic in our food every week. I have heard the expression that you have to eat a peck of dirt before you die, but this is ridiculous. I read an article entitled “No, you don’t eat a credit card worth of plastic every week. But you still swallow a lot of it” on Salon.Com.

Although plastics of various sorts have been around for decades, they have not been studied as intensively as they deserve to be. After all, we as a people tend to be early adopters of convenient new technologies. It is only later that the grim news hits the streets.

It’s the same with cell phones. There have been arguments pro and con about the phones causing brain cancer, but it is very likely that there are other ill effects that will not come out for years. Back in the mid 1980s, I was involved selling demographic data for telephone service providers to be used in deciding where to erect cell phone towers. Now I feel somewhat guilty about my participation in this effort.

Getting back to plastics, an article in the journal Environmental Health Perspectives stated:

Current estimates suggest that over 10,000 unique chemicals are linked to chemical manufacturing, many with unknown health effects and others identified as chemicals of concern. With such a large number of chemicals, it is very challenging to identify the key exposures we should be measuring to study health impacts of microplastics, as well as understanding their levels in humans.

Dr. Shanna Swan, a professor of environmental medicine and public health at Mount Sinai School of Medicine in New York City, has documented plummeting human sperm counts possibly being affected by widespread plastic pollution: “I think it is important to note that micro and nanoplastics (MNPs) can increase the body burden of the previously recognized — and often studied — chemicals in plastic (most notably phthalates, bisphenols, parabens etc.).”

I suppose we’ll find out the whole truth eventually, but not before the human species has been irretrievably changed by the prevalence of plastics in our environment and our food.

A Few Days in Uruguay

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Street Scene in Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay

In November 2011, Martine and I spent two and a half weeks in Argentina, plus a few days in Colonia del Sacramento, just across the River Plate from Buenos Aires. With a population of three and a half million people, Buenos Aires was at times a bit much for Martine, especially when she had to ride the crowded buses and subways.

So I planned in advance for a mini-vacation from the crowds of Buenos Aires by taking a ferry across the Plate to Colonia del Sacramento in nearby Uruguay. Colonia is, in fact, where Porteños (that’s what the residents of Buenos Aires call themselves) go when the big city is too much for them.

With only 27,000 people, Colonia is a 17th century town founded by Brazil. The streets are mostly all cobblestone, and there are a half dozen small pokey museums that are good for about an hour each.

A Tasty Restaurant Within Sight of the Atlantic

As a getaway, Colonia del Sacramento was a roaring success. We stayed at an old bed & breakfast that was at least three hundred years old. We lazily trod the cobblestones going from sight to sight, and eating some tasty steak dinners. We went back to Buenos Aires for one day before catching a flight to Patagonia, which is an entirely different story.

In Praise of Minor Writers

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A Collection of Books by Arthur Machen (1863-1947)

Even if you have not read all the famous books by the universally acknowledged great writers, it is fun to root around the work of more minor writers. Such a one is Arthur Machen, born Arthur Llewellyn Jones in Caerleon-on-Usk in Wales. He is probably best known for his early horror stories, particularly The Great God Pan (1894), The Three Impostors (1895), and The Hill of Dreams (1907). You can read these with great enjoyment, but then, too, there are his essays, such as Dog and Duck (1924); his translations, such as The Memoirs of Casanova; and his three-part autobiography.

I have always found that if you cast your net widely, you will come up with a whole slew of interesting writers—and these will inevitably direct you to other works worth reading.

In addition to Arthur Machen, here are some of my other favorite minor British writers:

  • G. K. Chesterton is one of my favorite writers … period … for his novels, short stories, essays, and poems
  • Hilaire Belloc, friend of Chesterton, was born in France and wrote in a number of genres
  • Ernest Bramah, a tea merchant, author of stories starring the blind detective Max Carrados and the Chinese sage Kai Lung
  • Arthur Morrison wrote great mysteries and a very Dickensian novel The Hole in the Wall
  • Some great horror writers: W. W. Jacobs (“The Monkey’s Paw”); M. R. James (Ghost Stories of an Antiquary); Algernon Blackwood (“The Willows”); and Oliver Onions (Widdershins)
  • Richard Austin Freeman, author of the Dr. Thorndyke detective stories

I see that all the above authors were either late Victorian or Edwardian writers. And I notice that the list could have been at least five times as long had I tried harder. But then, I always thought that it was too tempting to go overboard on lists: no more than six bulleted items is best.

Bukowski Had It Right

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At the Corner of West 5th Street and South Grand in Downtown L.A.

It’s just outside the Central Library, a square (actually, just an intersection) dedicated to the Los Angeles writer John Fante (1909-1983). He is not well known outside of Los Angeles, In fact, he is not well known in Los Angeles either. Fortunately, Charles Bukowski made sure he was not forgotten:

I was a young man, starving and drinking and trying to be a writer. I did most of my reading at the downtown L.A. Public Library, and nothing that I read related to me or to the streets or to the people about me.”

Then one day I pulled a book down and opened it, and there it was. I stood for a moment, reading. Then like a man who had found gold in the city dump, I carried the book to a table. The lines rolled easily across the page, there was a flow. Each line had its own energy and was followed by another like it. The very substance of each line gave the page a form, a feeling of something carved into it. And here, at last, was a man who was not afraid of emotion. The humour and the pain were intermixed with a superb simplicity. The beginning of that book was a wild and enormous miracle to me.

This was in Bukowski’s introduction to the book he describes, John Fante’s Ask the Dust.

Having read four of Fante’s novels, I have to agree. I have just finished Dreams from Bunker Hill, the last of the novels featuring Arturo Bandini, the author’s stand-in for himself. Toward the end of his life, Fante became blind from diabetes; and he dictated the novel to his wife, Joyce.

As I find myself at the Central Library fairly often, I take some pleasure crossing John Fante square and remembering the writer who gave us an inimitable portrait of Los Angeles in his novels.

The Destruction of the Jaguar

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After the Spanish conquistadores conquered the Maya peoples, they published one more work in Maya. It was called The Chilam Balam of Chumayel and consisted of a series of prophetic books looking pessimistically into the future. The poet Christopher Sawyer-Lauçanno in The Destruction of the Jaguar wrote a poetic retelling of these prophecies. Below is the prophecy of Ah Kauil Chel:

What has been written
will be fulfilled.
Though you may not comprehend it
though you may not understand it
he will come who knows
how the ages unfold
like the stone steps
on the palace of the governor.
For now
the priests, the prophets
will interpret
what is to be fulfilled,
shall herald with sorrow
the destruction of the jaguar.

Is It Curtains for Trump?

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No, It’s Not Biden or the Justice Department This Time

It was during the 2016 presidential campaign at a stop in Sioux Center, Iowa, when Candidate Trump said, “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody, and I wouldn’t lose any voters, OK? … It’s, like, incredible.” It was then that the Candidate began to believe in his own invincibility. All those rallies with adoring MAGA-hatted spectators must have further convinced him.

What Trump did not take into account were the people who did not like him. That number has been growing—slowly, perhaps—but steadily. So steadily that a grand jury delivered an indictment for 37 counts relating to the mishandling of archival materials that were stored at the ex-Prez’s compound at Mar-a-Lago.

Take note that it was not President Biden who indicted him, nor even the Department of Justice. It was a number of average citizens serving on a grand jury that were appalled by the Trumpster’s manipulative dealings with the National Archives, and by the fact that papers relating to the military strengths and weaknesses of the United States were being shown around to Mar-a-Lago visitors and members.

Was Trump showing any of these papers to his good friendsNorth Korean President Kim Jong Un? Recdcep Erdogan of Turkey? Xi Jinping of China? Vladimir Putin? Three of the above dictators may well be at war with us at some future date. Isn’t that espionage?

This could be bad news for the formerly thought-to-be-invincible former president. Am I surprised? No.

Scarebabes

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The Scary Flag of Irkutsk Oblast in Siberia

This post is about the things that scared me as a child. In it, I go back as far as I can in my memory banks, back to before I was two years old. There are three things that scared me around that age.

First and foremost was … would you believe … toilet training. We were living in the Hungarian Buckeye Road neighborhood of Cleveland, and my great grandmother was living with us. She was born in Felcsut (pronounced FEL-choot) in the province of Fehérmegye (don’t even TRY to pronounce that one) sometime around 1880. She was old school. Not only that, she didn’t particularly like me at that time because I was the son of that fuszóru Tóth (cock-nosed Slovak) who was my father. (She was later to love my brother me and me, but never my father.) Therefore, she was fairly brutal about my toilet training.

I remember my nightmares at the time. I was seated on the toilet and the walls of the bathroom would close in on me with the roaring sound of a steam locomotive. That occurred fairly regularly as I recall.

As an infant in the crib, I had a boogeyman which I couldn’t exactly describe, only that I knew him as the Lobogó (LOH-boh-goh), which is one of the Hungarian words for flag. It’s odd, because I wasn’t afraid of flags as such, just that word that sounded so sinister to me. My Mom would kid me that there was never any danger from the Lobogó.

Finally, I remember a series of nightmares I had in which I was being chased by a lion. My Mom and Dad must have taken me to the zoo, because how would I know about the existence of lions. This was at least two years before I ever saw a television set. It could have been in a fairy tale that my mother told me. She would make up wonderful stories about a fairy princess (tündérleány) in the dark forest (sötét erdő). A lion must have wandered into one of her tales.

The image above, which is the flag of Irkutsk Oblast in Siberia, combines the dread Lobogó (flag) with my lion nightmares. I particularly like the red eyes.

Sorry for all the Hungarian words, but at the time I didn’t know a word of English, or even that the English language existed.