Hillary, If You're Listening

Although most people seem to think Secretary Clinton won last night's second debate, I was dissatisfied how her performance lacked the zingers that get people excited about their support. Since Trump consistently beat the predictions in his primaries, Clinton will need the strongest possible lead going into Election Day.

So Hillary, if you're listening, here are my talking points that will not only fire up your base but cut into The Donald's.

My friend Mitch Bloom sports his Yiddish "I'm with her" badge.

1. Enough has been said about my opponent’s attitudes toward women. If you are still a Trump supporter after hearing these disgusting tapes, what difference would it make?
2. My opponent’s claim to be the better choice for president rests entirely on his success as a businessman, however, someone who goes into bankruptcy several times and who reports a loss of almost a billion dollars on his tax return is not a successful businessman. That alone should be enough to settle this election, but in case it is not, keep listening.
3. There is no question that many if not most terror attacks around the world have been inspired by groups like ISIS. My opponent thinks the way to fight back is by calling it Islamic Terrorism. Well nothing could please ISIS more. The whole purpose of these attacks is to foster a global conflict between all Muslims and the entire rest of the world, and emphasizing this as Islamic terrorism just plays into their hands. My opponent has also repeatedly said that the administration I served created ISIS by withdrawing our troops from Iraq. I would remind him the withdrawal was agreed to by President Bush and the president of Iraq in 2008. My opponent never objected to that withdrawal, unless it was in a private conversation with Sean Hannity.
4. We both want our country to be as great as it can be, but what makes a great country? Does a great country go to war to plunder the wealth of another country? Does a great country solve its problems by scapegoating Mexicans and Muslims? Does a great country rely solely on military and economic power to gain the respect of the world? No, a great country works with other countries to make the entire world secure and prosperous. A great country educates its citizens and regulates its economy so that all can improve their lives through hard work. A great country leads the fight against global warming. A great country promotes democracy by electing officials based on their ability to represent their constituents and not on their ability to raise money, which is why we need a Supreme Court that will overturn Citizens United.
5. Sometimes my opponent says he knows better than anyone else how to make America great. Other times, he says he will hire the best people and let them solve our problems. What we know is this: Experience matters. It matters that the pilot flying your plane is experienced. It matters that your surgeon is experienced. You don’t just start cutting up patients because you’re angry at the hospital establishment. Experience also matters in public service. So while my opponent has a few years’ experience leading the Birther movement, I have 8 years’ experience in Congress, where passing legislation takes persistent organizing and coalition building, usually with people from the other party. I have 12 years’ experience in the nation’s executive branch, and there, too, even the President needs to work persistently with others to get things done. My opponent is having trouble working with his running mate.
6. On November 8, every registered voter will have a say in who gets hired for the job of President of the United States. It’s a real job, not a celebrity apprenticeship. If your vote is based on our resumes, I thank you for your support. If your vote is based on the candidate’s personality, then I trust you to decide who has shown real toughness, both in life and in this campaign, and I thank you for your support.

Journey to Indonesia

From a geographic perspective, my 10 day journey to Indonesia was the best ever. Not only did I first cross the equator, I skirted the Arctic Circle on the return flight.

The first leg of the trip gave me my first glimpse of lakes Huron and Superior and Western Canada. Following the route from Winnipeg to north of Edmonton, I could still see signs of civilization (roads and rectangular fields) as far as the Rockies in British Columbia. The view remained mountainous as the jet passed what I believe was Cook Inlet, which leads to Anchorage.

Landing in Tokyo I was greeted by a text from T-Mobile that data and text roaming was free, and talk was 20 cents a minute. Who needs airport WiFi I thought as I made a test call to my mother in San Diego.

A flight delay gave me ample time at Narita Airport to check my pronunciation of Indonesian with Hardi, who was returning after two years with Chevron. He must have done well before the oil bust as he visited all 50 state capitol and was flying business.

ANA (All Nippon Airlines) had far greater legroom in coach than United, so I was less jealous of my new friend in business. In fact, United's legroom was so tight that even after the people sitting next to me got up, it was hard to get to the aisle. Imagine what a non-skinny person must go through.

Steve, my friend in Jakarta, promised an immigration expediter to meet me at the gate. Alas no sign with my name. Again glad for the cell phone roaming benefits so I could arrange to meet Steve in front of the A&W restaurant, pronounced "Ah Way." Then into the car with his driver at the wheel (on the right side) and home to South Jakarta in a district of embassies and other upscale, walled-off properties.

Upon waking early I took a dip in the pool and a tour of the neighborhood, where relentless, high-rise construction meets slums and high-class restaurants on Senopati St. Actually the slums were the most appealing with the smells of the warungs (food shacks). Only fear of getting the runs on the first day kept me from sampling the goods.

Now back to the airport for our trip to Bali, located off the eastern end of Java island. Java is the population center for a country of 250,000,000. From my window seat I saw much of the land filled with red globs, indicating the tightly packed dwellings which formed a village. But there was still more green than red, including several volcanoes.

In Bali we stayed at the luxurious Oberoi, an expansive beach-front resort. The beach itself was on the Indian Ocean. Getting wet with my third ocean was another geographic accomplishment.

The horrible holiday weekend traffic counterbalanced the tranquility of the resort, but it was worth the trouble to get to an area north of Ubud for a day of home cooked meals, a trip to a coffee plantation and a bike ride. Half the fun was sharing the tour with three generations of the McCloskey family from Brisbane.

The plantation had more than coffee trees. There was durian fruit, mango, cocoa and something called mangosteen. Past where a woman was grinding beans the old fashioned way were the tasting tables where everyone enjoyed drinking from 12 cups placed on a card identifying the teas and coffees.

The bike was mostly downhill so even Steve, I and grandmum McCloskey, all 60-something, could keep up with parents Dion, Suzanne and their girls Lilly, Georgia and Jade. We stopped at a family compound with several dwellings, a meeting space, and their temple. Now I understood why everywhere in Bali I saw clusters of tiny thatched-roof temples behind brick walls. We also saw rice fields in various stages of growth and learned that paddies are flooded to kill weeds.

The next day Steve and I returned on our own to Ubud to see the monkey forest in the center of town. We spent far more time in traffic but it was wonderful seeing the free-ranging macaques, including babies clutching their mothers to be breast-fed.

The second half of my visit was back in Jakarta where I got to meet Ruri, who I previously met online. Ruri is just 28 but has traveled to much of Europe and was starting a temporary job with the Swedish embassy.

On Sunday the three of us went to the Dutch colonial district ("Kota") to tour the old government house and a shadow puppet museum. At the museum, a man latched on to us to show us around and hustle us to his workshop, where he gave us a private shadow puppet show. And wasn't I nice enough to buy a puppet afterwards. Then we dined at the stately Cafe Batavia, the Dutch name for Jakarta. After a walk past a long dock of old fishing boats we were ready to get back to the air conditioned house.

That night I went on my own to explore the 6-story Pacific Place mall, with its huge variety of restaurants and anchored by Galleries Lafayette. To get there, Steve’s guard gave me a lift on his motorbike. Ruri goes everywhere by motorbike taxi, but for me, one time hanging on for dear life was sufficient. I walked home.

Monday I discovered a way to get around that was both cheap and fast. The TransJakarta "bus rapid transit" system has its own lane and a subway like turnstile and elevated platform. It will do until construction of the real subway line is completed.

The park around the nation monument was closed. While I could see the obelisk-shaped monument clearly from the gate, this forced me to walk around the kilometer-square park to get to the great Istiqlal Mosque, the largest in Southeast Asia. The other challenge getting there was the five lane road with no crosswalks. A generous old man led me across by walking into traffic with his hand stretched out to make sure we were noticed. That's actually how they cross streets in Jakarta.

The same generous man offered a free tour of the mosque for a donation.  He did well, but stupid me forgot to ask the price of the donation, which turned out to be 50 percent more than I'd prefer. In retrospect he was a greedy, lying SOB.

The last day was a trip by train with Ruri to the nearby city of Bogor, famous for its botanical garden that features an orchid gallery. We also went through the free Ethnobotany Museum, an extensive collection of plants, spices and crafts from around the country.

Bogor is also known for its ubiquitous green minibuses (angkots) that more resemble covered pickup trucks. And, unlike Jakarta, vehicles don't stop if you walk into traffic. Going to Bogor with Ruri probably saved my life.

The flight home made it clear that ANA is superior to United. In lieu of window shutter, I could electronically select a tint level. And, unlike on United, I did not have to struggle with a touch-screen that either ignored or misinterpreted my touch.

But the flight home from Tokyo was a thrill as it went over Fairbanks, mountainous Yukon and the charcoal-colored tundra of the Northwest Territory. Above 60 degrees latitude on May 11, it is still winter, albeit a very sunny winter.

Ted Feinberg Nov. 4, 1926 - March 14, 2016

Addressed to the Celebration of Life on March 20 at the Pacific Regent La Jolla retirement community.

No matter how long a loved one lived, he died too soon. That’s how I feel about Dad, who died Monday.

Except he should have died the previous Wednesday when he stopped breathing. Could he
speak, he would have pleaded with the technicians to respect the form he signed and not stick
tube down his throat.

Except he should not have survived lymphoma 19 years ago, nor should he have survived being
sent back into the football game with an injured neck.

And how did little Teddy survive when Grandpa Max threw him out the car window to avoid a
crash that left Grandma Mae in traction.

The truth is, he should never have been born in the first place. Before you gasp, let me explain.
The doctor did not believe he would have a healthy birth and recommended an abortion. But
Grandma Mae and Grandpa Max rejected their doctor’s advice, and fate proved them right.
Joyous to have a son to go with their two daughters, Mae and Max gave him the Hebrew name
of Tuvya, which means the goodness of God. Tuvya dovetailed nicely with Theodore, which
means God’s gift. Theodore? Theology? You get the idea.

Fast forward about twelve years. Little Teddy attends the community Hebrew school, where old
men from places like Annatevka used a stick to keep the boys in line. Any time you made the
slightest wrong move, you’re hit with a stick. Until Teddy grabbed the stick and struck his
teacher. They never hit Teddy again, and Teddy would never feel an attachment for the Jewish
religion.

As a young family man in Des Moines’s tight-knit Jewish community, Dad tolerated the high
holiday and bar mitzvah services. But after moving to San Diego in 1979, he could freely assert
his true beliefs by joining the Jewish Secular Humanist congregation, where Jewish life is
celebrated with no mention of God.

In a world where many are oppressed because of their refusal to conform to religious belief,
Dad supported the American Civil Liberties Union and Americans United for the Separation of
Church and State. And Dad died the way he lived, skipping the funeral and donating his body to
the UCSD Medical School. And don’t forget, this is a celebration of life, not a memorial
“service.”

I have been observing the seven days of mourning by walking every morning to the
Conservation synagogue to say Kaddish. As I recite the words Yitgadal v’yitkadash, glorifying
God’s greatness, I am proud of my father who stood tall for his true beliefs. By the same token,
Dad always supported me whenever I made a decision about my own life, no matter how
differently I lived it. Even when I participated in the Torah service at our cousin Haley’s Bat
Mitzvah, I could see how proud he was.

For all our differences, one thing Dad and I shared was a love of art. For him, that meant
painting, photography and decorative gourds. For me, that means among other things the art of
chanting from the Torah - and imagining a supreme God to express gratitude for what we have
and wonder for the beauty and vastness of the universe.

We also both liked sports.

And while Dad donated to Bernie, I’m still kind of on the fence between him and Hillary.

And as hard as I try, I’ll never master Dad’s whimsical sense of humor. For example, whenever
he wrote me a letter, he signed off with the words Dear Old Dad.

Dad, you thought you were being funny, but you were very dear to me. And you really did
become very old. And God was very good to let me be your son.

Items on display at the Celebration of Life

Only upon going through his files did I realize the extent of Dad's interest in astronomy.