tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33807468953455486982024-02-20T07:31:54.979-08:00I Just Happened To Be ThereJohn Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-13001695228821827662013-10-26T06:38:00.002-07:002013-10-26T06:38:15.720-07:00John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-13451504137066476892013-10-26T06:34:00.000-07:002013-10-26T06:34:10.726-07:00John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-24760276026326304202012-04-09T06:27:00.001-07:002012-04-09T06:27:47.061-07:00My Book Is Here!Please go to my website for more http://www.johnmolinari.com/Home.htmlJohn Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-25791275448866274682012-02-08T11:37:00.000-08:002012-02-16T04:41:29.102-08:00My New eBook<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaxLzEe1rfc8DUMfIxFkx3qE4MF3IDnV7px20Ja72mJ3pZGtZtXl8nCuBntWplH6dMfV82M6WhvmdfZustjFpmCBO-GRFIDZArUlVK8X8_2rd0C4mlBe5fikauw7-EVMq2xwmCCxGwRqLL/s1600/Molinari+Jacket.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 207px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaxLzEe1rfc8DUMfIxFkx3qE4MF3IDnV7px20Ja72mJ3pZGtZtXl8nCuBntWplH6dMfV82M6WhvmdfZustjFpmCBO-GRFIDZArUlVK8X8_2rd0C4mlBe5fikauw7-EVMq2xwmCCxGwRqLL/s320/Molinari+Jacket.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706851568071950098" /></a><br /> <br /><br />COMING SOON AN EBOOK ORIGINAL WITH A WORLDWIDE RELEASE TO WHEREVER EBOOKS ARE SOLD<br />Read All About It BelowJohn Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-2504546628999361232011-01-27T08:06:00.000-08:002011-01-27T08:07:37.277-08:00My Book: I JUST HAPPENED TO BE THEREI Just Happened To Be There <br />By John Molinari<br /><br /><br />OVERVIEW<br />I Just Happened To Be There is an unapologetic view of guiltless exploration with humor, and a passion so great that it almost consumed and destroyed.<br />Did you ever enjoy something so much that you wanted more? Did you ever wonder where enjoying endlessly would take you? What if you found out you were really seeking answers to something special but did not know what it was? How far would you go to find out?<br />Go no further than, I Just Happened To Be There, a collection of autobiographical stories about a journey, which took root during the social unrest of the 1960s, and evolved into a living-large lifestyle in the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s. A lifestyle that landed me front-and-center alongside some of the most famous, iconic figures of the times. <br /><br /> These personal explorations, which went to such extremes, took me to corners of the world that I never dreamed I would see, and always to the farthest depths of my mind and soul. With each exploration I came to a place where I could go no further, it was then that I would magically meet the icon that owned the genre. Whether the genre was the world’s greatest drinkers, experimental drug explorers, musicians, singers, actors, comedians, poets, writers, leaders of political movements, or assorted wiseguys, to Indian spiritual teachers at the top of their enlightened mountains, I managed to meet them. In I Just Happened To Be There, I share my encounters with icons like Jimi Hendrix, Timothy Leary, Abbie Hoffman, Allen Ginsberg, Robin Williams, Frank Sinatra, Gregory Peck, Underworld Figures, Indian Guru’s and many more. I did not start out to meet anyone or to discover any of life’s mysteries, it was simply the result of taking something, anything, and everything as far as one could go.<br /><br />There are books about the sixties; it’s music, social unrest, drug experiments, and various alternative living lifestyles. There are also books on spiritual exploration, with journeys to India and other such epicenters, and books on life’s extreme pursuits, of pushing boundaries, and sharing what they learned. <br /> However there has been no other book until now, that brings it all together under one umbrella, one person; one adventurous spirit at it’s most extreme. I Just Happened To Be There is a great love story told by one of life’s biggest fans to the love of his life.<br /><br /><br /><br />OUTLINE<br /><br />1. Preface<br /><br />GEE YOU ARE YOU. During a near-drowning incident as a child, a comforting vision appears to me—an omen of things to come, and a precursor to a life-long inner struggle between my over-adventurous, worldly spirit and my spirituality.<br /><br />2. Coming Of Age, Or When Coming Is No Longer Enough<br /><br />THE SIXTIES. Welcome to my generation – from sex, drugs, and rock & roll, to political turbulence and activism. Exciting times of exploration and unrest.<br /><br />FOOTPRINTS IN THE SANDS OF TIME? CLOSE, BUT NO JOINT! My friendship with fellow explorers Timothy Leary, Abbie Hoffman, Allen Ginsberg, and others; Knocking on John and Yoko’s door, a close call with history.<br /><br />JIMI. Tripping with the greatest rock guitarist in the world.<br /><br />KEYSTONE JUNKIES. How far would you go to save your friends? A darkly humorous look at my attempt to rescue those I care about from the brink of heroin addiction. <br /><br />THE PARTY’S OVER. Stanislavsky set the bar high, Ken Kesey pranked his way through it; Owsley’s LSD; Fast-tracking my search for spiritual bliss lands me in the hospital; No sympathy for the devil at Altamont.<br /><br />CALIFORNIA OR BUST. Arrested for possession of pot in upstate NY; Pushing the legal envelope, I take my last trip in Toronto, catching the now-historic Festival Express concert tour; Going stir-crazy on probation, and longing for Berkeley, my friend and I hatch a plot.<br /><br />RAG THEATER. Retail clothing and protest play out against the drama of People’s Park. We’re Mod and we’re not gonna take it anymore! <br /><br />MY PASSAGE TO INDIA. Three months of magic and mysticism; studies of my Spiritual Path; Speaking to a crowd of 150,000 on universal harmony.<br /><br />3. How I Fell Off The Spiritual Bandwagon And Landed On A Bar Stool<br /><br />SITTING HERE IN LIMBO. Back from India, giving spiritual talks; struggling to balance my newfound clarity and the pull of the “real” world - my Spiritual Compass vs. my Inner Bad Boy; Weakening and rediscovering the joys of drink.<br /><br />ALL-IN. The struggle continues, but fun sets in; On meditating and drinking; A change of role models – goodbye Grateful Dead, hello Rat Pack.<br />THE WOW. An old acquaintance becomes an instant drinking buddy; Debauchery, and Fear and Loafing in Las Vegas.<br /><br />DO AS THE ROMANS DO. Working hard, playing hard, and drinking hard, sets the stage for a fall. After a doctor orders absolute abstinence and rest, what’s a Bad Boy to do? Head straight to the casinos of Lake Tahoe!<br /><br />I OUGHT TO BE IN PICTURES. Nevada-bound and questioning the wisdom of the trip (and my new lifestyle); Pondering how life imitates art, in my case, the movies. <br /><br />PLAYING THE FIELD. Low on funds at Harrah’s, I throw caution to the wind. Call me irresponsible, but Lady Luck is on my arm.<br /><br />YO-LEVEN. Riding the emotional roller coaster of high-stakes dice and conspicuous consumption; Hitting rock bottom - a stone’s throw from salvation.<br /><br />4. Hollywood<br /><br />BEHIND BARS. Making the move to Los Angeles to chase a dream; Exploring the glamorous history of Tinseltown’s drinking establishments; Getting some golden advice from a star of the silver screen.<br /><br />THE ROCHESTER CONNECTION. Hooking up with some boys from the hood, old and new; An eerie visit to the scene of one of L.A.’s most brutal and highly publicized crimes.<br /><br />THE DAY I MET MY MARX BROTHER. A chance meeting with Bob Marx turns into a great friendship, and opens the door to the Hollywood fast lane.<br /><br />OFF BASE. How I ended up at the wrong end of Gregory Peck’s baseball bat.<br /><br />YOU ARE SO BEAUTIFUL. Meeting the Fifth Beatle, Billy Preston.<br /><br />ROCKIN’ ROBIN AND THE LIVING LEGEND. Standing at the crossroads of Robin Williams, a past friend, and Frank Sinatra, a friend-to-be, on the set of the TV revival of Laugh-In.<br /><br />COME FLY WITH ME. An invitation from out of the blue to join Barbara Marx, Bob’s mom, and his step-dad, a blue-eyed guy named Frank; The one and only Jilly.<br /><br />5. Speaking Frankly<br /><br />HEY, BUDDY, THE BAR IS OPEN. Treated to a weekend at the Fairmont Hotel; Meeting my hosts – Frank and Barbara Sinatra. <br /><br />BERKELEY REVISITED. With our armed bodyguard at the wheel, Bob and I run loose through the old stomping grounds. He looks up a friend, Patty Hearst.<br /><br />FREE RADICALS. Bob’s offer to bring the former fugitive to Camp Sinatra doesn’t sit well; At Fisherman’s Wharf, Mrs. S gets a health lecture on shellfish, and Jilly mussels in.<br /><br />POT SMOKING SINATRA. Feeling like family, I treat the clan to a pizza fest; Frank tries to dodge a few bullets – and a few headlines.<br /><br />THE MILLIONAIRE. The truth about Frank’s philanthropy.<br /><br />AS TIME GOES BY. Dinner with the Hearst sisters makes me late for a very important date; an Oakland Raider rushes me through the streets of San Francisco.<br /><br />WHO’S AFRAID OF TINA SINATRA? After Frank’s show, his outspoken daughter and I are properly introduced. Fasten your seat belts.<br /><br />WHATEVER GETS YOU THROUGH THE NIGHT. Pulling an all-nighter with Ol’ Blue Eyes, one-on-one, where there is no such thing as Last Call.<br /><br />ONE FOR THE ROAD. Jilly, the old road warrior, needs to pop his cork.<br /><br />6. Hollywood Ending<br /><br />SIDE BY SIDE. Back to the reality of my life in L.A.; Meeting Helen, my soul-mate; Discovering the New York transplant; Armand Hammer and I conduct the Billionaire’s Glee Club and Chorus Line.<br /><br />NOTHING COULD BE FUNNIER OR FINER THAN THE WEDDING OF A REINER. Best Man at a best friend’s wedding; a tale of two families – Matzo meets Ritz Crackers.<br /><br />CHUTZPAH UNDER THE CHUPAH. The hysterical trials and tribulations of a dual-faith ceremony; Carl Reiner can’t get a laugh; the General’s family lands in the clink.<br /><br />THE LAST AUDITION. After a series of setbacks and rejections, a part on the hit show Happy Days is mine, until the contractual height clause of its stars nixes my chances - size does matter! Disillusioned on the Paramount lot, passing the Mork & Mindy sound-stage, and running into its star, pal Robin Williams - but do I have the heart to face him? <br /> <br />7. And Now Just Leave Me Alone With My Ravioli<br /><br />CHANGE OF LIFE. Scoring in the magazine business moves us back to my beloved NYC. My wife and I turn a new leaf.<br /><br />HIGH ANXIETY IN NEW YORK. A long overdue reunion – clearing the air somewhere over the Rainbow Room.<br /><br />BRONX CHEER. Sparks fly at a mobbed-up birthday party, and not from the candles on the cake.<br /><br />FATHER FIGURES. My fascination with wiseguys started young, tempered by my father’s guidance; An unusual job interview leads to a lucrative proposition – but is it an offer I should refuse?<br /><br />THE KEY. A mysterious gift is bestowed at my father’s wake.<br /><br />EPILOGUE. Some closing thoughts about why I decided to tell my story. But, hey, it ain’t over till it’s over!John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-70724474009177731092011-01-21T06:36:00.000-08:002012-06-18T05:08:16.575-07:00The Legend of Little Lord Mikey REDUXFootnote or shall I say foot in the mouth note. This piece that I wrote was in a variety of newspapers and magazines it originally posted on my blog on Oct 8th 2009 before the NYC election for mayor. After the election it was deleted. Mr. Bloomberg has made a lot of noise about "not" running for President. So I thought I would bring it back and repost. Although he has an occasional good idea, usually practical in nature, another read of The Legend of Little Lord Mikey will remind you why someone who is 20 billion removed from the common problems of man should not be President.<br /><br /><br />The Legend of Little Lord Mikey<br />Once upon a time an even smaller than usual hobbit from Bostonia made his way to his new city, New York. In no time his fate kicked in and he became the richest among the little people. His riches and all they bought quickly bored him, so he sought his thrills elsewhere, and bought himself the Lordship position in his new land.<br />Secretly he viewed all his new city subjects with disdain. Compared to the people of his beloved Bostonia they were loud, smoked, drank libations in the parks, and generally told the truth. They cheered in coliseums for what he thought were the wrong teams as they were not from Bostonia. People, simply put, had fun, in fact BM {BM despite what you may think means, Before Mike}; this new land was known to the masses of the world as “Fun City.” His Lordship, Little Mikey, decided that he and only he knew what was good or bad for us, his mission was to reform his new subjects.<br />So it began, he slipped in comments through his rein, such as “my luxury NY.” He also stuck up for all corporate interests from those whose neglect created blackouts to declaring that insurance company CEO’s don’t make that much money and should not be scapegoats in the healthcare debate. During tough times when coins were scarce in the new city’s tills he created cuts in services like garbage pick ups, but never in his luxury areas where his rich friends lived. The cuts came in the areas where his subjects were the poorest and when they complained the now power mad lord said “Is it too much to ask someone to suck it up and smell the stink for your city, just keep your windows closed.” His numerous arrogant comments through his two term rein went largely unnoticed because the main industry in this new city, that brought millions of people to it, was make as much money you can. Since Little Mikey had so much money he was looked upon as the man who actually got the gold ring from the merry-go-round that they were all on, thusly they deferred to him.<br />If someone in his lordships council disagreed they were quickly brought in line with sums of coins from Little Mikey’s, piles of money, either with donations to their campaign coffers or to their individual “foundations,” in fact sometimes his lordships own foundations could be used to enrich the others. This is how he overturned the will of the peons that voted in term limits to run for a third term without calling for another vote from those who voted for the limits in the first place. You see social graces, and rules are for the real little people who remain silent, us.<br />And so it came to pass that after wrecking the spirit of the new city , he enabled it to return to the gilded age once again, doing nothing to discourage the high cost of living. Artists who formerly inhabited SOHO now could not even afford to park there. People pay over half their incomes in rent that is after “qualifying,” by proving that you make 45 times the rent plus the yearly rent on top of that. Do the landlords think someone is going to pack the apartment and run away with it? No, my friends this is all by design to have class cleansing in Little Mikey’s luxury NY.<br />Developers are a notch above child molesters and the notch is slipping downward fast. Instead of working on behalf of his subjects Little Mikey choose to enable the developers to further class cleansing, hoping that one day his new city would turn into his secret vision, a place where only the super rich reside along with those that serve them. To further insult his subjects he built a new luxury building in his honor that holds his lord’s interests and named it, not after the city that gave him his wealth, but after a place in Bostonia called Beacon Hill.<br />In ancient Rome salt was considered a sign of wealth, in a recent NY newspaper article they talked about Little Mikey’s fondness of excessive salt on everything and I mean everything he ate. Hopefully his fate will be the same as the Roman Emperors whose table habits he emulates.<br />An appropriate message in the month of Novemberous for the town crier as the election approaches is an ancient one spoken in our sports coliseum in the Bronx and that is “THRO DA BUM OUT!”John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-84152890409607086862010-05-21T11:42:00.001-07:002010-05-21T11:42:54.589-07:00Between Two WorldsBetween two worlds, surreal, seems to describe my recent political state of mind perfectly. After writing my last piece The Root Canal Of All Evil on my blog http://johnmolinari.blogspot.com I seemed to have left my political self in the dust. I could not get past the subject of the post that the obstacle at the root of solving every ideological difference on challenges we face together is money. Upon reading my usual newspapers, websites and listening to a host of talking heads, my mind ran a gamut of emotions. On one hand the activist in me wants to fight, while the realist in me says the politicians don’t mean what they say, they are bought and paid for. They vote and speak as their corporate owners tell them. I even get angry with those who I support. I get livid at their mediocrity of achievement, the baby steps in policies and bills that hold our future in their words, such as the absence of a strong public option in the healthcare bill. I then realize that this too is a result of the money influence. Is there any hope? Should we fight? Would it even matter unless we could offer them more money by outbidding the corporate interests? <br />The corporate owners of America are delighted as they have us divided to keep us away from the real problem, them. A Government of the people, by the people and for the people has been reduced to an illusion. I recall the words of that great anthem by Bob Marley “ So now we see the light, what you gonna do? we gonna stand up for our rights, don’t give up the fight, get up, stand up for your rights.”<br /> Last week the dust of my malaise began to settle, as Bob Marley verses ran through my mind, I was reunited with my political self. As the surreal clouds lifted, I saw my political body waiting to be dusted off and put back into action. Fight? You bet! Fight the only fight that counts, the fight that will address everything we care about, to remove money from the equation. We must stand up and battle until this becomes a political reality.<br />Between Two Worlds is a classic film staring John Garfield, Paul Henreid and Sydney Greenstreet. The films narrative is a group of diversified characters are about to board a ship with separate destinations. Some of the characters are at peace with whatever seems to unfold and reveal itself, while others are disgruntled for various reasons, ego and misdirected anger being mostly the culprits. What they don’t know is they are all dead and on their way to judgment day. Sydney is aptly cast as the awaiting judge, and the needs of the passengers are sympathetically dealt with by a serene steward named Scrubby who happily obliges their whims until their judgment moment arrives. The judge reviews every ones past deeds and they are then sent off to an appropriate eternity of their own making. Anyone who committed suicide has a special destiny, the same as Scrubby who ended his life by his own hands, and has to spend eternity as a server on the ship of dead souls on their way to face the judge. Over and over, trip after trip, forever. The film is an example of the ship on which we all ride. However we have the best possible leader to steer us in the right direction to a future that gives us and others a chance at a real sustainable future, and the captain of the ship is President Obama.<br />As progressives we have to stop eating our own, as that can become our political suicide and doom us to an eternity of repeats.<br /> Fight for real change instead of picking apart every detail of what Obama proposes. Let us collectively try to be conscious that merely turning this ship of fools around is an arduous task that would completely escape most other leaders. Another so called, stuck in the past leader, might drive us directly into a black hole, putting us squarely back in time <br />instead of the direction of new horizons. We must beware of contributing to the chatter of the far right which only weakens him and our causes even further. Let us continue to speak out while also focusing our energies on getting our country to a place where a forward thinking President like Obama, or any future leader, will have the freedom to propose their full desires in a bill without worrying about the money obstructions in getting the votes. Speak out, keep up the fight to rid money from our political process and remember the words of Jim Morrison of The Doors “you can’t burn out if you’re not on fire.”John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-36730930126281359112010-04-07T10:28:00.000-07:002010-04-07T10:29:07.435-07:00The Root Canal Of All EvilThe root canal of all evil is money. All intelligent sincere debates between persons of same or different political parties are useless. Job preservation for elected members of the senate and congress is their number one priority, even over any good for the people that they represent. Getting the job and keeping their job takes a lot of money and most of their time. Each day is spent raising funds for their next election from their very first day in office. Their daily fund raising dollar goal usually far exceeds the income of any of the people they represent.<br /> There are eight healthcare lobbyists for every congressperson and every senator, four for each member from Wall Street, banks and other financial institutions. It’s a wonder there is room for our officials to walk down these crowded aisles to get to the bathroom. Hmm, maybe that’s why so many republicans have a constipated look on their face and why they are so mean. To be fair, this problem is with both parties.<br /> Recently, Mr. Tan Man, John Boehner paid a visit to Morgan Stanley’s CEO and told him unless you want banking reforms you better start giving more money to republicans. An open, blatant shakedown, in the light of day, to sell out the American people. Americans will have to suffer through any future unregulated scams as we are now suffering from the last one, but next time it could be worse. At least the house passed a regulatory bill and the President to his credit is trying to get a meaningful bill through a very constipated senate. Constipation is the state you arrive at when you keep swallowing dyed green dollars.<br /> After his visit to shake down Wall Street, Boehner the tan man then had the nerve to go before The Mad Tea Party and feed them lines to stoke the flames about democrats and Obama. The Tea Party and everyone else should be outraged, not by the sound bites hurled at them that have no basis in reality, but by what’s really happened to our system. Right or wrong we demand democracy from every other nation as we are losing our own.<br />America is on the way to becoming USA INC, a corporation instead of a nation. The Supreme Courts recent decision for unlimited contributions by a corporation to anyone’s campaign is not just troublesome, but is the beginning of the end of our empire. It is now perfectly legal for any corporate interests to give a group of elected officials billions to vote their way so they can make trillions. No concern for an appearance of impropriety or maintaining even a small pretension of representation for the people. <br />John McCann, whom I used to like in one of his past reinventions of himself, is now unfortunately best characterized by the line in The Beatles song Mean Mr. Mustard “such a mean old man.” McCann, Mr. Campaign finance reform himself, has been eerily silent on the court’s decision. Perhaps his hearing aid was tuned to off as creatures with black gowns that called themselves Supremes sang from their bench the hit from the 60’S “<br />“Nothing But Heartache,”<br />Our “leaders” by design have us divided and occupied by yelling at each other, as they sell off our interests to the highest bidder. Ever wonder why we are so behind other countries in transportation, infrastructure and more? Ever wonder why we do not have a real safety net for our people? Money, that’s why. It can be said that any nation that does not build on its infrastructure, care for its young, elderly and less gifted is doomed for extinction. We can save our country by demanding a box on every ballot that will allow us to vote for publicly financed elections and a complete ban on all lobbyists’ money. Lobbyists should be allowed to make their case, but not buy it. Maybe we should be The Supremes and the song that we sing should be “Stop In The Name Of Love.”John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-62819779292110645912010-03-15T07:21:00.000-07:002010-03-15T07:23:45.073-07:00"Did You Learn How To Eat Yet?" Part 2THIS IS PART 2 PLEASE READ PART 1 BELOW FIRST<br /><br />ITALY - In Rome there is a saying, “Quello che voi siete noi eravamo; quello che noi siamo voi sarete.” “That which you are, we were; that which we are, you will be.”<br />Rome, where everyone has something to say, even those who are long gone, and mostly about food, rocked my culinary world.<br /><br /> On our first trip to Italy my wife and I decided upon a 10-day trip starting in Rome then on to Capri and back to Rome. Later these journeys grew to at least one month each trip. Many of our meals were planned in advance. We carefully researched restaurants and food destinations so that we would not miss the season’s star foods. From the truffle season in the north, to the small tomato season in south, zucchini flowers of Rome, or the full flavored peppers of Sicily, and all in between. We also studied the wines of each area so we could have the best enhancer to their regional foods, keeping with the philosophy that what grows together should be served together.<br /> <br /> Why choose Rome and Capri for our first trip? The Roman emperors had the whole world to play in, yet they spent all of their time in these two places. It seemed to be a good place for a cultural overview. I had arranged for our hotel in Rome through a friend in New York who managed a branch here, he enlisted a driver to pick us up by the name of Dante. Dante was a born philosopher, not unlike any Roman. He was wise, kind, and also patient with my Italian, which returned to me with each day of practical application. On the way to our hotel, Dante took it upon himself to make a side trip up a small mountain. Then suddenly he abruptly stopped the car and asked us to accompany him. We looked around and saw nothing except a huge, wooden door attached to the wall of a home. What was going on? He just motioned for us to follow him to the door as he stood<br />proudly and asked us to look through the keyhole. There it was, Rome, all of it, in all its glory! Dante who had a smile the width of the Tiber said, “Benvenuti a Roma,” “Welcome, to Rome.”<br />As my eyes took in the breathtaking Roman view I had a realization that we just went through the keyhole and passed into another level of food adventures.<br /><br />So many food memories and life long impressions were enhanced in Italy from our many trips, thoughts that still warm our culinary souls. We were spoiled by the quality of vegetables, especially in the Campania region, where all soil is enriched with the minerals of volcanic ash from Mt Vesuvius, making every bite magnified in flavor.<br /> A few of our fondest memories are walking up the mountain side in Capri, when we stopped to catch our breath we saw a little old man in his own backyard vineyard. I asked him about the two grapes he was cultivating. He then smiled and put up a finger indicating that we should wait. We were fixated on him, as we observed him go from grape to grape until he found the perfect samples for us to try. He earnestly awaited our reaction, which was genuinely enthusiastic, and this pleased him very much. This taught us the love and pride that goes into every sip and bite, starting with the growing process. <br />One night in Capri we wanted to dine in our room and thought a simple Caprese salad would satisfy. I walked to a tiny shop to purchase the necessary ingredients, Buffalo Mozzarella made nearby, basil, tomato, and a small piece of garlic, also freash tiny bits of green chili, with good sea salt, local olive oil and crusty bread. As I reached for a ball of wrapped cheese on the counter a grandmother type shocked me by slapping my hand. I thought I had reached in front of her, or perhaps offended a local custom. She then explained to me that my choice of cheese was wrong as it was made in the morning and she handed me one that was made later in the day. I asked the proprietor where the tomatoes were? He told me to come around the counter and took me to a small room where the shelves were lined with tomatoes that were displayed and cared for like each one was a precious stone. Italians have an incredible love and pride, not just with their cultivating and cooking, but also from being able to offer the best to others.<br /><br />Rome showed us the delights of Funghi, mushrooms of all kinds. We discovered a wonderful family owned trattoria called, da tonino alla lampada. Which means lamp of Tonino. Tonino was the owner, chef, and resident maestro de funghi, master chef of mushrooms. Lamp is an Italian slang for the lid or the shade of each mushroom. Upon entering what we called “Mushroom Place,” we were blown away by the strong fragrance that filled the room from the baskets of mushrooms on display. Everything from large Funghi Porcini served with pasta, or as a primi course, grilled with pieces of garlic inserted in the lamp of the funghi, with a drizzle of olive oil. There was also Ovalo, a bright orange egg shape mushroom that is usually thinly sliced, served raw with lemon juice and olive oil. Local cepes, black Umbrian truffles, white truffles from Alba and more, all blended together to create the powerful scent.<br /> It was here that Tonino invited me into his kitchen to show me the art of making Roman style artichokes. The chokes are first trimmed then stuffed with garlic and a Roman herb similar to mint is mixed with salt, then they are cooked stem side up in a combination of white wine, lemon halves, and olive oil. When done the artichokes are removed to cool and the liquid is reduced to a syrup and drizzled over this much prized roman delicacy.<br /><br />There is much more that we learned, so many stories, that every day when my wife and I shop and cook, any given ingredient could spark a memory that brings a smile to our faces. <br />Seek out the freshest and best quality ingredients available; always remember less in any art, is more. Pass on your love by cooking a dinner for a friend today, and then give them the recipe to cook for others. I always come back to Dante. At the end of our first trip he picked us up to take us to the airport, and the first thing he did, before pulling out of the drive way, was to turn around with his Tiber wide smile and say, “So, did you learn how to eat yet?”<br />He went on to say, “now you know the Roman secret,” “what is that,” I replied, “everybody dies, but not everybody lives!” Well Dante, the answer to your question is I’m still learning how to eat and live.John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-17194479060132091902010-03-10T09:15:00.000-08:002010-03-10T09:18:11.559-08:00"Did You Learn How To Eat Yet?" Part 1As a self-confessed food explorer I often reflect on just how it all began. Maybe it was those sub zero upstate New York mornings when my mother would wake me for school. As my eyelids slowly found their way open she immediately inquired, “What would you like for dinner?” Thoughts of the decided upon Italian delicacy warmed my cold day; I used my minds palate to tune in and taste this dish several times throughout my day.<br /> <br />We were far from a wealthy family, yet we regularly purchased the best quality of foods that were available. Having dinner together every night and discussing the finer points of what we were consuming was a ritual. As a child Saturday’s were usually devoted to our weekly food hunt. My father would often wake me at the crack of dawn to accompany him on our journey to the public market. The local public market was a greenmarket, open to chefs and the public as well. Farmers proud of what they displayed, yelled loud descriptions of their wares, from local cheeses, to a colorful variety of fruits and vegetables, a real feast for the eyes and ears. There was an immense level of enthusiasm in the air and that feeling had a lasting effect on the way I think of food until this day.<br /><br />After the market we moved on to the Italian Specialty store for the weeks supplies then on to the German market for meats, as they had the best quality and most knowledgeable butcher in town. Next up came a variety of bakeries, where we would add to our food excursion, warm crusty Italian bread, freshly made Italian pastries, deli style dark baked seeded corn rye, and with my encouragement, a Black Forest cake. The cake was a delightful combination of rich chocolate, layered with custard cream, liquor soaked cherries topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings.<br /><br />When we returned to our home base the arguments between my Mom and Dad ensued due to my father’s over purchasing. Relatives were enlisted to aid in the distribution of the abundance of purchases. My Mom made packages for each one of them. This event added more color to my day as they all gossiped over Anisette and espresso about each other. My Mom would demand to know what they intended to make with their package as they gave her their recipes and anxiously awaited her nod of approval. My Mom was a recognized advanced cook and in today’s world would have been one of its culinary stars. I used to watch her at work in the kitchen and ask constant questions that never tested her patience. As a child food often interfered with my rest and hygiene routine, for example preparations for Christmas Eve began the previous day when sheets were laid over beds, tables and furniture, topped with freshly made pasta drying, and the bathtub was filled with Baccala {dried codfish} desalting in water. The activity level at Christmas would increase by the minute, along with the excitement. There was a constant flow of people bringing over their contribution for Mom to cook for the anticipated feast, which always exceeded expectations.<br /><br />My Family had an unspoken philosophy that nowhere was too far to travel or out of reach when it came to obtaining seasonal delights. Every year when the moment presented itself my dad would go to Maryland, accompanied by an equally adventurous friend to secure bushels of cooked, seasoned, Chesapeake Bay Crabs that filled our refrigerator. There were trips to Connecticut where relatives made homemade spicy sopressata salami that took up most of the backseat of the car on the ride home.<br />One can certainly say that this was an auspicious culinary beginning for the development of any young palate. By the time I was 10 years old I was anxious to apply my accumulated knowledge. I had skipped school and in an attempt to lessen the anticipated punishment, I thought it would be a good time to test my ability and cook a dinner for my working Mom and Dad. So it began.<br /><br />Berkeley CA – In the beginning of the 70’S I began to prepare for a move to Berkeley CA by weaning myself away from the importance of all good foods that I had grown accustomed to, on top of that I was now a vegetarian. I thought that I would be entering a culinary wasteland; instead I found the beginnings of a food revolution, and a complete explosion of experimentation and innovation that lead to a new way America looked at food. It seems The Bay Area took to opening its collective minds and exploring foods in the same way as it did to hallucinogenics in the sixties.<br /> My new home added much to the way that I approached cooking and eating; it was another level of discovery. The finest freash ingredients were available for any amateur cook to use in their kitchens. Many establishments served as a place of education, like The Cheese Board in Walnut Square where cheeses from all over the world could be found. The knowledgeable owner and staff would encourage you to taste, recommend cheese choices, and then volunteer background information on the history of each one.<br />It was the start of what has become known as the Alice Waters movement that began when she opened the acclaimed and iconic Chez Panisse restaurant on Shattuck Ave in Berkeley. Her purveyors were local cheese makers and farmers who cultivated the restaurants specific requests. <br />Going to a green market daily and creating a dish based on what’s available is nothing new in Italy or France for the chef and the home cook alike. In America at the time, shamefully even in California, where climate was waiting for chefs to catch on, we still seemed to not yet get it. Shelf life concerns and processing still ruled the day.<br />Alice Waters brought a new kind of “Grow Your Own,” to the Bay Area, which ignited the imaginations of chefs all over the U.S. I used to walk down the hill from my Berkeley home, tie up my dog outside and try exciting new worlds of foods that Alice served up, like young garlic soup.<br /><br />I also made good friends of The Crotti family at Tommasso’s restaurant of North Beach in San Francisco. Tommasso’s was a who’s who of the culinary world; it was a Mecca for Alice, Julia Child, Wolfgang Puck and more. The reason for its fame was Tommasso’s had the first wood burning pizza oven in the U.S since 1935, he was a consultant for Alice, Wolfgang and any one else that wanted to serve up wood burning delights. The Crotti’s brought a little bit of Italy to San Francisco by using their oak wood oven for more than delicious pizzas. They would wrap the freshest fish that they could possibly acquire, like sea bass wrapped in herbs and cook it near the burning pile of wood, also clams, veal, even eggplant parm would become something special when baked in their oven. Each bite brought a smile to the diner as the smoky miracle exposed itself.<br /><br />In nearby Oakland there was an Italian store that made pesto. It was the first time I ever tasted this perfect combination of fresh basil, toasted pine nuts, that were all ground together with a stream of ligurian olive oil, imported Romano and Parmesan cheeses. Italians from Genoa had settled in the Bay Area in groves after arriving in New York’s Ellis Island, because unlike their southern Italian brethren they had the extra $100 it took to go west. These natives from Genoa introduced pesto to the Bay Area when the rest of the country did not even know of its existence. They also were the only ones who had access to ligurian oil indigenous from the region of pesto’s birth that made it a 10.<br /><br />I was fascinated by and became quickly addicted to Mexican cuisine in the Bay area. Mexican food was as foreign to New York as finding someone from the Bronx who rooted for The Red Sox.<br /> I began to experiment with Mexican sauces, such as various ways to use a host of chilies. I cooked and honed the sauces for years, until I was ready to serve my dishes to others. I learned the best way to make sauces was use a roasting process. When making a green tomatillo sauce I would not only roast the chilies but all of the other vegetables too. The sauce came alive, with a new layer of flavor, when first roasted slowly to caramelized perfection, before blending and reducing with additional herbs and spices.<br />I also, thanks to the expanded minds of Bay area residents, discovered the joys of a little known cuisine in America back then, Indian.<br /><br />PART II COMING NEXT WEEKJohn Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-17142302205153285882010-02-18T13:59:00.000-08:002010-02-18T14:14:35.545-08:00LOVELESS HOLIDAYSPresidents Day and Valentines Day came and went and I’m surprised the New Republicans did not tried to block them. <br />“Love! We don’t need your stinking love, and we don’t need your stinking President.”<br />It seems all the new Republican Party needs are tea bags to cover their faces, passed on to them from their new base, The Tea Klux Klan. Apparently white sheets have gone out of fashion.<br />The new republican definition of CUPID is, C - for corporate interests, U – for unified in being the party of obstruction, P – for power of the minority, even if that means a minority of one. Whatever it takes to ruin the day and stay in the pockets of their special interests. I – is for their selfish selves, it is all about them and them only, and the people be damned. D – is for bringing this President and country down until they are back in power at any costs. They made a political calculation that the only way they could win is for the President to lose everything and not get one bill passed, unfortunately they are succeeding.<br />Stop the madness, and revolt. <br />Revolt against the new Supreme Court decision to have unlimited corporate campaign contributions. America will no longer be a country but a corporation; this is at the root of all our concerns and why nothing meaningful ever happens.<br /> Revolt against the misuse of the Filibuster and the 60-vote rule in the senate. This rule is finishing off whatever semblance of democracy we pretend to have left, by allowing a minority of one to stop any bill.<br />Revolt against our employees, members of the senate and congress, having the right to any healthcare that we pay for, until their employers, the American people, are all covered.<br /> Revolt for a bigger stimulus and jobs bill. You know you are having a bad week when Dick Chaney is the only republican you agree with. Dick said, “Deficits don’t matter,” of course he said this when he was the one spending, but he was right. When we are in a recession/depression you spend and spend until unemployment goes down. The workforce will create new tax revenue that will bring down the deficits, and then we can work them down further.<br /> Revolt to spend so we can catch up with the rest of the world in transportation and infrastructure, this will also create new revenue and more jobs. We need forward thinking, for the long run, not just what is politically expedient. We need a real strong climate change bill that reflects these needs.<br />Revolt to get the democrats to use the reconciliation process on healthcare and pass a single payer system with 51 votes.<br /> Revolt to have publicly financed elections, again the root cause of all our problems, money. So much money is needed to run an election that most of their time in office is used for raising more money just to stay in office, at our expense. That’s insane! Whatever positions they claimed to believe in, no longer counts, only what they are told to believe in and act on by the money people.<br /><br />Revolt to have stockholders of corporations decide the salaries of CEO’s, which yes, are their employees. We need this reform and a major overhaul of Wall Street to prevent another disaster that may not be survivable.<br />Revolt to get your representatives, including the President, to go to the mats using whatever means necessary to get all of these important legislation's passed with full, not half, measures. Plato said, “The price of apathy towards public affairs is to be ruled by evil men.”<br />Valentines Day is love, and Presidents Day is sales. It seems the new republicans combined them going both with the spirit of the Billy Holiday song, “Love For Sale.”John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-45501807684476469412010-01-08T11:52:00.000-08:002010-01-08T11:53:11.017-08:00BARACK OFF!A Warning to all progressives:<br />BARACK OFF!<br />I get it; you’re a progressive, now Barack off! Start by dispensing with euphemistic words like progressive. We are L I B E R A L S and that is a word that should make us proud. Look up the dictionary definition of each word and see which one best defines your views.<br />To be candid, my politics are more to the left of left, but I’m also a practical person who sees potential dangers. We are being too impatient and too hard on Barack. We are ignoring the facts and the current state of affairs that he is facing. If we don’t get what we want immediately, we want to devour him. This has been a trait of Democrats as far back as I can remember. While the Republicans stick together, we eat our own and then wallow in the remains. With this attitude we risk losing it all, the House, the Senate in 2010 and the whole bowl of wax in 2012.<br />FDR accomplished a lot in part because he served 4 terms, 16 years. Rome was not built in a day, if history was different and the Roman Empire was saved from it’s great fall it would show it also would not have happened in a day. We live in times of excessive communication, texting before speaking, heads buried in our hand gadgets wondering why there hasn’t been a response even though only seconds passed. A 24/7 news cycle is a monster that needs to be fed constantly, it doesn’t matter what it eats as long is it gets fed, and you can be sure the cycle will beat it to death until the next “breaking news,” hits the fan.<br /> The Internet has given us short attention spans, a level of impatience that we have never known before. So it stands to reason that we have little time for anything more than capsulized news. If we do not get what we want right away from a website we move to the next one, we simply cannot let this be the clock that we live by to achieve our ideals.<br />President Obama was handed the worst situation any new or sitting President ever faced. FDR was elected in 1932 to face the great depression, but WWII was not until 1941. <br />Minutes after being sworn in, Obama faced the worst attack from the right ever in our history. The attacks consisted not only of dirty lies but were laced with thinly veiled bigotry and racism. Their thinking was the only way to win, which is the only goal of the right, is to beat this popular fighter down to size with a series of above and below the belt body blows, until he falls. Realizing that Barack was a thinking man, not a polarizing threat, they calculated a strategy to portray him as such anyway knowing that perception is reality. It pains me to see some of our favorite and most prized liberal OP ED columnists attack Obama so viciously and then to see far right wing talking heads quoting them. The right has only one policy, take it all back at any cost because being out of power is affecting our bottom line profits from corporate donors. They counted on the left to be disenchanted quickly, when they did not get all they wanted in the first months of his presidency. The left unknowingly and unwillingly became part of the right’s plan, which is to attack Obama from the left as well as the right and hasten his demise. Please let’s not give them the assistance.<br />A few facts about our prized social and rights programs, they all started from much less than what they now consist of, for example Civil Rights: the first bill passed in 1957 and was nothing more than an ineffective watchdog with limited rights that later flourished under JFK and led the way for improved legislation in the sixties.<br />Social Security in its original form was not very social; it excluded most women, minorities, anyone who worked in agriculture, nurses, hospital workers, domestic service workers, and more. They came back several times to improve these bills as we can and will do so, with the healthcare bill, if we not only keep but also strengthen the democratic majority.<br />President Obama may not be all that we thought he was, then again he may be more, but he is all we have and probably the best that we will get in our lifetime. He needs our constructive criticism and our support, as he is a good man in a bad system.<br />If you want to attack why not go after the system itself? A movement to get publicly financed elections and remove the money from politics would be a good start. Let’s go after this 60-vote rule in the Senate that has given us a government where the majority loses and a minority of one can win.<br />The Rolling Stones once sang, “You can’t always get what you want, but you get what you need,” let’s not throw both what we want and what we need away.John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-56032925965138084752009-12-07T04:55:00.000-08:002009-12-07T04:56:19.226-08:00The Confusing MirrorThe Confusing mirror, I have come to a place in my life where after a lifetime of being an activist I’m trying to take a more philosophical view of world affairs and its star players. I tell myself that the leaders and circumstances that come up are a reflection of our own selves. I seem to alternate between this ideal place and familiar rushes of political anger when I perceive any injustice.<br />I tend to view leaders in two categories, wolves in sheep’s clothing or sheep in wolves clothing. Just when my view is certain I take another look in the mirror and I see a fuzzy reflection, then I’m no longer sure what I see.<br />Are the images I see through the haze the same leader that invoked positive emotions that reached the very essence of my being, just last week? Do I see my image blended in the mix because the feelings really came from me and I attributed them to him?<br /> When I get anxious, I convince my self the state of affairs inherited by the reflection were the worst set of circumstances in our history, and this pacifies me for a while. Yet, underneath it all, I have an unsettled feeling. I then tell myself that this feeling stems from being at an early stage of the game, a complex game, which is only fair to score at the finish line.<br />I hope and pray that during the game the reflection will become clearer, stronger, remain there and not vanish into that huge pile of broken dreams.John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-69819701690256881762009-11-04T07:19:00.001-08:002009-11-04T07:19:29.123-08:00Hollywood's Wall StreetHollywood’s Wall Street? On Wall Street they found and continue to find ways to make unearthly sums of money at the expense of others, with no concern or regard for negative impact. People losing their jobs so stocks can rise, losing their homes so bundlers can score big. I’m sure that hedge funds have by now figured out a way to hedge the hog and somehow make money off of the swine flu.<br /> Television producers have created a similar situation with what I call Hollywood’s Wall Street, a collection of so-called reality TV shows. These shows appeal to and reduce us to primitive instincts, while making record profits for unconscionable producers. They are so inexpensive to produce compared to an episodic series or sitcom. No sets, no actors to pay, no stars huge salaries and other demands to meet, which in Wall Street speak are nice derivatives. Run out of material? Never! Not as long as we keep watching.<br />To watch someone subjecting themselves to embarrassing levels of humiliation is quite a price for them to pay for a few minutes of fame, while lowering our collective level of intelligence, not to mention our youth being fed a super size diet of this utter garbage.<br />In ancient Rome they kept the masses in line with games at the local coliseum and amphitheaters. To illustrate the exaggerated state of these shows a few years back I was going to do a cooking show that never aired because as I was told at the time, get this, “NO! It’s about food and we no longer produce cooking shows that are about cooking or food.” I remember telling a good friend about this and said “if I pitched a show about two chefs that cooked naked in front of a live audience and with cleavers kept slicing off each other’s body parts until only one was left standing, then proceeded to cook the loser and serve him to the audience, they would of bought the show.” My friend was having a drink with someone in the business, he laughed and repeated my analogy; the other party did not laugh but sadly was contemplating the potential show’s content to the shock of my friend.<br /> In 1987 there was a film that stared Arnold Schwarzenegger called “The Running Man.” Set in a post apocalyptic world, the government frames Arnold for a bloody massacre. He's given the option of staying in jail for life or participating in a "gladiator"-type game show that usually leads to death and enormous cheers from the spectators. He opts for the show, teaming with other contestants to survive the game and overthrow the corrupt system.<br />Today, there is a new show called “V” about what we assume are friendly aliens who have taken over our planet under the guise of helping mankind. A powerful resistance forms to encourage others not to succumb. Maybe we should combine both of these and overthrow a corrupt system with our resistance by not tuning in to Hollywood’s Wall Street.John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-39875172350261137372009-10-26T11:42:00.000-07:002009-10-26T11:43:23.246-07:00Communication BreakdownOnce upon a time there was this space, a block of years, here on earth that we called The Sixties. During that time Led Zeppelin sang a song called “Communication Breakdown,” never did I think such a gap in communication would become such a profound reality.<br /> It was a time of vibes where you met the person inside the body you spoke to. A realization occurred in the course of an exchange when two people touched the spot of understanding in each other, it was like a bell rang, and thus the phrase “I hear you,” was born.<br />Picture a time on a parallel universe where people become so overly communicated that they can’t even speak to one another. Picture masses walking around with their ears closed in by plugs playing loud music to block out all the natural sounds of the world that create our characters. Picture these people holding a gadget in their hands that one can use to connect to the internet so they are not out of touch for even one relaxing moment.<br />Imagine people who for generations were raised by nannies forgoing all practical forms of communications as they grew up. Reductions in the communication process have now brought this new species to conversing by texting with these hand held gadgets that by the way are also telephones. It has become much more non-committal to text rather than speak. Is it any wonder that this new species is a weak group?<br />Perhaps this will evolve full circle and the next phase will be communicating with vibes only. That would be a positive step, but would this new species after so many reducing years know how to read vibes?<br />Picture all of this, naw, never mine, save your precious imagination for something more possible.John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-16101652528895491802009-10-22T07:06:00.001-07:002009-10-22T07:06:34.269-07:00No Bell Piece PrizeThe no bell piece prize? Yes, Mr. President you received a prize but now it’s time to pull together the pieces so we can all cheer once again to the sound of your bell. I was an avid supporter of your campaign and I enthusiastically voted for you. Like millions of Americans we projected our wishes on you after being starved and deprived by the worst governing in our history for the previous 8 years. We believed in you and our collective enthusiasm propelled you to the Presidency.<br />When I was a teenager I worked for the Bobby Kennedy campaign as a coordinator of the college youth vote. I can say that I have not been excited about anyone else since 1968, until I saw your Iowa speech as the tears rolled down my cheeks. You were given this prize because the Nobel committee also believes their projections on you will result in the change you yelled about from the rooftops of the world. I know you wish to also change the tone of politicians but domestically that may not be possible, so please if you can’t get the other side to agree, mow them down. They live every moment looking to chop you apart and discredit you in anyway they can up to and including their silence on the outrageous lunatic fringe comments about you. They literally are praying for your failure. If they needed to cross the water and you parted the sea for them they would accuse you of messing up the environment. If you single handedly found a cure for cancer they would call you a murderer and say that you had this cure as you watched people die.<br />This week you were given two gifts, one was a non profit health care provider denying coverage to a healthy 4 month old child because in their view the infant was over weight, and the big one was Monday’s report from the insurance companies that no matter what bill is passed they will raise rates to over 100%. They dissed you sir as you were trying to keep them at the table with apparent cooperation. Just as Senator Grassley dissed you as you were giving speeches singing his praises, as a republican who is working hard for a decent bill. He too was giving speeches saying he was against everything that he helped put in the bill and that you were out to kill grandma. Enough! It seems everyone has a seat at the negotiating table except the people. The American people are for a public option by nearly 70% including the blue dog states. Now you have your cover for passionate support on a public option. It’s unseemly to me that what the people want can’t happen because a handful of servants of the people are standing in it’s way in order to earn their checks from insurance companies. This sir is not change.<br />There is also the irony of being a war president and getting a peace prize. We spent 8 years in Afghanistan and we don’t want to spend 10 more there, so please earn your prize and don’t get us into another quagmire in a war that cannot be won by traditional means, as was the case in Viet Nam. We trust your judgment and your intelligent powers of discretion to come up with a creative solution.<br />Please sir fulfill all our projections and be the man that the whole world knows that you are and give us a meaningful healthcare bill that works for the people, with a now obviously badly needed public option. The Max Mucus bill as it stands makes me sick. Although there are good points in it the main purpose seems to be to placate all the special interests involved so they will support the bill. This is supposed to be a process to get the people what they need, not what various interests want.<br />One of the best lines that I ever heard came from John Lennon “Life is what’s happening to you as you are busy making other plans.” Now is your moment, seize it, stand tall and make us hear the sounds of your bell once again, by putting together the right pieces.John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-22402973333710873702009-10-07T07:50:00.000-07:002009-10-07T07:55:57.717-07:00Berkeley in Turbulent Times Part 2Please read Part 1 below first<br /><br />There was an afternoon TV talk show at the time called THE MIKE DOUGLAS SHOW. He took a real chance and invited John Lennon and Yoko Ono to co-host the show for an entire week. They could invite anyone they wished to be quests. They had Jerry Rubin, Chuck Berry, some guy with something called an alpha-wave machine—you get the picture. With my hero John Lennon and offbeat guests, there was no chance I could miss this. So, a sign was posted on the shop door: “Due to John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s appearance on The Mike Douglas Show every afternoon this week, Rag Theater will close at 2pm Monday through Friday. Regular hours will resume next week. Thank you.” These were not just times of dreams but also freedoms. The freedom of not conforming but adjusting everything in your life to suit you and the relaxed lifestyle, up to and including business interests.<br />As much as I was enjoying work and my newfound tranquility, a reward that meditation brought, this was not a stress-free time. There was much unrest in the always political and radical haven of Berkeley. And I jumped in with both feet. I got involved in protests. The hot button issue of the day was, of course, the war in Vietnam. We also protested for the rights of women, blacks, gays, and all Americans. <br />I attended every anti-war rally I could. I even lent a hand in organizing some of them. It was on this front that my inner struggle resurfaced. My Spiritual Compass believed in peaceful demonstrations and in setting the proper tone for all the world to see. On the other hand, the Inner Bad Boy’s slogan was “Peace Now or I’ll Hit You With This Baseball Bat!” <br />Over the years, it has baffled many as to how, during those turbulent times, so many supposedly stoned individuals could become so passionate and organized. We may have been stoned some of the time, even a lot of the time, but we were never apathetic. In fact, activism was part of the theater; it went hand in hand with the social changes we were striving for.<br />Some of the rallies were peaceful and quite beautiful. Many were held in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park with musicians like Crosby, Stills and Nash, The Jefferson Airplane, The Grateful Dead, the incomparable Joan Baez, and many more, leading the chants and making great music. Others were comprised of local protest singers, poets, and humorous clowns like Wavy Gravy, and Berkeley’s own, X Swami X, who brought the message home through the use of words and humor.<br />However, there was an ever-growing mistrust of government, particularly the Nixon White House, that reached a fever pitch, especially on college campuses across America, that inevitably boiled over into clashes between protestors and authorities. One of the most intense and drawn out of these played out in Berkeley.<br />People’s Park was born by default on a piece of land, just under 3 acres, along Telegraph Avenue. The University of California had purchased the parcel from homeowners and others using its power of eminent domain, displacing the residents. In 1968, the existing buildings were bulldozed, but due to lack of funds, the empty field was left unused, becoming debris-strewn. With the following rainy season, it quickly turned into a muddy eyesore. Finally, in April of 1969, area merchants, citizens, and students, organized and began a beautification program, planting trees and shrubs, transforming it into a neighborhood park. <br />People from all races and economic backgrounds joined together, supplying materials, gardening, and contributing food for what became a free kitchen, creating an isle of peace for one and all. That is, until the University raised the money to carry out its expansion plans. After much civic discourse between UC and the townsfolk who had gone to the effort and expense of creating it, including a student vote that came down in favor of keeping the park, the University’s Chancellor promised to hold off on plans until an accord could be reached.<br />However, then-Governor Ronald Reagan, who took office on a popular get tough on protesters campaign, framed the situation as a leftist challenge to the University’s property rights. The contentious rhetoric escalated. So did tempers.<br />“It’s nothing but a safe haven for commie sympathizers,” the governor stated. “If there has to be a bloodbath, then let's get it over with.”<br />In the early morning hours of May 15, 1969, Reagan ordered hundreds of police officers to clear the area around the park. Much of what was planted was destroyed and a wire fence was installed to keep people out.<br />Within hours, a few thousand citizens and students gathered nearby for a rally, which turned into a march through the streets toward the park, with protesters chanting “We want the park!” As the now unruly crowd approached, they were met with police tear gas and nightsticks. Protesters threw rocks and bottles, and tried tearing down the fence. Their numbers grew to 3000. When backup police teams arrived, all in all, nearly 800, they went in swinging. Sheriff’s deputies, later called “Blue Meanies,” fired shotguns loaded with large buckshot, injuring hundreds. During one skirmish, they fired at a small group watching from a nearby rooftop, killing one student, and permanently blinding a carpenter. Neither had been there to protest. <br />Governor Reagan declared a state of emergency, sending in 2700 National Guard troops. The streets were barricaded with barbed wire, and helicopters sprayed tear gas on any group that began to assemble. On May 30, a citizens group was granted a city permit to assemble, and nearly a third the population of Berkeley marched past the park, protesting the occupation of the city, as well as the death and injury caused by authorities.<br />The National Guard occupied Berkeley for weeks. The government’s mission to take back the park succeeded, and the land remained fenced off. In May of 1971, on the first anniversary of the riot, there was another demonstration, but to no avail, the park remained fenced in and off-limits. <br />In 1972, in response to the Nixon Administration’s escalation of the Vietnam War and the mining of Haiphong harbor, I participated in the organizing of a public protest. Flyers went up all over Berkeley, and word spread (all the way to the governor’s mansion in Sacramento). As thousands gathered in the streets, Reagan lost no time in sending in the National Guard again, equipped with tear gas and accompanied by police in full riot gear. This time, we were determined to voice our protest in a non-violent, “Gandhi-like,” way. We believed that peace could only be achieved through peaceful means. <br />“Let’s not stoop to their level and become like them,” one of the organizers announced to the crowd through a bullhorn. “The world will be more sympathetic to our cause if we remain calm.” <br />Arm in arm, we marched through the streets to the park, which had now become a greater symbol of protest over our government’s foreign policy in Vietnam. As much as we tried to keep things peaceful, the hostility between the National Guard, the cops, and the protesters, pent up from the previous riots and the constant sight of the wasted, unused park, busted wide open. Fires broke out, heads were cracked, and I personally will never forget the effects of the tear gas. The worst of the violence broke out as we tried to take down the fence, but we managed to tear it down.<br />Afterward, the city of Berkeley and the university worked out a lease agreement that allowed the park to be used by the community and, for a time, to be administered by a citizen’s council. Over subsequent years, the park has remained a point of contention. The university has tried to reclaim the land several times for various uses, but each time has met with community resistance and solidarity. <br />Today, the park, though still university-owned, is open to locals, with a community garden, a free food kitchen, a basketball court, and other offerings. <br /> After things settled down, I began to immerse myself more deeply in my spiritual studies of the Path. I meditated twice daily. I attended Satang (union with the truth) twice a week, where initiates would meditate, then hear a taped reading or message from Master. Afterward, I would usually light up a cigarette. One day, as I did, our group leader explained that intoxicants slowed progress. I decided to quit. I put out my cigarette, threw away the pack, and didn’t touch another for almost 4 years. I read Masters books and listened to his talks and became more and more absorbed in the Path. When it was announced that Master was about to visit the U.S., with a stop in the Bay Area, we all eagerly awaited. Meeting him in the physical and being in his presence for a couple of weeks was like being at the source of all bliss. I felt spiritually and psychically charged (I would joke that “Master Charge” was the only credit I had at that time). I knew I needed more, that this course of study, this way of life, was so right for me, so I decided to follow Master to India, where he had his international center, and where many other initiates were living and studying. <br />My Berkeley period was a time of discovery. Discovering a new way of life, the Berkeley way, and discovering the Path, gave me a fresh outlook and made me more whole. If this wasn’t HOME, I was now a little bit closer.<br /><br />This is an excerpt from my book "I Just Happened To Be There," which my agent is about to shop, look for Part 2 soon. Go to Aug 09 on this blog to see "What's In My Book" for more of the books contents.John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-67346572158789839392009-10-06T10:33:00.000-07:002009-10-06T11:00:35.873-07:00Berkeley in Turbulent Times Part 1Coming Of Age, Or When Coming Is No Longer Enough<br />RAG THEATER - BERKELEY<br />Part 1<br />Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley, in 1971, was one of the most uniquely progressive streets in one of the most uniquely progressive cities in the world. At one end stood Sather Gate—the entrance to UC Berkeley, a beautiful campus with streams, creeks, and eucalyptus trees—at the other end, the city of Oakland. But it was all that lay between that made it special. The times held great promise. Everything was possible, with or without money, and this was the place that seemed to embody it all.<br />I met with the leader of the meditation group that Master had led me to, and was staying in his Berkeley home. Meeting him and his family was the equivalent of meeting long lost relatives. More parts were coming together, strengthening the whole.<br />Mindful of the stipulations of my probation officer back east that I find employment within two weeks, I pounded the pavement of Telegraph Avenue, determined to find a job on my first full day there.<br />All along Telegraph were a variety of stores and restaurants, some of which seemed straight off some film studio’s back lot. Many were managed and designed to reflect these socially conscious times. There were Co-Op stores and supermarkets, owned partly by their customers. There was John’s Soup Kitchen, a great place for interesting soups and sandwiches, that donated profits to a host of city causes. Then there was One World Family, a restaurant whose exterior was covered with psychedelic images, and whose proprietor, unfortunately, was an unlikable sort. He claimed to have been abducted by aliens and selected to spread their message on earth. He sought followers by misleading them with the promise they could leave on the spaceship when it ultimately returned for him. In time, I would grow to so dislike this character and the way he treated others, that I wished I could contact that ship to come pick him up ASAP.<br />Next door was the Mediterranean Café, serving European-style coffees, that became the home of my new obsession—strong Italian coffee. There were bookstores of every kind. Cody’s was well known for publishing local political essayists and writers, as well as poets. Shambala had the largest assortment of spiritual books I had ever seen. <br />And nestled in between was Rag Theater, a hippie-style clothing store. I met with the owner, Gene, and told him of my background as a salesman and buyer for a clothing store in my hometown of Rochester, New York, where I had worked on and off since I was sixteen. Actually, I had originally lied about my age to get the job. The owner and his wife were so happy with me, that by the time they discovered my true age, it didn’t matter. They treated me like a son. It was a wonderful and long relationship that taught me much about business. I also told Gene of my experience at Paul Sergeant’s and The Brick Shed House in Greenwich Village, both, famous boutiques on West 4th Street. Gene seemed like a hip guy, so I leveled with him about my probation requirement.<br />“Say no more,” he said. “You’re a cool guy and besides, anybody from New York can do the job better than anyone from here. Start tomorrow!”<br />I contacted my probation officer back in Rochester to report the news. Gene helped with the appropriate documentation, and thankfully, I was allowed to fulfill my probation in this fascinating, progressive mecca. I was in heaven. I now worked at a very cool place in a town that strived to be a utopia. I began to think that the spiritual Master, into whose studies I had been initiated, was looking out for me.<br />For the first time in a long time, I was enjoying myself. I had been war worn from my exhausting LSD experimentation, not to mention my arrest and the resulting stress. Now I was part of something positive and uplifting. I never felt better or clearer. I was attending group meetings, learning more and more about the “Path,” and meditating, glimpsing that euphoric state I had been seeking so vigorously. And I was CLEAN! No drugs, not even the smoking kind! Yet, I felt intoxicated. This is when I truly found my Guru. The Guru appears when the soul is ready. And ready I was!<br />I spent my days waiting on customers while listening to great music, selected by all of us who worked in the store. We had a deal with Moe’s Bookstore, where we had money on deposit. This allowed us to choose new albums whenever our current repertoire needed refreshing. Out the window, the endless Fellini-style parade of Telegraph Avenue would file by. As I took in the potpourri of sights, I would find myself daydreaming that the store was mine<br />Tim Leary had a son named Jackie who used to hang out front of Rag Theater. Jackie was a really nice guy who was a bit melancholy. Even though he was closer to my age, he hung around with a younger group of charming mischievous children that called themselves “The Mini Mob.” I really liked those pain-in-the-ass, ballsy kids. Jackie never knew it but I would get word back to his father on how he was doing. I know Tim appreciated it. Yes, Jackie, he really cared. They never got on that well, which bothered Tim greatly through the years. It can’t be easy to be the son of such a controversial figure.<br />The neighborhood attracted all kinds, some interesting and colorful, others less fortunate, even sad. Marty Balin, lead singer of Jefferson Airplane, was often hanging around. Apparently he and the group parted ways and he hit the drug skids. He would come around completely strung out. I was a huge fan, and it broke my heart to see him like this. Fortunately, in time he got himself together and rejoined the band, making a comeback with some of the best songs he ever wrote, singing better than he ever had, his music sounding even more poignant after he found his way out of the abyss.<br /> One day Gene came in to the store and approached me, holding up a set of keys.<br />“Here,” he said, jingling them.<br />“What’s this?” I asked.<br /> “Take them, the place is yours.” <br />“What are you talking about?" I replied, sure he was kidding. <br />He wasn’t. Proving once again that dreams really do come true, apparently even daydreams. He had lost so much money through his Scientology that he could no longer afford to run the business. He said that all the stock was paid for, as was the rent. I could keep any money from sales as a severance bonus. After I sold everything, I could either get up some dough to keep the store going or I could walk away and let it close permanently. I appreciated the opportunity very much, but the likelihood of my being able to raise enough money on short notice to carry the place was slim. I decided to take a different approach, a more Berkeley approach.<br /> I immediately called in the Mini Mob and outfitted them. I invited all my friends to come in and wardrobe themselves, on the house. I sold some of the remaining stock, and gave more away to homeless and others in need.<br /><br />This is an excerpt from my book "I Just Happened To Be There," which my agent is about to shop, look for Part 2 soon. Go to Aug 09 on this blog to see "What's In My Book" for more of the books contents.John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-75889625943385111982009-09-21T04:28:00.000-07:002009-09-21T04:29:50.881-07:00Rant & Rave 4 Enabling ChamelonsEnabling chameleons? The state of the Republican party is such that If it’s members would enter a stable nuclear energy site alarms would go off warning that radio active beings are nearby. It has become a party without any significant leadership; in fact it has been reduced to a regional party. The chatter from their base are words we have not heard in America since before the civil war and before civil rights, the wishful operative word here is, civil.<br />Let’s be honest, the current batch of Republicans that are left in Congress and the Senate are southern based who have found themselves with a black President and angry, misinformed constituents. Instead of correctly informing them they choose to echo their words, stoke the fires, appeal to and enable the lowest common denominators in mankind, fear and hate.<br />“We want our country back, it is being taken over by Muslims, we want our freedoms back too,” one lady yelled at a recent gathering of Dick’s Army of nut jobs. Dick let me ask you are there no principals that you won’t sell out for a check from the insurance industry?<br />Jim DeMint an elected U.S. Senator spoke to this rally of loons, and told them, “ I’m here to stand with you, as there are no freedoms in congress in fact this Congress stands against freedom, the very freedoms we stand for.” I don’t blame the confederate flag holding crowd, carrying pictures of Obama as Hitler, they are being enabled and in essence told that they are correct. I blame these leaders who know better. <br />How does DeMint think that congress got there, how in fact did he get there? Real freedom is the right of the people to vote for their leaders. He practically told this riled group that Obama is a dictator who has been imposed upon us by force against our will and by force we shall remove him. This was a not so subliminal message at the rally of loons. Where are the reasonable Republicans and why are they allowing their party to be hijacked by this lunatic fringe? Those who make their fortunes by being divisive like crazy radio hosts and TV talking heads are inciting poor ill informed souls to show up at these rallies. Is this really the face the Republicans want? Why are reasonable Republican leaders silent, silent even as the loons carry assault weapons to Presidential events? The answer to it all is MONEY.<br /> The Republicans are so reduced in stature that this fringe is now their base and by enabling them they raise money for their campaigns. Both parties are full of so called “leaders,” who run for office not as a principled candidate but as Manchurian Candidates. They profess to believe what they are paid to say by corporate interests, from Healthcare reform to Wall Street reform money is the culprit. Over a half billion dollars has been donated to the campagain coffers of representatives of both parties by Wall Street since January, to block regulations. Just think, the future could bring another collapse of the economy as our “leaders,” sit on fat bank accounts and enjoy government run healthcare that we paid for.<br /> A chameleon is a creature that changes colors according to their needs of any given moment, and right now their only color seems to be green. A majority of Americans voted for Obama we are the majority, where are our rallies? Where are our voices?John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-36831098737059691052009-09-13T09:55:00.000-07:002009-10-14T11:10:34.840-07:00Rant & Rave 4 Two Gross National ProductsTwo Gross National Products<br /><br />I always thought the true gross national product was spam, and in a way I wasn’t wrong. What is spam? It is an indefinable blend of things that are evidently so harmful that the ingredients have been a closely guarded secret for 70 years. A closer analysis will reveal that spam is not unlike our political process. Pollen Ticks would be a more appropriate title for our election and governing system. Tick – a small wingless bloodsucking insect that lives on the skin of humans. Not to say that good decent well-intended leaders don’t appear with selfless motives from time to time, but this is not only rare but also dangerous for them as the special interests try to take them apart piece-by-piece so their unbridled quest for more greed will not be impeded.<br />Our system is based solely on MONEY. We have enabled our election process to become a cottage industry in the U.S. In the U.K. if someone runs for Prime Minister they are given equal funds, a level playing field by the government and the whole process takes a couple of months. It always astounds me how we feel that we have nothing to learn from other nations whether it be healthcare, or their electoral process when we are only a couple of hundred years old to their thousands of years of experiences.<br />So much money is needed to run for any office in America that if one succeeds they need to spend most of their time in office not serving the people but raising money daily for their next election. If you should have an endless supply of money like Bloomberg in NYC you can spend any and all of it to get yourself elected, in his case the amount exceeds 20 billion. Where is the outrage? Do we understand the precedent this kind of money can set? In NYC term limits are in place, voted on by the people. Well Bloomberg decided that after two terms he wanted this toy for himself one more time, ok, so far so good, except he could not legally run, so instead of having the people reverse the term limits they put in place he went to the city council, cut deals, donating to their campaigns, or “foundations,” and got them to clear the way for him to have another run for mayor. He is spending so much for so long that one barely knows who if anyone is opposing him; some very fine people took themselves out of the race, as they could not compete with this kind of money. I won’t get into my personal feelings about the mayor of NYC as there is not enough room here to do so, but like him or not, shouldn’t this perversion of our system be alarming to everyone? The very premise of his campaign should set your hair on fire; is his whole basis for another run “everything is so bad after my two terms that only I can fix it?” Come on everyone wake up! <br />Until money is removed from our system we will never have a government of the people, by the people and for the people.<br />Washington has become a city of lobbyists. Some say “what’s wrong with that?” they present other sides of the debate, well if that was the case we would only need one for each cause or industry. NOT one who bares gifts in the form of trillions of dollars to influence our representatives. Forget the NRA, or any other lobbyists there are an average of 6 lobbyists for each Senator and Congressman representing the Healthcare/Insurance industry alone So if we don’t get a decent Healthcare bill don’t blame our President, he is only one man, blame your self. Power to the people!<br /><br />The above was a web letter I wrote that appeared in Nation on Sept 21st. See the editorial that provoked this blog, "<a href="http://www.thenation.com/doc/20090921/editors">By Any Means Necessary</a>."John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-73858448114150123992009-09-10T07:28:00.000-07:002009-10-11T04:16:27.429-07:00The Party's OverFollowing is an excerpt from my book "I Just Happened To Be There," which my agent is about to shop. See the rest of my blog for more on the book and other assorted topics.<br /><br /><br />Coming Of Age, Or When Coming Is No Longer Enough<br />THE PARTY’S OVER<br /><br />Stanislavsky, the famed Russian teacher of the method system of acting said, “In communicating these thoughts to you, I hope that each of you possesses the sort of love that will teach him to devote all his life to the service of art. Do not try to push your way through to the front ranks of your profession; do not run after distinctions and rewards; but do your utmost to find an entry into the world of beauty. If you find it in yourself once, having achieved only for a few hours during your studies the fullest harmony of mind and heart, you will already be able to bring undeniably creative treasures into the life of the stage. And even if these do not reach the stage in your person today, they will not be entirely lost, for they will remain in your subconsciousness, and while mute today, you will project them into your life tomorrow in some other part and strike a responsive chord of beauty in the people around you”<br />It is over and above mere advice for a system of acting, it is sound advice for life itself. It was true when he wrote it, it perfectly describes hitting that note in the 60s, and serves as good advice today. But if all the world’s a stage, why be a mere player? Why sit in the audience? Why not star in the production of our own lives? Star in it by hitting it head on, exploring it to its fullest, being open and letting it flow through you. This is what I tried to do in the time we call “the sixties.”<br />In my course of experimentation with “mind-expanding drugs,” I failed to recognize that they were just what they were billed to be—mind-expanding. They were not a ticket to ride into blissful states beyond. They might expand what is there, but they do not bring anything out of you that was not there already, nor do they put anything in.<br />That means they can only take you so far without repeating the experience. It is said that madness is repeating the same mistakes and expecting different results. In this sense, I was mad.<br />If love is the fiber that holds us together, then those who are spiritually inclined and on a course of consciousness-raising will touch upon a state of euphoria. Tasting this nectar for even a single moment is enough to make one devote one’s life to achieving that state again—wanting to know more about it, why it feels so right, trying to touch it one more time, to verify its existence, and maybe, to stay longer next time—in the hope it can become a permanent feeling. Once experienced, it will always be there for you, acting as a shield from the difficult headwinds of life, and helping you to remember that there is more as you deal with day-to-day challenges. In 1969, I lived to recreate those moments. Another hit please! Given the times, I had a lot of company, at least for a while.John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-54523913770534023462009-09-02T05:41:00.000-07:002009-09-02T05:52:37.654-07:00Jimi Hendrix and ME Part 2This is Part 2 of a personal story about Jimi Hendrix and myself please read part 1 below first. This is an excerpt from my book called "I Just Happened To Be There," which my agent is about to shop.<br /> Jimi Part 2<br />Talk about sensory overload! Perhaps an hour or so later, it’s difficult to know, I heard a footfall behind me. When I turned to see, I just about freaked. It was Jimi. I thought I was hallucinating. He came by the hotel asking for me and was directed up to the roof. He wanted to know more about this powerhouse drug I’d given him.<br />“Jesus, man, what is this shit? I’m still peaking!”<br />When I told him it was STP, he seemed relieved. He smiled that great smile of his and giggled, as he often did, then gracefully slid down into a sitting position.<br />“Might as well get into it and ride it out.” He lit a cigarette. “It’s nice up here.”<br />He was excited about plans for his own recording digs. Apparently, he spent large sums renting studio time, and someone figured out he’d save money by having his own. He believed it was the first commercial studio owned by a rock recording artist, and had ambitious ideas for its use. He was told an underground spring ran beneath the building and spoke in very trippy terms of how that would affect the music, that the natural presence of water would have a creative influence. <br />At times, the intensity of the drug made it necessary to maintain some distance. In effect, we took communication breaks, one of us moving across the roof.<br />In a separate conversation, he shared how burnt out he felt.<br />“They’re workin’ me to death.”<br />He didn’t say who “they” were, and I don’t mean to accuse anyone of anything, I don’t claim to know, but he felt “used.” He enjoyed his drugs, but he also believed he needed them to accomplish what was expected of him.<br />For me, his words hit home. I was a guitar player with aspirations, and here was the best in the world, having the kind of huge success the rest of us dreamed about, and he was unhappy. There were moments where he seemed almost despondent (the drug could have been partly responsible. Hallucinogenics could easily set off mood swings, although often they simply amplify what is already there, hidden beneath the surface). <br />Finally, the edge came off this mega trip, and we began the journey downward. Jimi thanked me and we said our goodbyes.<br />“At least we won’t need any more drugs for a while,” he said on his way out, meaning the STP was so strong, who needed to get high again anytime soon?<br />That was the last time I saw him. His Electric Lady Studios finally opened its doors. Then came the awful news. He had overdosed and died in London. One of the greatest talents ever was gone.<br />At least we won’t need any more drugs for a while. His parting words still ring in my ear.John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-3329346525790967852009-08-30T03:42:00.000-07:002009-09-02T05:49:15.897-07:00Jimi Hendrix and Me Part 1Coming Of Age, Or When Coming Is No Longer Enough<br />JIMI<br /><br />Back in New York, one night I went to a friend’s party, a perfectly fine get-together but nothing out of the ordinary. That is, until Jimi Hendrix walked in. I’d heard he had a place in the Village not far from the Albert Hotel. Of course, I was very interested to meet him. When I overheard him mention Tim Leary to someone, it created an opportunity to join the conversation. He was warmly receptive and easy to talk to. I couldn’t help but share how I followed Tim to Montreal and just missed being a part of possibly the greatest music video of all time. I soon found myself in Jimi’s company again—it seemed we had a few friends in common. On more than one occasion we’d pass each other a joint or hash pipe, which led to in-depth conversations, or at least we thought so in our stoned state. I was, in those days, a musician, a guitar player, and Jimi enjoyed my stories about jam sessions in the basement of the Albert.<br />Many musicians hung out at a cellar club up at 46th Street and Eighth Avenue called “Steve Paul’s Scene.” Speaking of jams, how about this legendary combo: Hendrix and BB King on guitars, with Mitch Mitchell (The Jimi Hendrix Experience) on drums, and John Lennon singing! Was I there? Of course not! It was a night I decided to crash and stay home.<br />One night at the “Scene”, I was in the men’s room checking myself out in the mirror. Along with my wigged-out, layered, Sergeant Pepper haircut and my blue velvet, Edwardian, double-breasted jacket with crepe ruffle shirt, bell-bottoms, and sneakers, I wore a rather funny look on my face. Why do I say that? And why do I so vividly recall in such detail? I was just getting off on some acid and zoning in the mirror. Hell, I remember what the air smelled like, even its texture. <br />Another patron stepped in. He took one look at me and knew.<br />“Hey, man. You’re trippin’!” It was Jimi. “I want some!” <br />“Let me see if my friend is still carrying. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”<br />I checked with my friend back at the bar. He had one more hit and gave it to me. I happily reported back to Jimi, handing him the tab. It brought a smile to his face. He popped it into his mouth and invited me to join his party, which consisted of this DDG (Drop Dead Gorgeous) blonde he’d been going around with and a male friend. <br />At Jimi’s table, they ordered drinks, except for Jimi and me. We were “on the wagon.” Before long, I started feeling the acid in a very big way. I thought my body was melting. I could see Jimi wasn’t far behind. <br />He leaned over and confided, “I gotta get out of here.” <br />“Me too.”<br />He put some money on the table and, to the bewilderment of his friends, hurried out the exit. He hit the street before me, as I held back to wait for the others. By the time I got outside, Jimi was speeding off in a cab, leaving even Ms. DDG behind. <br />I managed an awkward “Nice meeting you” to her and her friend and went back in. I could tell there was something different about this acid, and asked my friend about it. It was called STP, a rare, stronger form of LSD that boasted an extended peak time.<br />I decided to go home, back to the comfort of the knowing individuals at the Albert. Thank God for the Albert, I thought. I went up on the roof, as the song goes, to try to catch my breath. I ended up spending much of the night up there, tripping my brains out, with the moonlit sky above and the lamp-lit Manhattan streets below. <br />THIS IS AN EXCERPT FROM MY BOOK CALLED "I JUST HAPPENED TO BE THERE," WHICH MY AGENT IS ABOUT TO SHOP. THE REST OF THIS STORY ABOUT JIMI WILL BE POSTED THIS WEDNESDAY SEPT 2ndJohn Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-33198413970943791862009-08-21T06:59:00.001-07:002009-09-13T10:27:54.947-07:00Rant & Rave 3 The New SpeciesTHE NEW SPECIES<br /><br />Growing up I was a Star trek fan but in today’s world I find little need to read or view anything Sci-Fi. What for? All one needs to do today is merely look out their windows to find strange phenomena. We seem to have advanced so far with technology and regressed spiritually. All this technology can work for us or against us and might even eventually be the cause of our demise, if we don’t strengthen our spiritual muscles.<br />The level of stuff that we now accept would have previously been beyond the most vivid of imaginations. We enable a Wall Street full of criminal parasites that suck the blood of society for their own personal and immediate gains. Wall Street a place where humorless robots that look and dress alike walk around clinging to their lust with overactive libidos of greed. They dress like their stylist was an undertaker from the 50’S and they all wear baseball caps even in the gym, what’s that all about? I guess with pursuit of collective greed one loses all individuality<br /> We live on a planet where conservatives demand that a woman has the child even if it came from a rape or incest. Once it’s born they don’t want to inoculate it, give it an education, or healthcare and God Forbid it should grow up and receive social security or medicare, on top of all that they want to put you down for being a single mom.<br />Our streets are lined with fertility clinics where whore doctors will take any request for anything, like a bad DJ on life’s highway. Just look at the Octo-Moron Mom. In my view one should examine the reason they want children. Is it for ego extension? Given the state of the world today what will their futures be like? With so many being born will any of them ever find a job 20 years from now? Can you provide for them for their entire life? If one truly feels the need to have children they should not come from labs, children should be considered as a gift, born out of love, not a material possession you have and then turn over to a nanny. <br /> In this space in time, we are the ones occupying this plane called earth, and we seem to be witnessing a transformation, to a “New Species.” A new breed that pumps out children like a cat does a litter. Instructing their local Frankenstein lab doctor to create a minimum of twins. No one has a single child anymore. I guess they want their moneys worth from the clinic. Well, if you have that kind of love in your heart and you cannot have kids, ADOPT!<br /> We live in a time where we want to legislate love. Love is love whether it is between a man and a women, a man and a man or a women and a women, and no government or religion should stand in between nor get in the way of love. It’s simply not our business. If you feel threatened by this kind of marriage I suggest you spend your time strengthening your own relationship.<br />Men speak so softly today and are such “high talkers” there seems to be a homogenization of sexes going down. Are we on our way to a one sex society, where men and women fall in line, dress alike, think alike? Soon they will be selling the space on their shaved heads to advertisers, to get us to buy more so their stocks can go up. Can you deny that it’s a Sci-Fi world after all?John Molinarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05844275087142257627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3380746895345548698.post-62856135096984017262009-08-17T09:49:00.000-07:002009-08-17T09:54:01.320-07:00Coming Of Age, Or When Coming Is No Longer Enough <meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 10"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 10"> <link rel="File-List" href="file:///Macintosh%20HD/Users/johnmolinari/Library/Preferences/Microsoft/Clipboard/msoclip1/01/clip_clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>271</o:Words> <o:characters>1546</o:Characters> <o:company>Jam Media Inc.</o:Company> <o:lines>12</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>3</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>1898</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>10.1316</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Times New Roman"; panose-1:0 2 2 6 3 5 4 5 2 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-indent:.3in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Coming Of Age, Or When Coming Is No Longer Enough</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">THE SIXTIES</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I just happened to be there. Or did I? I just happened to be born into and live through times that were no less than a scintillating, creative, imaginative renaissance, pure and simple. The Sixties were a period of exciting unrest, the result of pushing boundaries. It was all part of a social experiment; a constant state of struggle between the society we lived in and the one we were trying to create. It was the perfect era for me to come of age in, for both my Spiritual Compass and the Bad Boy. Both found a solid footing in what was taking root in this new and evolving dissident culture, so open to spiritual curiosity and chock full of all kinds of trouble you could get yourself into, and I characteristically and comfortably positioned myself on the front lines. Maybe I happened to be there, but like everything else in my life, I came with body, mind, and soul. <span style="font-style: italic;">Excerpt from my book that my agent is about to shop</span>
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