The Camp Omega Blog

Presently pictures of past

2009-12-01T14:18:00.000-08:00

A years gone by. Bye-bye, bygones. A good time to reflect on twelve lunar cycles, runnin' around the sun. Hard to focus, fuzzy ideas, mental diarrea. Must've been the eclipse or a meteor shower, I feel the power in this final hour. Or maybe the cosmic events within. This year's song began on such a high note, hit parade, number one without no bullets. So inspired, all things are possible when good will outweighs bad deeds. To be sure, the skies were darkening with clouds of uncertainty, but it was going to be alright. We'd all weathered storms before. The band played on, even as bad deals were going down. I was caught in a tidal wave of good tidings, never thought that the shoreline would be so fraught with who knows what.

The muse of blues was once again flowing from my fingertips. I went down to the crossroads and was lifted off my knees into a breeze of free-flowing musicality that ran through me like the spirit of an old friend long gone. Felt like a deep freeze had unfroze with a thaw that inspired awe. Memories of days wrapped in reverie of joyful noise, my fingers flitted across and flirted with those strings. Good vibrations indeed.

It was then that I felt the shift, turned inward, re-direction, tugging at my heartstrings. Damn you, Philo Farnsworth! Talk about the genie and the bottle. More like the GE and the throttle. Turn it off, screamed Howard Beale, he was the real deal, all the rest were mad, not he. That tube is as addictive as any substance, unsubstantial, a box of bad moody blood, flowing out into my living room, up to my knees,now it's at my throat, too late, like the blob it's got me in it's gob.

I ain't no saint, fed on the boob as surely as mother's milk, I sat transfixed, eyes wide,Howdy Doody, Buffalo Bob, The Merry Mailman. Who were these people, smiling at me like I was their long-lost loved one, showing me pictures of fantastical places and smiling faces? Rare Earth got it right,too late to stop now. I believe I was falling in love with phantoms, but they liked me, they really liked me.The pitch was caught and the runner was out. As this embryo evolved from boy to man, from band to band, brother in hand, the waters were choppy but we learned to navigate the negative undertow. Now, washed up on the sands of time, the weight of years and tears and slings and arrows of outrageous fortune bending my back and bowing my head, where was the refuge, the salvation for a soul unstrung from the body and the bridge to a tuneless tomb of timidity and terror that buries me in that lone prairie without my saddle pal oh,wherefore Art though Wes? Led through uncharted territory without any ideas as my maps. We'll meet on Jagged Edges, soon. A reunion, a community of souls, but are we still united? State your case for the human race, we're in it to win it, , somethings won but somethings lost. At such a cost. My loss is your gain. Mark Twain turnin' in his tomb, weary of the irony, seems like an eternity.

twelve months at a time.

In Praise of Silly

2009-01-16T12:10:00.000-08:00

We are programmed at birth to be silly. Our parents tolerate it until such time as we are deemed "big" boys and girls. Growing up is synonymous with sillying down. Suddenly we're too old for this type of behavior, but it's not something that can be switched off swiftly. It takes varying amounts of time, but most of us eventually toe the line, cast off our childish thoughts and actions and turn our attention to more serious matters.

Silly isn't something we naturally outgrow. We must be taught to "tone it down". And it would negatively impact our studies and professions. So we tuck away our puckishness until we have our own offspring to entertain. It gives us joy and pleasure to make our children laugh by indulging in exactly the same type of shenanigans we were taught to shed like a soiled diaper. And as our children grow it's our turn to rain on their parades.

But what if that silliness is, in fact, a vital aspect of our psycho-somatic selves, a protection mechanism against the deadly serious aspects of life? A defense against the ever-growing cynicism of the modern age. In the global community (an oxymoron if ever there was one), we are constantly exposed to the twenty-four hour news cycle. Some poor soul meets an untimely end in a remote corner of the world and they are offered up as info-tainment, a monotonous drumbeat of doom and destruction, often watched from the comfort of a cozy home.

The helplessness is palpable. Empathy and worry are the only ways to express our solidarity with the afflicted. Watch the evening news and a sleepless night is assured. Certainly it's no stretch to hypothesize that the ensuing distress impacts our health. Sedation is often sought by prescription, over the counter and under the table.

There is another way. Get in touch with your silly self. Do something stupid, laugh at something inane, tease, joke, cajole, poke and prod. Speak gibberish, the official language of the silly. Wake up the sleeping infant. Alka Seltzer for the soul. Endorphins flow, the mood elevates and somehow we reconnect with that blissful state which lies dormant, not dead. You can do it in private or with a trusted confidant. Public silliness could easily be misinterpreted, so always indulge in a protected environment. And it's legal!

Start slow and work your way up. Silliness has to be reacquired in stages.

Often I've been accused by those I love and trust as being too silly. Guilty as charged.

It's a sentence I'm happy to serve.

Forward to the Past

2008-12-11T09:42:00.000-08:00

The recent auto industry debacle has the news networks jumping for joy. More fodder for FOX. And the hearings! Senators seek to scuttle the unions, while the commander in chief leaves the reservation to swoop down and save the world from the big business boogie men. To those unfamiliar with the inner workings of mega-corporations, it seems cut and dry, open and shut. Kick out the greedy CEOs and bring in a new "management team" (the latter being an oxymoron.)

To those of us who've spent many years in the belly of the beast, it's no secret that a change in leadership usual results in a negative impact on a company (read: employees). The new crew unfailingly make their mark by wreaking havoc. And after creating enough chaos and carnage, they pull the rip chords on their golden parachutes and float safely to another organization desperate to recover from the legacy of it's own departed set of deal makers and deciders.

What an unnerving surprise awaits the unsuspecting and hopeful hordes. They quickly learn that they've swapped one crop of incompetents for their doppelgangers. Their unpleasant and largely unknown secret to personal success is that they are carbon-copies of their predecessors. New does not equal improved. The empty suits are all the same - incompetent, ego maniacal, misanthropic megalomaniacs. But the stakeholders are delighted to have exacted their revenge at their own expense. And the press eats it up, happy to spew the swill through their propaganda machines.

It's a show, folks, just a show. Until there's a fundamental change in the way our country does business, the clones will continue their march to mediocrity, The light at the bottom of the hole we're trying to dig our way out of is Obama, and his team. This guy gets it. Not distracted by all the hoopla, he's focusing on the problems at hand, surrounding himself with smart, savvy people. Of course, they're all politicians, but that's the pond in which they must swim. The challenge is to avoid the traps without getting sucked down into the muck.

The titanic failures of the big three are just the tip of the iceberg. As the economy erodes it will impact all of us in different ways. Our kid are graduating from college with freshly-minted degrees and few choices to employ their knowledge. So they move back home with the folks. And WE are the folks. The DNA of the nuclear family is recombining out of necessity. Circle the wagons.

Perhaps there's a silver lining to the the gathering clouds. When our parents and grandparents first came to this country, they formed new communities of old friends and neighbors. Families lived across the street from one another, not across the country or half the way around the world. They shared a common language that spoke of their heritage and hereditary homes. Radio was a big deal, LCD stood for lowest common denominator, not liquid crystal display. Almost no one felt poor or rich, or coveted their neighbor's possessions. A warm bed, hot meal and dry roof were plenty. The Great Depression certainly oppressed many, but they were thankful for what little they had instead of hateful for what they lacked.

The term "family values" was not a political talking point, but rather the very fabric of society, made from whole cloth, that bound together the communities, towns, cities, states and ultimately the entire country.

And that's something money can't buy.

Vote As If Your Life Depends On It

2008-10-28T10:45:00.000-07:00

Last political spiel. There are 192 Omegans registered on our website. Multiply that by the number of parents, kids of voting age, cousins, uncles, aunts et al. The number scales up exponentially. Not enough to win the popular vote, perhaps. But they could help to make the difference in key battleground states, such as Florida, and the electoral college decides the election.

No matter where you are on the social strata, the familial food chain, you have a stake in this game. Even if you are comfortably numb, you stand to lose in a government by, of and for the fat cats. Their greed doesn't end with monetary dominance - they want to control the world by way of a federation of a New World Order, Project for the New American Century, the North American, European and Asian Unions. Whatever label you choose, it is real and a threat to everyone. If you're thinking I'm a conspiracy nut, do the homework.

McCain and Palin are stalking horses for the current administration. If they are elected, their strings will be pulled by the same puppet-masters who've run the White House for the past eight years. And their parting gift is a once-in-a century financial meltdown. If you're checked your portfolio lately you know you've shared the collective pain with your fellow countrymen.

Obama-Biden may not be your dream ticket, but they are the last hope we have for a change. At least Obama is smart, top of his class at Columbia and Harvard, editor of the Harvard Law Review. And he's respectd by most of the free world. Or do you prefer a lazy Annapolis alum who wouldn't have graduated without the help of his famous military father. His survival in the Hanoi Hilton was remarkable, but that alone does not qualify him to be the commander-in-chief. There are a lot of unsung heroes of that war who would never be considered for that office, by virtue of their valor alone. Why would they want to, after being ground in the gristmill of an illegal war, and seeing many of their sons and daughters suffer the same fate?

You've probably figured out by now that I've been obsessed by this election and what it means to the future of our children and grandchildren. That's what keeps me up at night. As it should you.

So vote your conscience and not your pocket book. Their lives depend on it, too.

A Rose By Any Other Name

2008-09-17T16:19:00.000-07:00

bailout:a rescue from financial distress

bail out:

1: to parachute from an aircraft
2: to abandon a harmful or difficult situation ; also : leave , depart

bale:

1 : great evil
2 : woe , sorrow

bale: a bundle of goods

bill of goods: something intentionally misrepresented : something passed off in a deception or fraud

bail: Security, usually a sum of money, exchanged for the release of an arrested person as a guarantee of that person's appearance for trial.

baleful: Portending evil; ominous.

bail: remove water from a sinking ship

Tri-merica the Beautiful

2008-08-22T14:49:00.000-07:00

Unless you've been living on the moon you must be aware of the political hatchet fight that's been brewing. One of the candidates, now a Vice-Presidential nominee, offered up a plan for bringing home the troops from Iraq, correctly taking the position that Iraq is really three countries cobbled together from three separate and distinct religious factions. They were held hostage by a brutal dictator who was put into power in large part by the US government, because he hated the Iranians and would fight a proxy war with them. When it became financially and politically expedient to stage a preemptive occupation for the benefit of the military-industrial complex and to avenge a father's disgrace, the dictator was removed from power in an illegal war that started with a bang in a barrage of bunker busters, and the burials continue on both sides.

Now back to that proposal: let the three factions return to their sovereign roots and settle their own disputes by pulling out slowly in an orgasmic explosion of democracy. All well and good, assuming the powers that would be are willing to settle long-standing religious and political differences, return to former borders and share oil resources, Iraqi gold, Texas W. Not totally unreasonable although highly unfeasible given the lack of a central government and military, as is the case with the U.S and most other developed countries.

But how really different are we, in terms of irreconcilable beliefs and politics? All the vitriolic campaigning and polarizing positions of our parties cry out loudly and clearly that we are no longer thinking, acting and living as one nation, but three - you see the demographics constantly on the continuous news cycles that spew out the desired data. We are red, blue and undecided, fundamental evangelicals, bible-thumping theologians, and everyone else. The haves, have-less and have-nots. We live in virtually three different countries and mind-sets. How else is it possible for three people to look and listen to the same speech, yet come away with three divergent interpretations? It's as if we live in a modern Tower of Babel, Saddam and Got more,huh? with a mall and movie theater thrown in for good measure. Anesthetize the mind and the body will follow.

The more we "change", the more we stay the same - in stasis, suspended in an amniotic sack of fear. That's the remote control. Scare the bejeezes out of us, and we'll do whatever you want, just keep the evil-doers from our door. The thought is scary, for sure, but if you want real terror, here's a list of statistics gleaned from the web that might give you pause:

The top 10 causes of death in the US are (as of 2005)

Diseases of Heart 28.5%
Malignant Neoplasms (cancer) 22.8%
Cerebrovascular Diseases (stroke) 6.7%
Chronic Lower Respiratory Diseases 5.1%
Accidents 4.4%
Motor Vehicle Traffic Accidents (41% of all accidents)
Poisoning (16% of all accidents)
Fall (15% of all accidents)
Diabetes Mellitus 3.0%
Influenza and Pneumonia 2.7%
Alzheimer's Disease 2.4%
Nephritis, Nephrotic Syndrome and Nephrosis (kidney diseases) 1.7%
Septicemia (blood poisoning) 1.4%

That doesn't include the 98,000 deaths due to medical mistakes, and the invisibles who die from exposure, hunger and lack of adequate and affordable health care.

See terrorism listed anywhere? Nope. Yet it is the guiding force of the lives and beliefs of many, who will vote for a person or persons of questionable character based on whom they feel will do best at keeping the boogie-man at bay. There are those who manipulate this to their monetary advantage, knowing full well that they are manufacturing fear for fun and profit.

And then there are those who prefer to place their bets on trying to live as best as possible for as long as possible. All that's needed is the chance, a level playing field. Take care of the basics and they'll roll the dice, as opposed to playing this game of Russian roulette every day. The cards are stacked, and nothing less than a fundamental paradigm shift, not shaft, will make the difference. Instead of cut and run, let's run and cut; things like the deficit, the death rate and financial inequity. Don't just stay the course, alter it, plot a new one that can be re-calibrated for correction. One ship cannot navigate in three directions at once, and a people cannot advance by taking one step forward and two steps back.

Irregardless, we'll know the outcome in two months. Just make a choice and follow through. It's a trifecta we can't afford to lose.

Declaration of Interdependence

2008-07-02T10:19:00.000-07:00

Most of us think the Declaration of Independence is a sacred document that illuminates the key entitlements of every person. I posit that this is a misguided perception. "Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" is not an altruism, or idealized prose, but rather a demand of King George III (not to be confused with the twice and future king of today) that THESE truths we hold to be self-evident. A very specific independence, from tyranny, over-taxation and the trampling of basic rights.

This ideology has been usurped by those who would have us believe that we are on our own, every man for himself, sometimes referred to as being a maverick, an independent and so forth. In theory, this concept is appealing, an enabler for personal growth and wealth acquisition. But something has gone wrong, horribly wrong.

Ever drive down a street that you've been on a hundred times before, and suddenly you come within an inch of your life, side-swiped by a huge SUV, whose driver was too impatient to wait another millisecond to enter the road, cut you off, cell phone to ear, oblivious to everything and everyone? If it sounds familiar, welcome to the club. You are in a world that is officially independent, independent of courtesy, common decency and consideration. Your life is devalued relative to those who deem themselves above everyone and everything, and woe to anyone who gets in their way. If you see yourself in this illustration, no apologies. You know who you are, and need to re-evaluate your notions of superiority by virtue of wealth or just an ego-driven, over-inflated opinion of self-worth.

Jimmy Cliff sang "the harder they come, the harder they fall". "Be kind to those on your way up, for you might meet them on your way down". After all, we are equal in our humanity. Maslow's hierarchy of needs is the great common denominator - we all need food, clothing and shelter, without which we cannot move up the pyramid to the next level of self-actualization. Absent any one of these basic elements, we become focused and fixated upon obtaining it. We pity the homeless person on the street, but we are not independent of their predicament. Unknown forces are at work, and we are all fair game.

If this sounds like a Socialist doctrine, let's be clear on one thing - we all live in denial of the fact that we are dependent on many "socialized" services of life. Would we be willing to pay a premium, as we do for health care, for services provided by the fire department, police department, postal service, even social services? I think not. We expect to receive those benefits because we are fine, upstanding, tax-paying individuals. The sad fact is that we don't know how our taxes are really utilized. Undoubtedly, they could be better allocated for other services that benefit the common good, such as health care, elder care and aid for those less unfortunate individuals who desperately need relief, to name but a few.

But that wouldn't be the American way: to the winner goes the spoils. Our federal, state and local governments are so corrupt and self-interested that they are only motivated toward the same, selfish end - garnering favorable legislation for their cronies and getting re-elected.

Do yourself a great favor and rent the 1976 movie "Network" - a masterpiece of a film written by Paddy Chayevsky and directed by Sidney Lumet. There are so many life-lessons to be learned there, but at the top of the list is Howard Beale's appeal to his listening audience. He implored them to: "Go to your windows, open them, stick your heads out and yell "We're as mad as hell and we're not going to take this anymore". It's as relevant today as it was thirty-two years ago. The other, lesser known scene is with Ned Beatty, who plays the head of a large communication conglomerate, and orders Howard into his massive board room. The speech sends shivers up one's spine. It ends with the statement, "The world is one large, ecumenical corporation". Think about that for a moment, and then realize how similar it is to the world of today. And we arrived at this sorry state of affairs by purposely putting on our blinders, and plundering the commonwealth for self-enrichment and aggrandizement.

Is this truly independence? Certainly it is a form of societal alienation. Which inevitably puts us all on the road to an unfortunate future. Rather, let us return to our roots, and throw off the chains of corporate enslavement. The time has come to draft a new document, a Declaration of Interdependence, stating that THESE truths we hold to be self evident; that we will work together to ensure that each person has a decent life, economic and social liberty, and that unless and until we achieve these goals, we cannot freely and fairly engage in the pursuit of happiness. By embracing our interdependence we will truly become a nation of many, living as one.

The founders, as imperfect as they were, would be proud.

Younited States

2008-05-31T06:37:00.000-07:00

What is a place without the people, and what are the people without a place? A piece of land is just inanimate dirt until trodden. We long for the land that stands as a testament, a lonely relic of a golden time gone by. But is it the space we seek or the individuals who joined together in a tapestry of youthful exuberance, and created a nation of naive naissance, a common coming of age?

In our mind's eye we idealize and metamorphosize those memories into a Younity of many; of the country, by the country and in the country. Bungalows and barns, hotels and horse farms, candy-stores and camps. The country was and still is an escape from the heat and the humdrum.

And that country consisted of states, bound by the collective You. They ran the gamut from the proverbial agony to ecstasy and every nuance imaginable. Each of us perceived a different reality, now filtered through the prism of the past tense. States of joy, sadness, competitiveness, creativity, uninhibitedness, longing, loneliness, the list goes on. They altered the landscape, but each contributed to create the patchwork quilt of quintessential Younanimity.

These Younited states, are dependent upon your support. Some have seceded from the Younion, and many have incorporated and ratified a new constitution, celebrated whenever there is a consensus to caucus. Yet the capitol still stands, the alpha and the Omega, waiting for it's minions to make the pilgrimage, to congregate once again as a nation.

Even if only for a day.

A Dearth of Hugs

2008-04-22T09:26:00.001-07:00

Back in 2002, I found myself between jobs. With free time on my hands, I sought to fill the void as best I could. A colleague of mine had developed a new technology that sounded promising, and he asked me to help develop a business plan for securing venture funding. I was thrilled to have something to do, especially in my field, so I gladly accepted, pro bono of course.

During our business relationship, which included several meetings over cookies courtesy of Rita and a white board in the living room, we formed a close bond. As you can imagine, we called each other often to brainstorm. During one such call, my partner hesitated, and asked if he could ask me a personal favor. Intrigued, I obliged. One of his daughters had recently developed juvenile diabetes, and he and his wife were naturally desperately grasping for ways to help her. My friend explained that he had recently reconnected with an old buddy of his who had dropped out of the business world and was seeking harmony, both musically and spiritually, in New Mexico. When he told his old friend of his daughter's plight, the friend suggested that they travel to Washington, DC to seek a healing hug from Amma, a living saint who travels the world giving hundreds of thousands of special hugs, which had been reported to help the sick. The physical effort of hugging so many would certainly appear to be beyond the ability of most humans, and there is no scientific explanation for how Amma does it, even to this day, with hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions.

My partner, aware of my many health problems, and, concerned for my well-being, asked if I would like to travel to DC with his wife and daughter as they attended one of Amma's darshans, which means "meeting with a holy person". Their hope was for their daughter to receive a hug, and perhaps experience a miraculous recovery. At first I was speechless, and after my mind wrapped around the idea, I agreed. Why not? It couldn't hurt. So, even though my wife thought I had taken leave of my senses, I piled into the van and off we went.

The darshan was held at a hotel in Crystal City, an impressive edifice and a fitting locale for a mystical meeting. We were guided to a large reception area by several beatific beings enrobed in white. After giving a reasonable donation, we were admitted to the main area, where we were encouraged to partake of a very nice Indian buffet lunch. It slowly dawned on me that nearly everyone was wearing a white ensemble, signifying that they were devotees of Amma. Hundreds of smiling souls sat cross-legged as they were entertained by musicians playing traditional melodies. Our little entourage found a space and joined the flock, legs dutifully crossed. A palpable sense of anticipation filled the room as the crowd began to chant and the music intensified to a crescendo, at which point Amma was ushered in by assistants and firmly ensconced on a silk pillow.

More songs and chants followed, which I must say was quite enjoyable once I joined in. Amma's son, who led the band,gave a short introduction in English, and then Amma gave a teaching, which was fascinating and resonated with everyone, myself included. I did not judge, and became a human sponge, absorbing as much of the experience as possible. Soon, we were given numbers which signified our sequence for joining the moving carpet of followers, shuffling along single file, still in a lotus position. When a devotee reached Amma, instructions were given as to how to approach her; place hands to the right and left of her and lean forward. At that point, Amma would reach out and hug, whispering a special message in the ear of the huggee, before a quick release and assistance off the platform. As each one left the stage, he or she had a distant, blissful expression, and had to be escorted, legs having turned to jelly.

Watching this ritual, while shuffling forward on crossed legs, I was filled with anticipation, wondering how the hug would feel, and what message this great woman would have for me. Eventually I took my turn. I will not share the message, which was meant for my ears only, but I can say that, after being released from Amma's arms, I experienced an indescribable feeling, one that I had never felt before or have since, a feeling that there is more to the world than meets the eye.

As the four of us left the darshan, not a word was spoken, smiling all the way home. Still glowing as I stepped out of the van upon my return, I briefly contemplated donning blanched duds and joining the flock to seek a simpler life. Floating back to earth I resumed my real life, yet retained the memory of that transcendent event.

Alas, there were no improvements in our physical condition, but perhaps the changes occurred at a more fundamental level.

I share this anecdote as an illustration of a simple effort that can make such a large impact: the hug. I firmly believe that a major reason for our devotion to one another is the act of hugging, which is practiced with great gusto whenever we are together. Each hug is a physical representation of an emotional bond that re-kindles an ember at each embrace. Family occasions often overflow with full-body contact, again releasing hidden hormones of happiness.

Which brings me to the point of this pontification - what the world needs now, are hugs, sweet hugs. Not the horizontal ones, the kind that money can buy (a la Spitzer), but a firm squeeze that transfers a bit of human kindness from one participant to the other. Society, and the law dictates that it's bad form to grab a stranger. That's why I'm proposing a new public service facility - the hugatorium. Having a bad day? Why not share an innocent intimacy with a like-minded individual at your local hugatorium. Strictly limited to consenting adults who've passed a pre-screening and been deemed hug-worthy, contact is made and an appointment reserved at the nearest hugatorium. This platonic practice might spontaneously spur the formation of hug-clubs. The possibilities are limitless - hug-offs, a new political party called the Hugocrats, founded on the platform of a hug for every home. Who knows where it might lead. World peace, perhaps?

The moral of this story is: if you are feeling out of sorts, and like the world has passed you buy, you need a hug.

Ask the person next to you. They might need one, too.

We Must Overcome

2008-04-04T12:45:00.000-07:00

My brother had two heroes: Martin Luther King Jr and Pete Seeger. Both were instrumental in promoting social change through non-violent resistance and protest. It was Pete who first caught our attention, because music was the message. I was a big folk music fan - Theodore Bikel, Peter, Paul and Mary, the Kingston Trio, etc. Nearly all of these acts entertained on one level, and informed at a deeper one. Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan weren't on my radar screen until a few years after folk had been replaced by the British invasion.

Pete Seeger is a folk-singer of a wholly different order. He did a stint with the Weavers, a pioneering group in traditional music, and then set out on his own. He is a contemporary of Woody Guthrie, Ledbelly, Joan Baez, and so many more. His songs are timeless, his voice unique. Our Dad bought his first album for us and we listened to it over and over again. Written on his banjo head were the words "This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender", a motto that grabbed Wes more than me. In fact, it was part of what formed his humanistic value system, and opened his eyes to the injustices in this world. I was too self-involved to care, and it wasn't until the Vietnam war and my fear of the draft that I participated in the anti-war movement. Wes took a stance early on as a conscientious objector, which led him to Friends World College and eventually to Cesar Chavez and the United Farm Workers where he organized for worker's rights. Through it all, he continuously wrote songs, many of them inspired by Pete Seeger. "He Had A Dream", one of Wes' best works, is an homage to MLK Jr as well as a reflection of his own aspirations.

Recently, while searching for a CD, I came across a collection of some of Pete's best. I popped it in my player, considering it no more than background music. My attention soon turned to the tunes and I starting resonating with his banjo and his homey, yet powerful voice. The songs are as relevant today as they were forty years ago. The words emanating from the speakers brought back vivid memories of those turbulent times, messages for the common man from a very uncommon one.

One track in particular took me by surprise; Pete's version of "We Shall Overcome". Perhaps because it had become so familiar an anthem that inspired generations, including my own, and that I had not heard it in decades, I listened with one ear. The more I listened, the more it commanded, no demanded my attention. Here are the opening lyrics just to jog your memories:

"We shall overcome,
We shall overcome,
We shall overcome, some day.

Oh, deep in my heart,
I do believe
We shall overcome, some day".

And the following verses begin with similar declarations of inter-dependence:

"We'll walk hand in hand", and

"We shall live in peace"

But what really stopped me in my tracks was Pete's introduction to the final verse. He'd obviously picked this verse in particular to give extra emphasis to it's meaning. I hadn't noticed it before, most likely because the song had been sung so many times in support of so many causes, "kumbaya moments" around the campfire, that I had relegated it to the dusty shelf of musical history, seldom opened for serious consideration.

Yet on his seminal version, Mr. Seeger had chosen to break the cadence to re-enforce the gravitas of the subject matter. He said, and I quote:

"The most important verse is the one they wrote down in Montgomery, Alabama. They said "we are not afraid", and the young people taught everybody else a lesson, all we older people who had learned how to compromise and learned how to take it easy, be polite and get along and leave things as they were.The young people taught us all a lesson:

We are not afraid,
We are not afraid,
We are not afraid, TODAY

Oh, deep in my heart,
I do believe
We shall overcome, some day"

When I look deep down in my heart, I AM afraid. Afraid to even give voice to my own fears and misgivings. Not because they are so numerous, but because they are so potentially dangerous and damaging to my status quo. Big Brother is watching me, at least I'm convinced of it, and I'd better not rock the boat or I could be disappeared, renditioned or worse. Afraid that my every word can and will be used against me in a court of martial law. Afraid of the boogie man du jour. In times past, Jews were made the villains by those seeking to control their populace, and now, many years after our "liberation", those former tormentors are part of a European Union whose currency and standing in the world are far exceeding our own. Then it was the Communists. Better dead than Red. Hatred fed by fear of the bomb. Now we are completely dependent on them for commercial goods and capital support. Turnabout is unfair play. No longer a threat but a debt holder of unimaginable proportions, they had to be replaced with a new devil, and conveniently we were re-focused on one of the largest religious and ethnic groups on earth. A war not against terrorists but terror. Nothing to fear but fear itself.

On this infamous day in American history, let us hope that there are younger people and, perhaps, even some older ones who are brave enough to pick up the torch from those of us who've compromised and learned how to take it easy, be polite and get along and leave things as they are.

Pete would be proud, and the memories of Martin Luther King, Jr and his followers would be honored.

Who are you?

2008-03-28T17:57:00.001-07:00

Those of us who've had the good fortune to see a performance of "Love, Janis", a show based on the book by Janis Joplin's sister, were no doubt wowed by her vocal impersonator and her alter-ego, an introspective, Texas girl. It is a musical joy ride of a tragedy, to be sure, but it is so much more.

Mounted in the psychedelic milieu of Haight-Ashbury circa 1967 to 1970, it's a virtual time capsule, expounding the verisimilitude of those mind-blowing years. Her saga is a brief, yet fitting, preface, skirting over the high-lights, so that the listener might recall where he or she was at, man, way back when. Just a triangulation of the truth to illuminate those tumultuous times.

The essence of that incense boils down to a crystal-clear question: what were you then, and who are you now? Where are the punctuation points in your perspective? Could you have imagined the self of today thirty or more years ago, far-out, man, in every sense of the term, from the fabled future you looked forward to?. When some of us came down from that trip, it was a bummer.

The mantra had been non-conformity to the Nth degree. Big hair, small world. The latest LP and a groovy high. The measure of our worth was the size of our Cuban heels and length of our locks. Looking back, it's tempting to mock, but that's taking the easy way out. If perception is reality, that reality was perceived through the prism of the sixties.

Launched by a race in space and a bullet in Dallas, ending when the firing ceased in Southeast Asia, it was too real to deal, so we ducked and covered into the hiding places of our minds. Even a tenure at college was no guarantee of insulation from the pain of draft boards and demonstrations. An altered state, in which we were all painted with the smear of the same brush, until we emerged from whatever bunker we had hunkered down in, blinking at the dawning realization that we weren't in, or listening to, Kansas anymore.

The decade that descended like some temporal tsunami had deposited us on a strange, new beach-head, staring out into the void of the next. Some of us were on a bridge to nowhere, frantically doubling back before it collapsed. And, like it or not, the prerequisites now for feeding one's head were cold, hard cash and a walk down the grocery aisle.

The grand experiment was over,the outcome handicapped by how one had bet on the roll of those dichotomous dice. And at the twilight of each decade, we may look back at ourselves and ask "What were you then, and who are you now?. The answer always ends in a question mark.

We'll just have to wait a couple of years for the question to that answer.

Love and Knishes

2008-03-16T16:06:00.000-07:00

Take one part vodka, two parts Jewish soul food. Add a large dollop of love and affection. Mix thoroughly on the dance floor and give a generous portion to all. This was the recipe for the delicious evening at Sammy's Roumanian on the Ides of March. Even without the booze and schmaltz the result would have been the same - an evening that started on a high and kept climbing.

What a paradox! After the reunion, many felt that we would drift back into the woodwork of our daily lives, our needs met and desires satiated. Sure, we'd have the website, but even that was relegated to occasional glances, skimming to see if something had changed. That is, until a devoted few re-lit the flame under our collective behinds, and motivated a migration back to the Forum. Preliminary plans for a potential repeat reunion in '08 received rave reviews.

The tantalizingly short tenure of our time together just intensified the impetus, the spark that started the chain reaction. We continued to crave our company, knowing that we are within easy reach, so close and yet so far. Scattered to the four corners of the country, our thoughts turn to Omega in those moments when we need a place in our hearts to escape the mundane.

Some of us even beamed up to the the original coordinates of the mother ship, but that enterprise didn't complete the mission. All that remains is the exoskeleton, and no sticks or stones can mend those bones.

Only when we stand again on common ground is the force truly with us, and it grows stronger with each transcendent event. Perpetual emotion and our magnetic attraction to Omega and each other will always overcome any inertia and compel us to increase the frequency.

And may it live long and prosper.

Believe It Or Not

2008-03-02T18:22:00.001-08:00

It was a cool morning in 1968, and I was preparing for my day off as counselor of the Badger bunk. The campers were out, doing their morning activities, and I had the place to myself, as well as the rare privilege of sole access to the showers. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I took a long, hot one, without interruption. It was as if I were Ponce De Leon taking his first dip in the fabled fountain of youth.

Feeling completely rejuvenated by the warm water's sedating effect, I laid down on my cot, and immediately fell into a blissful nap. Suddenly, I had the sensation of hovering over my body, looking down in disbelief. There I was, dead to the world, while my ethereal self floated above. Thinking it a dream, I waited for the subconscious adventure to begin, but still I hovered. Typically, a dream plays out like a movie, taking us to places we may or may not choose to go. Therefore, I shouldn't be able to move about at will, and, verifying this theory might validate the vision. I endeavored to leave the room and instantaneously became airborne, at what seemed to be two hundred feet above the boy's campus!

The feeling was euphoric, touching the intangible, beyond the earthly ties that bind us to our bodies. This was soon replaced by another, more unwelcome thought: what if I was unable to re-inhabit my physical form? Was I ready to remain in this unreal realm, seeing but unseen, removed from the life I was leading, leaving my loved ones and friends? Panic pervaded my presence, and I resolved to return to my fleshy self.

In an instant I was passing through the wall of that rustic cabin I called my Omega home. Again, another unnerving thought gripped my ghostly noggin: could I make it to the other side and remain intact, so to speak, or was there a risk of freezing in place? At once, I became stuck in mid-wall.

Straining to extricate myself from this unwanted state, I miraculously broke free of my bonds, once again gazing down at my limp, lifeless self. But now began the last, and most difficult leg of my journey: to re-unite with my self and awaken in my former world. The melding began, and as the question of re-entry was resolved, I bolted upright from my slumber. What a gift, I thought, to be given the knowledge that there's more to life than life. As what, I didn't know, and furthermore, didn't care.

Dressing quickly, I ran swiftly to the main house, past the staircase, not stopping until I reached the kitchen. I instinctively knew that my Mom would be sitting there in her sweatshirt, shorts and Keds, planning the next evening's activity or even perhaps the Color War breakout.

"Mom!", I proclaimed loudly, scaring her half to death, "Great news! It doesn't end here! We will all live on! I know, I was just on the other side!". She looked at me, wondering if I had lost my mind, but, in her uncanny way, she quickly realized that I was not delirious. After a reassuring hug, she whispered "I believe you". That was enough; her concurrence was all I needed to certify my sanity.

So, dear reader, I leave it to you. Think what you will of this story. All I can say is, it happened, Bern will corroborate my tale. And I've shared it with others who've had similar experiences. Perhaps you have, too, but are reticent to share it with another living soul.

In any event, you now have mine to mull over. Believe it, or not.

Live For Today - Words and Music by Art Steinman

2008-02-13T14:55:00.000-08:00

You are always waiting for tomorrow
Putting off the things that you want to do
You think you've got time enough to borrow
But soon the time will come that your debt is due

You are always searching for the answer
When the problem can be much harder to find
You believe in happy ever after
But fairy tales don't come true all of the time

You've got to live for today
No matter what the people say
They will try to hurt your pride
But don't let them ruin your day

You've got to go with the flow
So have a good time as you go
I don't care what the people say I'm gonna
Live for today

No use worrying about the future
Or regretting things that you did in the past
The present is the only time that matters
So live every moment as if it were your last

Everyone would love to have the power
To make time stand still with the wave of a hand
But a day well lived is worth a thousand empty hours
So live every day just as well as you can

You've got to live for today
Don't ever work as hard as you play
They will try to break your stride
But don't let them stand in your way

It's a long road down
Enjoy life while you're still around
I don't care what the people say I'm gonna
Live for today

We may or may not grow old
The length of life can't be foretold
So listen closely to these words I say

You've got to live for today
No matter what the people say
Though your heart is torn apart you've got to
Get up and go on your way

It's a long road down
Enjoy life while you're still around
I don't care what the people say I'm gonna
Live for today

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An Embarassment of Riches

2008-01-24T16:04:00.001-08:00

As a young camper, all my energies were focused on building plaques, painting scenery, finding someone to snuggle with under a blanket on movie night and other simple diversions that seemed so intensely important at that time. I took for granted the things my Mother and Father worked so hard to provide for me and my brother. And that's exactly how they wanted it. The fact that my parents had obligations and responsibilities were abstract concepts. It was all about me.

How many fathers would build a recording studio in his basement so that his young sons could better follow their muse? He knew first-hand how hard life could be; a child of the depression, compelled by circumstance to provide for his mother and sister at a very young age, working his way up the economic ladder until he was able to ensure that his sons might never know the struggles he endured. My mother created a warm and comfortable home, filled with love and laughter, while writing temple shows, running a travel agency and a camp. And she made it look so easy.

I think we're all well aware of the topsy-turvy world in which we now live. It was evident at the reunion that many of the Omegan alumni are doing well, as are their offspring. What keeps me up nights is: what kind of world will my children inherit?

I can't help but be reminded of the sixties and how many of us (myself included)felt we were going to change the world. Money was the root of all evil, down with the establishment,peace, love and rock and roll and all that hip and cool phraseology. Ironically, our parents were working in the establishment so that we could have the unfettered imagination to dream of this Utopian society. Now that we ARE the establishment, it's our responsibility to provide the same for the next generation. But many of us see our children struggling. For them, pensions are pipe dreams, benefits are bygones and changing jobs is a necessary evil. Some are living paycheck to paycheck and need our help to make ends meet. Unfortunately, this now seems to be the norm, rather than the exception. In a country of such great opportunity, the have-nots are in danger of becoming the never-wills, despite our best efforts.

Are we riding a cycle of alternating disparities? The old axiom that says the next generation should do better than the previous one appears to be dysfunctional. If so, can we break this vicious cycle and restore sanity to our society? I don't have the answers to these distressing questions. What I do know is that our parents lived through a depression and a world war, yet somehow found a way to overcome those obstacles and restore the prosperity of a free democracy to our country. May their efforts give us the hope and resolve we now need to emulate their example, and make the right decisions that, hopefully, may leave a better world for those who will inherit it.

A Loss For Words?

2008-01-15T16:02:00.000-08:00

Well, it was bound to happen. I'm sure you've noticed the dearth of blogs this month. I've been feeling very guilty about disappointing my faithful readers. Usually, I'm mulling over multiple topics, therefore, this mental constipation is very frustrating to say the least. There's a name for it - "Seasonal Affective Disorder" or SAD (cute). No doubt big pharma has several drugs they'd like to shove down our throats to treat it. It generally hits me this time of year. The holidays are over and we're well into the doldrums. The effect on my cerebellum is cumulative, resulting in a kind of "mind lock" (no, Spock did a mind-MELD!). From the time I wake up I feel like I'm just phoning it in, going through the motions but not really there. I don't expect the Floridian Omegans among us to understand, and I'm not ready yet to make the great Yiddish migration, although I kvetch enough to qualify. This is an annual affliction, a brain-fog much like the one described in "Joe and the Volcano" (one of Tom Hanks' worst, IMHO).

The only time I get a brief respite is when Max and Jack visit me. No, they're not partners in a Kosher deli, they're my four year old grandsons. When they're at the house and I start playing with them, I feel the weight of winter lifting. They're usually up at 7am, and Grandpa is waiting for them in his pajamas and robe, comfortably ensconced in his favorite chair. Every inch of the floor is covered with trains and favorite toys. And I'm a kid again. As silly as they get, I get even sillier. Their laughter is my sunshine, my only sunshine, they make me happy when skies are gray (OK, those last few words weren't mine, but they seemed appropriate). I would apologize for my shameless kvelling if didn't know there are so many grandparents in the group. I offer it here because, for me, it perfectly illustrates my point; that I am, like DiNiro in "Awakenings", in a state of suspended-imagination, revived only by the occasional sweet stimuli.

Hmmmn. I think I've just written a blog about not writing blogs. Seems the process itself might be impetus enough. And now, I'll slip back into my somnambulistic perambulation until next Spring. Or the next blog.

"Ode To A Caucus" by A. H. Steinman

2008-01-03T17:29:00.000-08:00

There once was a meeting named Caucus
Which was really quite rowdy and raucus
And when all votes were cast
It became clear at last
Whomever they choose will still faucus

Happy (Blank) Year!

2008-01-02T18:47:00.000-08:00

Ever stroll down the aisle at your local supermarket or big-box retailer and get excited about a product that proclaims "It's New!? Big deal, so it's new! Does the fact that something is new automatically qualify it as fabulous? Of course not. Would you buy a piece of clothing off a rack just because the tag says it's new, even if you don't know the size, color or even gender? No way. Then why do we get so excited when the previous year ends and the current one begins? After all, the calendar remains the same, only the year is incremented.

The point I am belaboring is: just because the year is new doesn't automatically make it a happy one. We should all strive to make every year a great year. And if we succeed, perhaps we can even have a "Happy Previous Year" party. Obviously, I nominate 2007 as a year worth celebrating (need I mention the reunion?).

The concept is not meant to be taken literally; the giant ball in Times Square wouldn't go back up the pole and confetti wouldn't fly into windows. But what a feeling of accomplishment it would be to recognize the ways in which we made the most of the months in the rear-view mirror. If the future is unknown and the past is gone, then the present is both a starting AND finishing line. And both are necessary to run a good race.

As we race towards the finish line, we should occasionally look back to ensure that we're on the right track, straight and true, as well as look ahead to try and overcome whatever obstacles may be in our way. But it's the pace that's most important - coasting the continuum at a good clip, but not so quickly as to let the good times roll by in a blur. We must savor each one because, as has been said many times before, when all is said and done, it's not really as much from whence we start or whither we end as it is about the path we take along the way. And, as we follow that yellow brick road, let's take the time to celebrate the journey in toto, too.

So, let's lift a glass and give a toast to life. As that wonderful old Irish proverb goes: "May the road rise up to greet you, and the wind always be at your back."

For Auld Lang Syne

2007-12-25T16:10:00.000-08:00

At the teary ending of "It's A Wonderful Life", George Bailey sings "Auld Lang Syne", along with his friends and family, to celebrate the New Year and his re-birth, from a doomed savings and loan officer facing certain ruin, to a loved and supported member of the community.

The lyrics, written by Robert Burns, are comprised of Scottish verbiage with Anglicized interpretation. In it's original form, the phrase "Should auld acquintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?" is posed as a rhetorical question and, as such, the words take on new meaning. Of course old times should never be forgotten, confirmed by the final four words "For Aud Lang Syne", or, "may old times live on".

How appropriate. The song celebrates the good times and long-standing friendships formed in years past, and that's exactly what occurred during our reunion. Would that we could all be together as the year comes to an end, to take a communal cup of kindness and vow that our wonderful, mutual memories will never be forgotten.

As we celebrate the arrival of the new year, in many and varied ways, I'm certain that we will all be thinking about that weekend in September, when we joined hands and reaffirmed that the joy of the Omega days were, and still are, the greatest times of our lives.

And so, I want to take the opportunity to wish all of my Omegan brothers and sisters a very happy, healthy and prosperous New Year, and thank you all for the wonderful new memories we made this year and the cherished ones from days of old. They will live on and on.

Omega State of Mind (with apologies to Billy Joel)

2007-12-15T05:42:00.000-08:00

Some folks like to get away
Take a holiday from the neighborhood
Hop a flight to Miami Beach
Or to Boca Woods
But I'm taking the Shortline
to that Monticello line
I'm in an Omega state of mind

I've seen all the big hotels
With their comics on the Borscht-belt scene
Been high in the Catskills under the evergreens
But I know what I'm needing
A CrossWays pizza'd be so fine
I'm in an Omega state of mind

It wasn't easy living in the heat
Out of touch with the cabins and swimming pool,too
But now I need a little bug-juice sweet
The Flagstaff food, so hard to chew

It comes down to the Quickway
And it's fine with me 'cause it isn't far
Don't care if it's Rashkins or the New York bar
I don't have any schoolwork
I've left that all behind
I'm in an Omega state of mind

It wasn't easy living in the heat
Out of touch with the cabins and swimming pool, too
But now I need a little bug-juice sweet
The Flagstaff food, so hard to chew

It comes down to the Quickway
And it's fine with me 'cause it isn't far
Don't care if it's Rashkins or the New York bar
I don't have any schoolwork
I've left that all behind
I'm in an Omega state of mind

I'm just taking the Shortline to that Monticello Line
'Cause I'm in an Omega state of mind

There, but for fortune

2007-12-10T12:56:00.000-08:00

I am
sitting in a comfortable chair and typing

I am
living in a FEMA trailer in New Orleans

I am
dying from hunger in a Darfur refugee camp

I am
shooting at the "enemy" in Iraq

I am
concerned that this blog is being monitored by the government

I am
wondering how future generations will pay for college

I am
going bankrupt from health care expenses.

I am
tired of waiting for others to provide solutions to the problems

I am
defined by similarities instead of differences

I am
you

There, but for fortune, go I

Never Forget to Remember

2007-11-28T15:34:00.000-08:00

Ever notice how everything seems to accelerate as the year nears it's end? I'm already living on 2008 time. Forward is the word at the forefront. Why should this be so? Why do the last two months of the year seem almost compressed into one?

I don't have the answer. I'm just a bystander, neither innocent or guilty, or perhaps both, of joining that crush. What I do know is that it takes a toll. Nerves fray, voices rise in pitch and volume, and words sometimes sting like arrows of outrage. We take to opposite corners of the ring and come out swinging, metaphorically. Then there are the sad and silent types, who internalize the hurt. And every shade of pain in between.

What if there was something we could do, other than succumbing to chemicals, to help us maintain and restrain our attitudes, the proverbial angels of our better nature sitting on our shoulders?

I have a habit, good or bad depending on how one perceives it, of saving cards that I've received over the past thirty years. Birthdays, anniversaries, Father's days, Valentines days. Boxes upon boxes. They're stuffed into and poking out of every nook and cranny I can commandeer. I've been meaning to organize them for the past thirty years, too. Procrastination overpowers me and they remain stashed. Recently, I decided to take another stab at it. Pulling out the piles from my closet floor, I started to sort them by event and year. This necessitated that I open each one to seek a date. When none could be found I resorted to reading them for a clue or memory-jogger.

As I read, my curiosity was overcome by the feelings that were evoked by the words on those sheets of Hallmark. It was almost as if they were written to someone else. How could these emotional tsunamis have washed over me so completely, ultimately becoming relegated to these impersonal boxes in the closet?

Forward motion, that's how. Leaving those old missives in it's wake while the next batch lay bundled, waiting for a date. And those, too, will most likely be tossed aside once it's over. And that's a terrible shame. Because within them are the voices of those we love, frozen in time, reminding us that no disagreement is so great, no position so powerful that it can overshadow the positive prose in those papers.

This is not meant to be a thesis on nostalgia. Quite the contrary. What I would ask is that, when next you find yourself hyperventilating or just venting in your haste to keep up, slow down. Find your cache of old cards and just read. You'll be amazed at how those old sentiments will snap you back to what really matters. Always did, always will. Reminders of how we were, and are, still loved. And remember - as four wise men once said: All you need is love.

Happy Givingthanks Day!

2007-11-16T09:36:00.000-08:00

As we all prepare for the holiday in our own way, we look forward to gathering together with our families and eating, maybe watching a football game, or other family traditions we've practiced for as long as we can remember.

Yes, many activities are associated with this day except one: Giving thanks. Not in the religious sense, necessarily, just doing what the name implies - feeling grateful for what we have and expressing that sentiment to those we love. History tells us that Native Americans and the Pilgrims gathered together to give thanks for a bountiful harvest. I could be wrong, but I don't think too many of us have been harvesting, or maybe the term "harvest" can be extended to include what we've learned and gathered during the year. Even loss prompts memories of the times we've shared with those we miss, and how lucky we feel to have had that time with them.

I have a long list of people to thank this year, and I'd like to start with Gary and Mike. If it weren't for their support the reunion would never have happened.

I want to thank my friends for making the effort to be there. I haven't felt such a feeling of "belonging" in a very long time.

I want to thank my parents, for another year of their love and support.

I want to thank my wife, for putting up with me for another year.

I want to thank my daughter for my two beautiful grandchildren

I feel thankful for every day, knowing that there's no guarantee there will be another one.

I feel so lucky to have had such a great brother. Even though our time together was too short, at least we had that time.

I feel thankful for having a roof over my head, a warm place to sleep, and enough to eat.

I'm very thankful that by next Thanksgiving, George Bush will be on his way out, and, hopefully, our soldiers will be on their way home.

I could go on and on, but I think I've listed the major ones. It's kind of like Yom Kippur in reverse. On that day we ask for forgiveness for the sins we've committed over the year, even if we really didn't commit them (who would have the time, you'd have to be sinning 24/7 to cover them all). On this holiday we celebrate those special moments we've shared, both large and small, and will cherish for the rest of our lives.

And so, I want to to take the time this year to wish every one of you a very happy and healthy Givingthanks day! Here's to many more.

The Curse of Technology

2007-11-08T17:19:00.000-08:00

My wife and I were having a quiet breakfast at a small cafe in a nearby town. The server had just brought our meals when my cell phone starting ringing. Not really a ring, more of an annoying, unmodulated noise that made me want to throw it against the wall.

Now the mood was broken. I looked at the cell phone in my hand. It's a fairly new model, with lots of bells and whistles that I will never use. It has a little window on the cover that displays the name or number of the caller, whilst driving me made with it's tone.

I know I can put it on vibrate, which I've tried numerous times, after which, mysteriously, it switches itself back to ring mode. In blissful ignorance I forgot to shut it off during our meal. It never occurred to me that the phone had a mind of it's own and could revert back to ring mode without asking for my permission. True to Murphy's law it did on this occasion and I was so surprised by it that I practically jumped out of my seat.

To make matters worse, the only way I could shut off the phone was to open the cover, which instantly connected me to the caller. I've since configured the feature such that I have to press the "send" button to answer. At least I think I did, my phone might have other plans.

Now I'm committed to dealing with the caller. Not being a terrific multi-tasker, I can't talk on the phone and chew food at the same time. Under normal circumstances, I would ask the caller if I could get back to them at another time, or I would excuse myself and walk away to spare the other diners. Of course, as always, the call couldn't wait, and I was damned if I would let my lox and onion, or, as the restaurant referred to it, Norwegian salmon omelet, get cold. Also, there was a particularly loud group of what were obviously business associates at a nearby table, speaking at the top of their lungs, as if they were all hard of hearing. This would have been the norm if I was in Century Village in Boca, but being in New Jersey it was just plain rude, so, for revenge, I decided to have a loud chat on the phone without leaving the dining room.

As you can imagine, my spouse was not thrilled with this sudden turn of events. One minute we were conversing and having a pleasant meal and the next the phone was ringing and I was fumbling and shouting. End of breakfast date. I will be locking my cell phone in the car when we're out, unless absolutely necessary for communication purposes.

I offer this anecdote as but one example of the curse of technology.

I can remember a time, as many of us can, before the Internet. Before iPods, cell phones, pagers, answering machines, HDTVs, cable and, of course, personal computers. When I first reported to work at Bell Labs in 1983, I was escorted to my office, which consisted of a gun-metal grey desk, a swivel chair and a big HP2621 monitor. I'd never seen one of these before. After spending many minutes searching for the switch, I stared at the green lettering that slowly materialized on the display. An associate handed me a piece of paper and said " This is your log-in user name and password".

I asked her what I was supposed to do with this knowledge. After a painful tutorial I was able to log-in to the main computer. Now what? I soon learned that the purpose of the system was for writing memos and programs. It was mind-boggling at that time to try to grasp the concept of communicating with a giant computer somewhere in the basement of the building. And at three hundred baud speed! You could see each letter as the computer painted it on the screen at about a line a minute.

Thus began my introduction to the world of technology. At that time, it was "cutting edge". What an odd name. A cutting edge sounds like a sword or machete, something used to slash and slice and disembowel. Maybe that was the intent, because the more the technology proliferated the more my edge felt as if it was being cut. Shortly I began making full use of this cutting edge technology to spend long hours at the office, finishing my memos and programs.

Then came the PC. This was truly miraculous. Now I could work long hours at the office AND at home, finishing memos and programs while playing a few rounds of Tetris, Pong or Centipede, all at the same time!

And so the technology continues to evolve exponentially, spawning the conveniences we enjoy today. It would be hypocritical of me to say that I myself am technology averse. Quite the contrary. I spend the greater portion of my day on the computer and cell phone while watching my HDTV and screening calls with my answering machine (I know, that's ancient technology). My wife IS technology averse. I've tried many times to convince her to learn the computer so that she can send and receive emails, but I manage to read and write them sufficiently well for her purposes. I expound endlessly about the virtues of watching TV in HD. She would gladly leave the TV off and read. End of round two. The only time I've won the techno tug -of-war is when I convinced her that she needed a cell phone, for emergencies. And after the breakfast incident, she may be "turned off" to that as well. Pun definitely intended.

So, what is the curse of technology, you may ask? To paraphrase an ancient Chinese saying, "be careful what you wish for, because it may irritate your spouse and take over your life.

And it will be obsolete in six months.

The Reunion Zone

2007-11-04T13:38:00.000-08:00

Submitted for your approval: a group of people who shared an uncommon experience - at one time or another they had inhabited the same place, over forty-odd years ago. Not just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill place. A place that was, and still is, inhabited by a spirit. A spirit that can only be found in.......the Reunion Zone.

Fast forward to the present. A hotel in the working-class city of Newark, New Jersey. The kind of hotel that business people often frequent, rushing about in their daily ritual. And there's the occasional party. On this particular night, the eighth of September, in the year 2007, just such an event was in progress, an event not of time, or space, but of mind. And heart.

And it was on this night that the lonely spirit, thought long gone in the ether, reappeared. Quietly, it crept up on the unsuspecting revelers, inhabiting their bodies, infusing a life force they hadn't felt for many years. Taken by surprise, they felt an uncontrollable sensation, compelling them to act in strange ways. Before they knew it, the tears were flowing and they were hugging and kissing one another as if time had stood still. And there was dancing, with wild abandon, shedding the years like an old, wrinkled suit of clothes.

The night wound down, and so did the party. The parting was hard. People slowly drifted back to their hotel rooms to pack for departure, and as they did, pledges were made, such as "I'll stay in touch", "We'll get together soon", and "I'll call you". Some would keep their pledge, most would not. As they drifted off to sleep, they dreamt they could hear the spirit whisper in their ears - "never forget me, for I am the spirit of Omega and I live on in all of you".

Had they been haunted, overtaken by a supernatural force? The truth lies somewhere between fact and fairy tale. You see, the spirit had been in them all along, waiting patiently to be re-awakened in.... the Reunion Zone.

Mail Call

2007-10-10T15:44:00.000-07:00

Who can forget the twinge of anticipation at expecting a letter? One by one, as the names were called, the suspense became almost unbearable. We held our breathe, crossed our fingers, hoping to hear ours. When we did, the excitement was palpable. Cradling the small paper rectangle that carried the precious pages written in the hand of a loved one or friend, we rushed back to our bunk and gingerly peeled it open. It would be hard for the modern electronic mavens of today to comprehend the concept of paper to pen to heart and mind, the sheer joy of knowing that you are loved and missed, and the despondence and disappointment of being bypassed.

Now, the unfolding began. Slowly, peeking at the pages to recognize the writing, the waiting was over. The words seemed to leap off the pages, increasing emotions to a crescendo. Yet they were just words. No, they were more than that. Each one was carefully crafted to convey a silent voice, and it was the readers task to decode the concepts and translate them back to the original inspiration of the writer.

And the contents of those packets weren't limited to paper. Anything that fit was fair game: flowers, pictures from home, other surprises selected by the sender: a lock of hair, a human touch unattainable by any other mode of transmission. Something as simple as a caring card could transport the recipient's spirit in a way that cannot be duplicated in digital format.

Composition was key. Only the perfect words would do. Curled up in a corner with pen and paper, creative juices flowing. Trying to imagine how the reader would receive and react to your tome. The occasional poem. And when words failed, illustrations illuminated. Simple line drawings, as delicate or detailed as deemed necessary to connect.

In a way, letters are like magic carpets, upon which we can fly, back and forth through time. We all have our secret stashes, ages old, some from departed souls, all from those with whom we've shared our lives. Read and re-read, over and over, opening unnecessary. Just holding them in our hands and reminiscing can bring a laugh or tear.

But in this era of instant messaging, the art of hand-made correspondence teeters on the brink of extinction, irrelevant written relics, and must be rescued from the Web. Now is the time to act! Put down that laptop, find your lost cache of stationary, and write to someone. Anyone. Just write.

What a time it was

2007-10-08T16:46:00.000-07:00

What a time it was
rain showers were sunshine
roads became runways
imaginations inspired

What a time it was
food was for fighting
harmless missiles
inhibitions undone

What a time it was
time was on our side
expecting the infinite
eternal return

What a time it was
first kisses, first loves
first hearts broken
at hearing "goodbye"

What a time it was
embracing the night
flashlights glowing
showing the way

What a time it was
reunited
one brief moment
then it was time

to go

The Secret Formula

2007-10-05T09:22:00.000-07:00

We all knew the reunion would zoom by at light speed. A warp through the black hole of time through which we once again glimpsed what was, assimilated with a prescient present.

We rode the wave to it's crest and shot the curl, and the separation anxiety set in like footprints in cement. A titanic, sinking feeling clutched at our hearts as the last gasps of that glorious day set on the sons and daughters of Omega, dazed .

Reeling at the reality, realizing that something fine flew by, we stumbled back to the middle ages. What time is it, boys and girls? It's Omega time! Where's Buffalo Bob when we need him? Why can't we switch on our senses and see the past as clearly as the present? Why? Because it only lives when we become one

Flurries of phone calls, reams of emails, all sweet sentiments indeed. And on the horizon rises an esoteric reunion, by using our unity to uplift those who may be poised on the cusp of greatness but for a gift of gratitude from those who grew up in that gabled house, aching for those acres that cradled, coddled and carved our characters.

Of all the images in the pictures and videos, the most memorable may be the smiles. Goofy grins, ear to ear, kids again. We may never know what made it so. And who cares? Reason is irrelevant. We've been infected with an incurable connection, an eponymous epidemic contracted at camp.

If we can dream ourselves awake, perhaps Omega lives on as the ultimate, the apex, made not of dirt and wood but built on a foundation that formed and forged us, and led us on an intangible and tangential journey to a long-overdue day. And now, launched on a trajectory to a greater good, we have the chance to create a loving legacy that may stand as an inspiration to future generations, based on that secret formula: Love over time = Omega.

Tales from Omega

2007-09-29T07:05:00.000-07:00

During our beloved tenure at Omega, we all had some amazing experiences that stay with us through the years. I have so many of my own, and would like to share one, in the hopes that you will, too.

It was 1969, the Summer of Love, and our cadre of counselors were spending the day off in the same manner as most: walking to Woodridge. Hiking past Grados, past the Vegetarian and the nudists doing their exercises on the front lawn, we turned the corner and began the descent down that steep hill that put us on the main road to Woodridge. Along the way we passed Hans and Laura's yellow ranch house, and stopped to say hello.

Upon crossing it's borders, the familiar tableaux fanned out in front of us: standing in the center of town we could see Rashkin's to our right, the hardware store up the hill, and Sol's on the corner to our left, as well as the rest of the small streets and shops.

These were the days before the popular programs such as "urban improvement", or "redevelopment" or as some called it "opportunity zones", that decimated such bucolic communities. We didn't dare enter the New York Bar, where the transient workers or "bimmys" spent their days, waiting for someone from a hotel or camp to pick them up for kitchen or grounds duty. I regret that I never researched the etymology of the word, if there was one. It sounded like some alien race and, I'm ashamed to admit, a bit derogatory, although it was ubiquitous among Omegans. I remember them smuggling a bottle or two of contraband to the white shack at the edge of the campus, surely for nefarious purposes

But I digress. That particular day off coincided with the historic event of our generation: Woodstock! (actually, Swan Lake, if I remember correctly). I was torn between my sense of responsibility to the camp, which was compounded by my just happening to be the owner's son, and my compulsion to hitch a ride to see all the musical greats of the day. While we pondered the possibilities and repercussions of this mutiny over roast pork sandwiches and lime rickies at Sol's, a white Cadillac pulled up to the front door. A middle-aged man smoking a cigar waved us over. I wondered why. Mayhaps my enormous hairdo hailed him?

I left the table and approached the big Cadoo with the tall tail-fins. The driver beckoned me to lean in, and asked if I and my buddies would be interested in working the concession stands at Woodstock. This guy was either a perv or on the level. My instincts told me that he was the real deal, causing my mind and heart to start racing. I knew that this could be one of those opportunities which, if left unexploited, might haunt me the rest of my days. I asked him if he would wait while I made a call to the main house at camp. He was in a hurry, but gave me a few minutes.

Bern answered the phone. At first, the call made her nervous, anticipating that some disaster had befallen us. Assuring her that all was well, I asked, no, begged if I could accept the offer from this stranger. Her motherly instincts immediately kicked into high gear. There was no way she would let her baby, even though he was was nineteen, ride off to who-knows-where with who-knows-who in who-knows-what. She cleverly used a different ruse to compel my return. "You committed to be a counselor" she said in a familiar and fear-invoking tone, "and you are going to honor that responsibility to me and your campers!" I knew there would be hell to pay if I defied her, and, truth be told, I myself found the offer a tad suspicious, although I would have risked her wrath and the the potential passes of a pervert on the possibility that I could participate in that youthful nation of a generation, in relative comfort, surrounded by sustenance, while my compatriots hunkered in the mud and slime, hoping for even a few notes from notables such as Hendrix, the Who, CSN, (you know the rest of the roster). Even with the chemical enhancers, I'm sure it was nonetheless a messy milleux.

I was shocked and surprised as my own feelings of compassion for my campers overtook my selfish desires. I assured Bern that I would not leave her in the lurch and would head back after lunch. Besides, I knew that at summer's end I would have to come home to an unhappy pair of parental units.

As you can tell from my tome, the tantalizing temptation of a trip to Woodstock, that milestone of music, the last gasp of the waning sixties, is etched in my memory. But I'm comforted by the knowledge that I made the right choice, because I did not want to miss one day at Omega, knowing somehow they were precious and few.

Omega Redux

2007-09-26T05:31:00.000-07:00

Gary and Mike are going to the campsite today. I'm both excited and nervous about what they'll find. I'm not joining them, too afraid of the reality, in particular, the empty space where the main house once stood. Omega without the main house is like Gone With The Wind without Tara.

Beyond the material differences, there are the ghosts. Of people we met, loved and lost. Of special times shared that are long gone. And of our former selves, when we were young and life was so much simpler.

That raises a fundamental question: Can Omega exist without Omegans.? To support this hypothesis, I offer our recent gathering. Even though we'd been spatially and temporally displaced for decades, it was as if we'd never left. Whether at Pine Grove or the Marriott, the locale was irrelevant. It was the rush of new beginnings, the countless hugs and kisses, just looking in the eyes of a long absent soul-mate and shedding tears of joy.

Omega is not a place, or a structure. It lives again wherever and whenever we are together.

This is not to say that the pictures and video that Gary and Mike will bring back from their Woodridge safari won't be interesting. Reminiscing about the camp is a way of revisiting the myriad experiences and the impact they made on us all. These feelings are with us no matter where we go. And the Omega campsite is certainly a catalyst for releasing this flood of emotions.

Yes, there are many places through which one travels on life's journey, and we carry souvenirs of them in our memories. Thomas Wolfe wrote: "You can't go home again". But I prefer Pliny the Elder's centuries-old observation: "Home is where the heart is". And Omega has a permanent home in our hearts.

Daydreaming

2007-09-19T14:37:00.000-07:00

The aftershocks from the reunion are not subsiding. The impact was so overpowering that we've lost our sense of reality. We retreat to daydreams. Analyzing the inexplicable. What happened?

Was it:

The innumerable hugs and kisses?

So much unsaid to so many?

The roller coaster of emotions?

The mental and physical displacement so disorienting?

Hearts hungering to fill forty years of yearning in a few short hours?

There are no answers. And so we daydream. Of that Camelot in the Catskills, the amazing events of the present, and the new memories we will create in the future. 'Til we wake again in each other's arms

Bloggus Interruptus

2007-09-18T10:00:00.000-07:00

What the heck is going on? Why can't we read the blogs, as per usual? This is the resounding response that I'm receiving from all corners of the Omegasphere.

Well, fret no more. The blogsite is public again. Now everyone can read it, including the casual net surfers, whoever you might be.

Please stay tuned for more Omega ruminations.

Come Together

2007-09-16T10:03:00.001-07:00

Now that the reunion is over, it feels as if we've become a bunch of nomads, trying to find our way back to the Omega oasis. But all we see are mirages - lots of chain-emails, a few phone calls, even lunch with old friends who've lived, unbeknownst, at the same longitude and latitude for many years.

These disparate attempts suggest a need to communicate in a non-linear, real-time mode in this diaspora of geographic displacement.

As can be imagined, this is no mean feat. Technology is an unfeeling, unseeing barrier to interpersonal relationships. Emails are often muddled and confused in their message, and other modes are equally challenging. Stranded on our Omega atolls, we send out messages in electronic bottles, hoping to reach the other castaways.

The explosion of joy at reuniting after forty years of separation can never be duplicated. Now, many are surfing the ripples of that tidal wave. But others are being pro-active, forming smaller tribes. Florida is a hotbed of Omega activity. The tri-state area is home to many Omegans. New Jersey can be parsed-down to a few towns in the north, central and southern regions.

This has spawned a promising offspring from that common point of origin : the microreunion. One by one, two by two we've left the arc and reconnected in small ways. But they are by no means insignificant: best friends have jumped back onto the continuum. Musicians who became unstrung at camp's end are tuning up for a new opus.

And so it must go, until our mutual DNA recombines and we "come together" again.

Reunionsomnia

2007-09-14T12:14:00.000-07:00

I'd like to tell you all about a new medical condition that, ever since the reunion, has been ruining my sleep. Every morning about 1am I wake up and lay in a daze, with the events of that amazing day playing in my head like a movie in an endless loop. A kind of Camp Omega Groundhog Day.

I've been wracking my brain to find the root cause of this strange malady and have come to the following conclusion: the reunion altered my brain chemistry and re-wired the synapses in my cerebral cortex such that the ganglion's which link to the Omega memory banks are over-stimulating the neurotransmitters associated with the reunion, virtually putting my brain into a mental short-circuit.

And I'm not the only one experiencing this phenomenon. Rita and I were at holiday dinner with my Mom and Dad and, inevitably, the conversation turned to the subject of the reunion. My Mom said that she has been so excited, enervated and energized ever since that she's been waking up at 1am in the same trance-like state, taking her back to the moment the car pulled up in front of the Marriott and she, Linda and my Dad stepped out, not really knowing what to expect.

From the second they passed through the hotel's portal, she, Sam and Linda were overwhelmed by former campers and counselors from all the years, rushing towards them with hugs, kisses and loving expressions of appreciation for all that they had done for them. It took her almost an hour to get from the lobby to the reception area. I had to physically move her from the spot in front of the elevators where she had been frozen in awe and wonder. Linda and Sam were receiving similar accolades.

I had attempted to prepare her, but it was futile. The multimedia whirlwind of music from my beautiful and talented cousin Melanie and her band, the Omega movie, more and more Omegans practically pulling her from her chair with their enthusiastic and joyful hugs and kisses and Gary's heartfelt tribute to her and Linda and their respective husbands transported her to another time and place, a place inhabited by some of the most wonderful and tragic years of her life, filled with sweet/sad memories of her father David Rosen and of course her son Wes, their lives inseparable from the Omega times. Holding hands at the end of the reunion and hearing her sons' voices blended in timeless harmonies was almost too much to bear. But, true to form, she took in the emotional hurricane and made safe harbor in the real world. And how wonderful to be there with Sam, Linda, and, of course, Wally in loving absentia. I was so honored to be a part of this milestone in their lives, caught up in the same vortex of joy.

Somehow, we all survived that hyper-adrenaline rush with only one lasting physiological and psychological condition that I believe has infected us all: reunionsomia.

May we never be cured.

Family

2007-09-10T15:17:00.000-07:00

This was not a camp reunion. Or a high school reunion.

It was a family reunion of the best kind.

Oh, I know, family reunions are often contentious, pugnacious, and generally unpleasant. Why? Because, in many, but certainly not all cases, the common denominator is blood. DNA. Period. You trudge out for the annual picnic or holiday or whatever, with nothing to say to people who are, for all intents and purposes, strangers.

What happened at our reunion was a complete anomaly, a cosmic event - over one hundred people gathered, from all corners of the country. People who could barely contain themselves and the smiles practically frozen on their faces. They weren't forced, coerced, or in any way pushed to get to their family reunion as quickly as possible.

Why?

Because the people who attended this reunion are a different species. Because we are Omegans. Sounds like visitors from another planet. And in a way, that's kind of true. Our planet was formed very recently in cosmic terms. Born in 1965 in the orbit of the stars of Omega, the first family, Bern, Sam, Linda and Wally. They are the proto-Omegans, the genetic blueprints from which our own love and passion for Omega was born. We are, and always were, their family. And they gave birth to the people we've become. Our membership isn't perceivable in outer trappings - cars, houses, SUVs, McMansions, whatever. We can't be measured by any quantifiable standards. What we have is really inexplicable. You had to be part of the family of Omegans who shared the same space, breathed the same air, ate the same food, and laughed and wept together.

And we had an uncommon, common-denominator, a denominator that united us in love and friendship. And the Steinman-Schartz team was our numerator. But they did not divide us. They defied the laws of mathematics and science. The larger we grew, the more we became unified. And no matter how many of us inhabited those few acres on that quiet road by a sleepy town in the mountains, we each felt like WE mattered. WE belonged. WE cared. Each of us felt as if they had a personal relationship with those few who united us. And those few, in turn, felt the same.

That's why our reunion was so full of joy and tears and hugs and kisses and friendships born anew.

After the reunion, in a conversation with Bern, the subject turned to awe at how this reunion exceeded our expectations. "Why?" I wondered aloud. That's when she turned and told me the secret. She said it's because she always thought of everyone as her children. And that somehow we wouldn't have become the people we are today if we hadn't been born of this unique type of love. That's why we are a family.

And this family will never be divided.

Wishing love, peace and good health to all my brothers and sisters. I already miss you.

Artie

The Day After - 24 Hours of Joy

2007-09-09T06:39:00.000-07:00

Here I sit in the Marriott hotel the morning after the day we were working for and yearning for. It exceeded all expectations. There are no words. Just emotions that are indescribable. Where should I begin? So many amazing moments, over in a flash. The campsite, where we were all kids again playing and running and laughing. What a perfect way to start the day. Scott and Alan, what you did you did out of love. And it set us on the way for our 24 hours joy.

From the moment I arrived, I felt a ticking clock inside: One hour - gone, two hours, wait it's going too fast. I wanted to us all to stay in that moment. And I believe we did and are still there in our hearts.

And then the party, the celebration of a feeling that none but Omegans could understand. The time machine was in motion.

Wait - Bern and Sam just came to my door.

To be continued.....

The Day Before!

2007-09-07T06:11:00.001-07:00

As I sit at my computer, ready to type the last blog before the reunion, I realize that I don't have anything more to say right now. Which is a good thing, because no one should be reading blogs at this point.

See you at the Marriott!

Turn, Turn, Turn

2007-09-06T09:15:00.000-07:00

Pete Seeger said it all when he borrowed a quote from the book of Ecclesiastes for his famous song. This is our season. This is the time, the planets are aligned. Emotions are running high: fear, ecstasy, uncertainty, the entire gamut. The word for the weekend is - trust! Trust that the people we love will not judge us. Trust that we are at the end of a forty year journey, and beginning the next. Trust each other, that we are safe to be ourselves. We don't know what to expect. That's part of the thrill.

Be fearless. As Mr. Lennon said: "Come Together". It's a gathering of hearts. A celebration of that inexplicable rush that we get when we think of those ten years between two decades.

We were free, we didn't have the hang-ups and burdens of adult life. Put those burdens down for the weekend. You can lift them again when you get home.

This is the season of Omega. Rejoice. Love. And turn the page. We'll write it as we go along.

For your consideration - Club Omega!

2007-09-02T07:17:00.001-07:00

Ladies and Gentleman,

While you are enjoying the Camp Omega reunion at the fabulous Newark Liberty Airport Marriott, you will be asked to attend a short presentation on Club Omega. Located on the privately owned Caribbean island of Bimi, just a short, thirteen-hour seaplane ride from the coast of Cuba, Club Omega is an exclusive resort for only those privileged few who attended camp from 1965 to 1975. Your baggage will be personally delivered to your rooms by your concierge, Gary Mednick.

We are offering this audience the opportunity to buy in at ground floor prices. Spend your golden years reminiscing about the pink bellies, atomic wedgies, purple flirps, nippie nyopies, nuggies and other warm and wonderful memories of your camping years.

And what makes Club Omega really unique is that there are two separate communities - the Boys Campus Retreat and Girls Campus Spa. Ladies, escape the snoring, belching and other offensive noises of your every day life back home by leaving your hairy hubbies and entering your own sanctuary, featuring private tetherball and punchball, and bunks with all the amenities: fine, hand-crafted cubbies, bunkbeds just like the ones you had at camp, only better, with 600 thread count sheets and 100% down pillows. You will start your day by attending a fascinating lecture at what we call the Flaming Flamingo Flagpole where your host, Mike the Magnificent Fiedler will entrance you with his charming good looks and entertaining stories from his days as headmaster of Omega. We are sure you will fall in love with Michael all over again as he firmly disciplines you for your "bad" behavior! Sorry girls, he's taken, but don't let that stop you.

And men, we haven't forgotten about you! Think of it - a "men-only" private world, with no chores like throwing out the garbage, picking up your socks, and shaving your backs. A place where you can relive your boyhood fantasies - stealing the girls underwear and hanging it from the Flamingo flagpole, putting frogs in their sneakers, and, oh yes, there will be unlimited supplies of creme de la razore and papier de toilette. Well, you get the picture. And you can play nude tetherball to your heart's content - Michael won't discourage you; in fact, he will encourage you and keep his sharp eyes focused on your every move - for your safety, of course.

All meals at Club Omega are complimentary, with gourmet offerings such as our famous "white bread pizza" and tuna tartare avec mayonnaise. Don't forget to leave room for dessert - all you can eat sheet cakes personally prepared for you by Bernice, with your choice of chocolate, vanilla or strawberry icing. And last but not least - our exclusive Jello baths, where you can float on pillows of delicious artificial cherry or lime jello. Leave your inhibitions behind and let your imagination run wild!

How much will you have to pay to be a part of this twice-in-a lifetime offer, you ask? Our beautiful sales representatives, Hillary, Jackie and Shelly will be in the main lobby with brochures and enrollment forms. Be sure to get there early to avoid the long lines. You can beat the lines by leaving a comment using the handy feature at the end of this advertisement.

Don't miss out, the chance won't come again, at least not until the next time we meet in the ballroom of the fabulous Newark Liberty Airport Marriott.

The Steinman and Schwartz families look forward to welcoming you to Club Omega with warm smiles and ice cold glasses of the bug-juice of your choice!

Your host,

Artie

P.S. Act now and you'll receive a complimentary set of salt and pepper shakers from the Rosemond hotel!

It's Almost Here! Is it really happening?

2007-09-01T07:05:00.000-07:00

I'm sure we're all sharing the same feelings right about now; nervous anticipation, curiosity, wild emotions, incredible excitement and a sweet/sad nostalgia. I've been in an altered state ever since Gary contacted me and said he was organizing a reunion. I didn't think we could make it happen this year, and was very skeptical, which as most of you know is not my normal nature. But somehow, with everyone pulling together and working so hard for this labor of love, it's only a few days away. We have 106 attendees, far, far more than we ever thought possible. Most of them will be at the evening event so we'll be hugging, kissing, re-connecting like mad. I don't know who to kiss and hug first, so I'll take them as they come.

A big question in my mind is - what next? What happens after the reunion? Do we go back to our separate, and in many cases, anonymous lives? Or do we keep the network going, and plan other ways to bring us together (think- Omega cruise anyone?- My Mom can make that happen!).

We've all been given a great gift here - finding people that have in some ways meant as much to us as anyone else we've encountered in our lives. Some of us are gone but live on in our collective memories - that's the object of all this - we have a collective consciousness and memory where Omega still lives and breathes and we're all kids or teenagers again. Are we going to let this fade away after September? There are many reasons to believe otherwise - the website will be there and continue to improve and expand, we have each other's email addresses and contact info, and best of all, we have each other again. I never attend high school reunions - high school was not a time I look back on fondly. I went to one and everyone was there to see if they were doing better than their peers. It was horrible. That's why reunions are usually all surface and no substance. Ours will be the opposite; all substance and no surface. When we look into each other's eyes we will see ourselves for who we really are - the people we bonded with so strongly over those ten years in Woodridge, NY.

Oh, sure, there'll be signs of the forty some-odd years that we've lived, and there will be those awkward moments of saying "Oh, of course I remember you" while the name escapes us during a senior moment. But that's not what it's really about and we all know it. The weekend will be over in a microsecond, and we will be in shock when we're dropped back into our normal lives. I hope it reminds us of those precious moments we were so lucky to have had for so long.

If I had the power, I would turn back the clock to July 1965, when the first buses rolled down that long driveway from Silver Lake Road to the front of the main house. I would stand on the porch, hand in hand with my family and extended family and greet the campers all over again. Only this time, Omega would live on, to welcome our children, grand children and great grandchildren, who would look at the ancient plaques on the wall and wonder what camp was like way back then.

With love,
Artie

The Time of Our Lives

2007-08-26T14:26:00.000-07:00

Hi Everyone,

I've just completed a new Omega video. It's a three minute version of a two hour VHS tape that Rhea Schwartz kindly sent to me. It's called "The Time Of Our Lives"

My wish is that it will really get everyone in the Omega spirit for the reunion, which is almost upon us. It will be over in a flash. Luckily, we've hired a great videographer to record the highlights, so we can show it to our grandchildren and they in turn will show it to theirs. Omega will never fade away: it's morphed into a value system that echoes a Utopian period in our lives.

If only the world could be one, big camp Omega; there would be no more war (think of Wes, who devoted his life to peace and harmony through his deeds and music), the hungry would be fed (think of Auntie Bea, who nurtured us in more ways than one) and the sick would get the health care they need, because we cared about each other's well-being. Material things were inconsequential, except for maybe whatever we could snitch from the canteen.

I'm sure you're thinking to yourselves "Art's gone Looney Tunes on us". I'm not suggesting that anyone take these thoughts literally. They're meant to be a metaphor for how different life has become from the idyllic reveries we have of our camping days. I know that it wasn't really all lollipops and roses. But would it be so bad if everyone started treating each other as we did back then? As Wally would surely sing - "To dream the impossible dream". We'll just have to take some comfort from the 42nd reunion of the founding of Camp Omega, and, for a couple days, we'll be home.

Love,

Artie

The Excitement Builds!

2007-08-20T05:40:00.000-07:00

Wow, before you know it, the reunion will be upon us! We have one hundred people attending various events. Gary and the team are working overtime to make this the best reunion ever. There will be so much going on that the day and night will fly by.

We're asking everyone to bring their digital cameras. We'll add a special category to the photo album for the huge number of pictures we're sure to get from the attendees.

There is also a lot of music planned for the evening event, some old and nostalgic, some new and exciting. There will be an Omega reunion band, in which I plan to participate. Individual performers will do their thing at certain times throughout the reunion. I think of it as an Omega talent show. Everyone loved them during the camp summers. We will take requests, but we are trying to limit the numbers to allow for other performers.

Gary and Jayne's daughter Melanie and her band will be there, as well as a DJ. Melanie is a rising star, soon to be in a lead role on the musical stage. We will all sheb-nachus from her accomplishments. I may play a song with her, and I'm planning a few solos tunes as well.

Got to go now, Rita has breakfast on the table. Love to you all and I can't wait until Sept 7th.

Artie

It's Almost Here!

2007-08-06T03:41:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen, we are approximately one month away from the big day, the one we've been waiting for, talking about, dreaming about for many years. Thanks to Gary Mednick the reunion is a reality. We have a lot planned, and it's going to be an unforgettable weekend.

Will we recognize each other? My Mom says that once she hears the voices she immediately sees the faces. I should be so lucky.

If anyone hasn't registered yet, PLEASE do so by August 10th. That's the deadline and Gary is closing down the registration process at that time. If you can make it, fly, drive, run, walk to the Marriott, you won't want to miss this.

Please note: the pool at Pine Grove will be closed, so you can leave the bathing suits at home. Not such a bad thing - who wants to see each other's tired, flabby old bodies (Gary?).

See you all on September 8th at Pine Grove!

Artie

Unofficical reunion plans as of- July 19, 2007

2007-07-20T10:53:00.001-07:00

Just wanted to update everyone on where we stand:

We have 90 registrations and expect more. Gary's processed most of the invoices and payments. Some of you have written to us wondering why you haven't been billed, but rest assured, you will.

I hope everyone has made their room reservations at the Marriott Newark Liberty. Gary and Mike Fiedler signed a contract with Pine Grove a great camp facility in Wall Township, New Jersey, about 40 minutes from the hotel. Here's the link:

http://www.pinegrovedaycamp.com/contact.htm

Once Gary gets back we'll put together a complete itinerary and post it on the website.

Stay tuned!

Artie Steinman

Please register for the reunion ASAP!

2007-07-03T14:47:00.000-07:00

If anyone is planning to attend the reunion but has not registered through the website, you MUST do so before the end of this week. The registration process is the only official record of your attendance, is the method we use for sending out invoices.

Some of you are planning to drive to the NJ event and live locally. You have to register even if you are not staying at the hotel or taking the bus to the daytime location.

Most of you who've expressed interest in attending but have not registered have been sent an email. We truly hope you will be with us at this great occasion.

The Camp Omega Reunion Planning Committee

Reunion Invoices Are Coming!

2007-07-01T04:42:00.000-07:00

I just paid my invoice through PayPal. It was very easy and painless. PayPal gives you a printable receipt for the transaction.

Things are coming together very quickly and by next week Gary will have the details about the daytime activities. He's picked a terrific site, even better than Frogbridge. The website will be posted in various places, including this blog, so that everyone has a chance to see it.

We hope that we have everyone's registration and email. I've been asked many times to post a contact list. The main reason I haven't done that yet is because the website can be viewed by anyone on the internet and I've had privacy concerns. The Guestbook and Forum are private, so it will be posted in the Rise and Shine Forum very soon. You need to become a member to read it, and only Omega alumni are eligable for membership.

September 7 will be here before your know it!

Reunion Registration as of June 28

2007-06-28T06:29:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to say a few words about the registration process. We're getting a great response, and have over ninety registrations. Many of you have set up your PayPal accounts, and have questions as to the payment of the registration fees.

The process we set up is not ideal - Gary Mednick must find your name on a master list of emails addresses and then send you an email from PayPal requesting your online payment. With all the reunion work on his plate this is slow going. I'm sure that Gary is confident that he will receive your payments, even after the July deadline.

To improve the process I've added a box to the registration form requiring the entry of email addresses. I also found a fault in the system because it allows a person to register without providing their email address. My incorrect assumption was that everyone would either sign the guestbook or join the forum, both of which capture your email addresses. Minda Wagshul Chernick, please join the guestbook or forum or send me your email addresses. I apologize for the inconvenience.

Please remember to sign in at the hospitality suite when you arrive at the reunion.

Based on the expected attendance, the reunion should be spectacular. Don't miss it. Bernice, Sam and Linda will be there, as well as Rhea and myself. There will be a multimedia show with video and photos. Other activities are still in the planning stages.

The planning committee is looking forward to this long-overdue event with great anticipation.

See you all in September!

Artie Steinman

The Camp Omega Reunion on 9/7

2007-06-22T11:17:00.000-07:00

This is it, folks! The Official Camp Omega 42nd anniversary reunion is underway. Everyone is signing up on line and reserving rooms at the Marriott at Newark Liberty. What excitement. There's a palpable feeling of anticipation to think of seeing all those who we've loved and missed for so many years.

And that Omega feeling. Indescribable. It's as if we're all cells of the same organism. We all shared the best times of our lives. Period. What a strong bond was created by those years of sing, color war, birthday ball, paper bag dramatics, Sadie Hawkins day, Las Vegas night, Olympics and on and on.

None of this would have been possible if anyone else had founded the camp but the Steinman's and Schwartz's. Four of the most creative, imaginative, resourceful and caring people to have graced our lives.

Now, with only a few short months to go, we're already reuning (that's not a word, but it fits). Florida, New York, Long Island. And soon, Jersey. Sure, we all look different, unrecognizable but we'll know each other by what's in our hearts.

Long Live Omega!

REUNION PLANS AS OF 5/25/07

2007-05-16T14:29:00.000-07:00

Just a quick note: Gary Mednick and Mike Fiedler are putting the finishing touches on the plan. They have a block of rooms, so disregard the previous blog message about reserving your own.
The details will be announced in group email.

Best,

Artie

Calling All Campers!

2007-05-06T16:36:00.000-07:00

As web master of Camp Omega On line, I'm always thinking of new and better ways to bring us together. The forum has turned out to be a great success, and now I think I may have a way of topping that: a way to call each other whenever we're on the website or on line, using a free internet service. There are several, I use one called Skype. Don't ask me what it stands for.

Here's how it works:
Step 1: Go to the Skype website, http://www.skype.com

Step 2: Download the free software. Choose a user ID, usually your name. Mine is art.steinman

Step 3: Get something to use as an internet phone. Radio Shack, or any other electronics retailer should have them. There are inexpensive ones that start at six or seven dollars. Remember to ask for a VoIP phone.

Step 4. Send me your user name and I'll add you to a Camp Omega contact list. With the contact list you can simply put in a user name and Skype will check to see if that person is on line and will connect your call, right then and there, over the Internet. I think I can even set up a free conference call for a "virtual reunion".

There are no charges for the calls, even international ones. Andrew Fold is a Skype user, and others may be, too.Please send me an email at warlord@campomegaonline and let me know what you think!Artie Steinman

Other Camps In Our Lives

2007-05-04T14:46:00.000-07:00

When Omega closed, our hearts were broken. Some of us ended our camping careers. But others had it in their blood and, hard as it was, they started over at another summer camp. Certainly, there were good memories and friendships from that experience as well.

My camping life started before Omega. At age ten, my Mom took a job as drama counselor at a camp called Rondax, in the Adirondack mountains near the town of Old Forge. Rondax was where the rich kids went for the summer and my Mom's job made it possible for me and Wes to go. They had every imaginable activity. My poor Dad was working in Manhattan and would schlep up every weekend, an eight hour drive, to see my Mom for a couple of days. I was terrified when I found out that I'd be sleeping in a cabin with ten other kids and a couple of sadistic counselors. I begged my Mom to let me go home, but thankfully, she "encouraged" me to stay and that's how I got hooked on summer camp.

After one year at Rondax my Mom switched camps to Da-Ro, named for Dave and Rose, can't remember their last names, think it was Wilansky. Mom was the girls head counselor. Linda was the swimming counselor, if I remember correctly. The camp was in the town of Linlithgo, a tiny town in the Rip Van Winkle mountains. The nearest city was Hudson, New York and across the river was Newburgh, where, ironically, much of our family is situated today. Rita and I even lived there for a couple of years. For a special treat, on visiting day, my folks would take us to a restaurant in Newburgh, which at that time was a thriving place. I would order Lobster Newburgh (I am not kidding!).

Harvey Goldstein was the boy's head counselor, and we had a great time. He had a wacky sense of humor, probably still does. His wife Marilyn was the arts and crafts counselor, I think. Da-Ro is where I honed my raiding skills, and I met Harley Wishner, who at that time played accordion. We wore Beatle wigs and performed at socials. After camp we went on to form the Jagged Edge and record two singles, which are collector's items today.

Harvey was a strict bunk inspector, and if our bunk had a great rating we'd be taken to Hudson to Stewart's ice-cream parlor, where you could make your own sundaes.

I made camper of the year at Da-Ro, no mean feat. I must say, that we had great times during the three years we went there, and we never thought anything could top it. But we were wrong. The Schwartz's and Steinman's created a masterpiece called Omega. Many followed them from Da-Ro to Omega. And the rest we all know.

So that's my camping history, what's yours? What camps did you attend, pre and post Omega?

Reunion Ruminations

2007-05-03T03:35:00.000-07:00

Been giving a lot of thought about the reunion. Gary Mednick, Mike Fielder and I are going on a scouting trip on May 12. Alan Brownfeld is thinking of hosting a Florida reunion at his bar in Pompano.

Since the website was launched, we've ALREADY had a reunion of sorts. I've traded emails and calls with Omegans I haven't heard from in, well , forty years. And it continues. So, now that we have been reuniting on a one-to-one and small group level, the next logical step is to gather as many of us in one place, or a couple of places, and have some face time.

From the master contact list, it appears that Omegans are concentrated in the tri-state area and Florida, with a few folks in California, Massachusetts, Georgia, etc. Since we've been working towards a whole-camp gathering, the logical place is looking like a hotel near the airport, most likely Newark Liberty. This assumes that we will have a decent group of campers flying in from the above-mentioned states. The thinking is that travellers would have easy access to the hotel, and tri-state drivers are about the same distance from the airport.

Does this make sense to you? What are your thoughts? Let me know. Next post will be about potential itineraries.

Thanks,

Artie

FYI. I inadvertently gave the wrong email address for Alan Brownfeld in my comment below. His email address is brownfeldauto@aol.com

Mail Call - Letters Home from Camp Omega

2007-05-01T06:41:00.000-07:00

Hi fellow Omegans,

How many of you still have the letters that you wrote at camp to your family back home? Lloyd Dorfman thought it would be a gas if we put some of them up on the web. Just post to this message. Here are a few:

Approx August ???, 1967 From Lloyd Dorfman, Camp Omega

Dear Mom and Dad:

I am fine. How are you. I am having fun here at camp accept that Marty Berman is a cloddy creepy jerk!

Approx July ??, 1967 From Richard Dorfman

Dear Mom and Dad:

Camp is fine, I am working hard but the food is not good. I've already lost 5 pounds and expect to lose 5 more before visiting day so, bring stuff to eat. Eric and Lloyd are ok too, they'll need packages

Approx August??, 1967 From Richard Dorfman

Dear Mom and Dad:

I still can't believe you had the audacity to leave us at camp while you went to Jamaica.....

Approx July ??, 1967 From Eric Dorfman

Dear Mom and Dad:

I am fine