When I finished reading Fast Food Nation a few years ago I was so appalled at the exploitation of humans that occurs in the meat packing and fast food industries that I swore I would never again eat a cheeseburger.  Surprisingly, it is a vow that has not been hard to keep.  The powerfully written words on the pages of the book had moved me, and although I am only one person and McDonald’s will continue to rake in the money even if I don’t eat their french fries, I felt like I had to do something.  No one, I reasoned, needed to suffer on my behalf.  With beef a distant memory, I’m switching gears to lobster.

As a paraplegic and a recreational scuba diver, I was sickened last night when I watched the documentary “My Village, My Lobster”.   Fast Food Nation was a compelling read, but words on a page are not nearly as provocative as images on a screen, and the footage of men working (and dying) in the commercial lobster diving business has left me with a new perspective, a  million questions, a sense of gratitude coupled with a whole lot of guilt.

Along the Miskito Coast of Honduras and Nicaragua, young men risk their lives diving for lobster (90% of which is shipped to restaurants in the United States).  With no scuba diving training, minimal equipment, and no regulations governing their safety, these men live in squalid conditions on boats for up to two weeks at a time.  They dive to depths exceeding 100’.  And they may do that fifteen times a day.  To hunt lobster.  This is not something anyone with a conscience should condone.

Without proper training and equipment, the divers frequently suffer from decompression sickness, also known as the bends.  And the effects are horrific.  Some men die from the illness.  Many more end up paralyzed and unable to work, and life for a paraplegic in a village in Nicaragua is nothing like life for a paraplegic in Fairfax County, Virginia.  Some of the injured ultimately succumb to urinary tract infections and pressure sores, but only after terrible suffering.  So I can eat lobster?  Never again.

Follow the link below to learn more about the film and ways to take action. http://www.thelobsterfilm.com/

The link below is to a story about the gruesome murder of two children and the wounding of two other children that recently occurred in Montgomery County, Maryland.  It is one more example of why I have often wondered which comes first - insanity or religion.

http://www.wtop.com/52/3547531/Mom-had-no-history-with-child-services

I don’t know much about Phil Robertson or Duck Dynasty, the television show his family hosts on the A&E network, but the comments Robertson made in a recent interview with GQ magazine disgust me. When asked by GQ writer Drew Magary, “What, in your mind, is sinful?” Robertson answered, “Start with homosexual behavior and just morph out from there.  Bestiality, sleeping around with this woman and that woman and that woman and those men,” he says. Then he paraphrases Corinthians: “Don’t be deceived. Neither the adulterers, the idolaters, the male prostitutes, the homosexual offenders, the greedy, the drunkards, the slanderers, the swindlers—they won’t inherit the kingdom of God. Don’t deceive yourself. It’s not right.”

I’m one of the homosexual offenders Robertson refers to.  I’m also an animal lover.  But to claim that homosexuality morphs out to bestiality – sexual feelings or behavior involving animals - is absurd.  The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-IV) lists zoophilia (bestiality) as an uncommon paraphilic disorder.  The American Psychiatric Association’s Board of Trustees removed homosexuality from the DSM in 1973.

In response to A&E’s decision to suspend Robertson over these comments, his family has said that, while some of Phil’s unfiltered comments to Magary were coarse, “his beliefs are grounded in the teachings of the Bible”.  I’ll have to take their word for that.  I don’t read fiction, so I’m not too well versed on the contents of the Bible.  And I think the First Amendment allows me to say that.

Last night I was among those at The Warner Theatre who had come to be entertained by legendary guitarist Jeff Beck and Brian Wilson of The Beach Boys.  My friends and I bought tickets to the concert back in July, and although I anticipated that Wilson, 71, and Beck, 69, would not be as nimble and spry as they were at the height of their music-making fame 40 years ago, I'm not sure anything could have prepared me for what we saw.

The Beach Boys were onstage and playing away when we arrived and took our seats at 8:20.  As is the case with all the musicians I loved as a kid and have seen at performances in recent years (Elton John, Billy Joel, Gordon Lightfoot, Anita Baker), the ability to hit the high notes and hold them is gone.  Although I give them props for taking the stage and doing what they can with what remains of severely overused vocal chords, the truth is, they aint what they used to be.  Nobody is.

But Brian Wilson's years of having fun, fun, fun have lead him to where he is now...done, done, done.  I didn't see him walk onto the stage, but his exit from it was far from graceful.  In fact, I wasn't certain he would make it without assistance.  His slow, unsteady steps and poor posture reminded me of an NFL running back who'd rushed for 15,000 yards and had multiple knee replacement surgeries.  My friend Beth said she saw him take a 10 second yawn in the middle of singing "Help Me, Rhonda". 

And then there was Jeff Beck.  I couldn't tell you the name of a single, solitary Yardbirds song, but that dude is one amazing guitar player.  While it seemed like Wilson might hobble off the stage and go straight into an assisted living center, Beck appeared ready for an all-night jam session.  His band was phenomenal.  Beck had energy, he was mobile, and his music was crisp and powerful.

I grew up listening to The Beach Boys.  Singing their songs last night - with three original band members on stage (Wilson, Mike Love and Al Jardin) in front of me - brought back memories of my younger years, and I recognized that I was witnessing something special.  I'm not sure there will be many more live appearances for these guys.  But, wouldn't it be nice?

I've shared my life with three special dogs.  A Collie named Prince was my very first pet when I was a young child, and as an adult I have grown particularly fond of yellow Labs.  Neither one of my dogs has ever done anything spectacular or newsworthy, but their unwavering loyalty and steady companionship (among many other humorous and lovable traits) have led to my being completely devoted to them.  

Shamu - my first Lab - passed away ten years ago.  The grief I felt after losing her was nearly unbearable, and oddly, the one thing that helped me move on was adopting and caring for another dog.  Ocho started out as my neighbor's dog - another mouth to feed, an unwanted burden for a single mother of a two year old boy - and when I approached them and said I would take the dog if they ever decided they didn't want him, it was only a week later until Ocho and I were sharing living space.  That was nine years ago. 

Ocho has become the love of my life.  He hasn't done anything as heroic as the dog in the attached story, which I saw on the news yesterday morning, but I still give the canine species two opposable thumbs up.  Here's to Man's Best Friend!

http://www.today.com/video/today/53007916#53007916

There's not much better than coming home from work on a Friday afternoon and finding your new passport and the current issue of Sport Diver in your mailbox.  It's apparently time to start thinking about my next vacation.

While Bimini and Barbados have always appealed to me, Bonaire is renowned for its diving.  I would love to have my brothers see Stingray City in Grand Cayman.  The Virgin Islands - US and British - are enticing, and I am fascinated by Trinidad and Tobago, too.  Not to mention Hawaii.  The October issue of Sport Diver features an interesting article about the Dominican Republic, so I can now add that to my list of places to see someday.

So many islands, so little time.

Thirty years ago, my classmates at Shikellamy High School voted Jeff Persing and me the "class jocks".  I still think of myself as a jock, although I have become increasingly disenfranchised with professional (and some major college) sports over the past ten to fifteen years.  I know there are some decent guys playing in the NFL, NBA, and Major League Baseball, but too often we hear about athletes being arrested for domestic violence, using performance enchancing drugs, and engaging in other forms of lawless and thug-like behavior. 

The NFL recently faced a scandal involving players who were paid a bounty to make dangerous hits on their opponents.  More and more evidence is showing the seriousness of concussions and the long-term consequences that can result from repeated blows to the head.  Major League Baseball teams scouting for talent in the Dominican Republic have been accused of exploiting youth and  running sweatshops in this and other nations.  
http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2013/03/baseball-dominican-system-yewri-guillen
Why do we continue to turn on our televisions and support this crap?  I'm finding it difficult to not become jaded and cynical when it comes to our sporting culture.

If you ask me, the toughest athlete in America today - and one who deserves our sincere respect and admiration - is a 64 year old woman.  Diana Nyad is attempting to become the first person to swim the 103 miles from Cuba to Florida without the use of a shark cage, wetsuit or flippers.  Yes, this is her fifth try, but she's doing it because it's her dream.  She's doing it because she would like to improve relations between Cuba and the United States.  She's doing it because she knows what Laurel Thatcher Ulrich wrote in 1976 is true - "well behaved women seldom make history".  Diana Nyad, keep on strokin'. 

Follow Diana's progress at her web site, www.diananyad.com.

Laura Flanders is a woman after my own heart.  In the past two months I've worked five days, and now that I've finished reading her recent column in The Nation (http://www.thenation.com/blog/175870/americans-are-working-too-damn-hard) I, too, would like to know where to line up for the march for leisure.

As we begin a new school year, I am sharing a lesson I've learned from the Labs in my life.  http://www.youtube.com/embed/AA56LgpFbSw?rel=0

Play more, work less.  Here's to recess!

Ocho reminded me on Friday morning that we follow two routines in this house - one we observe during the summer, and the other applies throughout the school year. 

There is really nothing routine about our summer days and nights.  We get up and eat breakfast.  After that, anything goes.  Maybe I take a shower and then sit on the front porch and read.  Or maybe I sit on the front porch and read and then take a shower.  We might go out back and play fetch for 30 minutes.  Or maybe Beth comes over to take Ocho for a walk.  I might go to the grocery store after breakfast, or I might turn on the computer and check email and surf the internet.  Our time is completely unstructured, and I love the day-to-day variation and the freedom FROM the routine that comes with summer.

When school is in session, though, our mornings run with military precision.  I wake up to the sound of an alarm clock at 4:20 a.m.  While Ocho continues to sleep in bed, I take a shower and get dressed.  This is followed by Ocho getting out of bed and being sent out back to pee.  When he comes inside we eat breakfast, and then he goes back outside for the last time before I leave for school. 

As I finish my breakfast and listen to the morning news, Ocho - who is now back inside the house - returns to the bedroom where we slept, grabs a pillow off of the bed, and charges through the living room and kitchen with the pillow dangling from his mouth.  He does this without fail, Monday through Friday, from Labor Day until the end of June.

I'd forgotten about Ocho's antics over the summer, but when I got up on Friday morning and went through the whole school year morning routine, as I sat in the kitchen finishing my breakfast I heard the pitter patter of paws running across the floor in the hallway.  I knew what was coming.  A yellow blur shot past me.  I swallowed the last bite of my bagel and rolled into the family room to see Ocho in his crate, his prized possession partially hidden behind him.  I guess it's time for me to go back to school.

On Monday afternoon I was asked to write as a guest author for the HERO blog at Make A Hero.  A link to the blog is attached here (it can be found on their web site, www.makeahero.org), and it will be posted later this morning on Make A Hero's facebook page and other social media outlets.

I know that Lou Gehrig considered himself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.  I think I am the luckiest woman on the face of the earth, and I know that I would be nothing without the love and support I get from my friends and family every single day. 

Please know that I am eternally grateful for the many things- both large and small - you have done over the years that have allowed me to continue living this remarkable life.

http://www.makeahero.org/blog/adaptive-water-sports/kris-gulden-paradives-net-hero-gallery-guest-authored-blog-post/